A right act strikes a chord that extends through the whole universe, touches all moral intelligence, visits every world, vibrates along its whole extent, and conveys its vibrations to the very bosom of God! —Thomas Binney (1798-1874)
Man has worshipped everything on earth, including himself, stones, hills, flowers, trees, streams, wells, ocean, and animals. He has worshipped everything he could think of beneath the earth, metals, caves, serpents, and under-world ghosts. Finally, he has worshipped everything between earth and heaven and everything in the heavens above, mist, wind, cloud, rainbow, stars, moon, sun, the sky itself, though only in part has he worshipped the spirits of all these objects. —E. W. Hopkins (1923)
And the Lord spoke to Noah and said: “In six months I’m going to make it rain until the whole earth is covered with water and all the evil people are destroyed. But I want to save a few good people, and two of every kind of living thing on the planet. I am ordering you to build Me an Ark,” said the Lord.
And in a flash of lightning He delivered the specifications for an Ark.
“OK,” said Noah, trembling in fear and fumbling with the blueprints.
“Six months, and it starts to rain” thundered the Lord. “You’d better have my Ark completed, or learn how to swim for a very long time.”
And six months passed.
The skies began to cloud up and rain began to fall. The Lord saw that Noah was sitting in his front yard, weeping. And there was no Ark.
“Noah,” shouted the Lord, “where is my Ark?” A lightning bolt crashed into the ground next to Noah, for emphasis.
“Lord, please forgive me,” begged Noah. “I did my best. But there were big problems. First I had to get a building permit for the Ark construction project, and your plans didn’t meet Code. So I had to hire an engineer to redraw the plans. Then I got into a big fight over whether or not the Ark needed a fire sprinkler system. My neighbors objected claiming I was violating zoning by building the Ark in my front yard, so I had to get a variance from the city planning commission.
“Then I had a big problem getting enough wood for the Ark because there was a ban on cutting trees to save the Spotted Owl. Then the carpenters formed a union and went out on strike. I had to negotiate a settlement with the National Labor Relations Board before anyone would pick up a saw or a hammer. Now we got 16 carpenters going on the boat, and still no owls.
“Then I started gathering up the animals, and got sued by an animal rights group. They objected to me taking only two of each kind. Just when I got the suit dismissed, EPA notified me that I couldn’t complete the Ark without filing an environmental impact statement on your proposed Flood.
Then the Army Corps of Engineers wanted a map of the proposed new flood plain. I sent them a globe.
And the IRS (The tax authorities) has seized all my assets claiming I’m trying to avoid paying taxes by leaving the country, and I just got a notice from the state about owing some kind of use tax. “I really don’t think I can finish your Ark for at least another five years,” Noah wailed.
The sky began to clear. The sun began to shine. A rainbow arched across the sky. Noah looked up and smiled. “You mean you’re not going to destroy the earth?” Noah asked, hopefully.
“Wrong!” thundered the Lord. “But being Lord of the Universe has its advantages. I fully intend to smite the Earth, but with something far worse than a Flood. Something Man invented himself.”
“What’s that?” asked Noah.
There was a long pause, and then the Lord spoke: “Government.”
An American and an English officer were in the Officers’ Mess having a few drinks. After several of them, they hit on the idea to make the following (gentleman’s) bet: The one who could tell the biggest lie would win.
They drew straws, and the American officer got to start:
“Well,” he says, “there once was an American gentleman–”
“Stop!” cried the Englishman, “You win!”
Forrest Gump dies and goes to heaven. He is greeted by St. Peter. St. Peter says “Heaven is so full that we have to give you an entrance exam to come in.”
Forrest replies, ” I shore hope it isn’t too hard I’m not very good at tests.”
St. Peter says: “First question, how many days in the week begin with T and what are they?”
Forrest answers: “Well two, today and tomorrow.”
“That isn’t quite what I had in mind but, I’ll give it to you.” St. Peter said. “Ok, the next question: how many seconds are there in a year?”
Forrest thought for a minute and said, “Well, I reckon there are twelve. January 2nd, February 2nd, March 2nd . . . ”
St. Peter put up his hand. “Well, not the answer I was looking for, but it is correct so I’ll have to give that one to you also. Ok, final question: What is God’s first name?”
“Well, that’s easy. It’s Howard”.
“Howard? How in Heaven did you come up with Howard?”
“You know, ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven, Howard be thy name”.
This man was painting the church one Saturday to get it nice and spiffy for services on Sunday. He had two sides of the church done when he realized that he didn’t have quite enough paint to finish. Since he was many miles from where he could buy more paint and he was running out of time, he decided to thin the paint down to have enough to finish the job.
After finishing the third wall, he realized he had to thin the paint even more to make it stretch. He finally finished and stood back to admire his work when it started to rain. He watched in dismay while the paint ran down the windows and exposed the old color on the last two walls he had painted.
The pastor came outside to see what was going on and saw the look of disappointment on the man’s face. The man confessed what he had done to make the paint last. The pastor, wanting to ease the man’s burden said, “Then repaint, and thin no more.”
I want to thank you, Lord, for being close to me so far this day.
With Your help, I haven’t been impatient, lost my temper, been grumpy, judgmental or
envious of anyone.
But I will be getting out of bed soon and I think I will really need your help then.
A large, well established, Canadian lumber camp advertised that they were looking for a good Lumberjack. The very next day, a skinny little man showed up at the camp with his axe, and knocked on the head lumberjacks’ door.
The head lumberjack took one look at the little man and told him to leave. “Just give me a chance to show you what I can do,” said the skinny man.
“Okay, see that giant redwood over there?” said the lumberjack. “Take your axe and go cut it down.”
The skinny man headed for the tree, and in five minutes he was back knocking on the lumberjack’s door.
“I cut the tree down,” said the man. The lumberjack couldn’t believe his eyes and said, “Where did you get the skill to chop down trees like that?”
“In the Sahara Forest,” replied the puny man.
“You mean the Sahara Desert,” said the lumberjack.
The little man laughed and answered back, “Oh sure, that’s what they call it now!”
Moses: And God came down from the heavens, and he said unto the Chicken, “Thou shalt cross the road.” And the Chicken crossed the road,and there was much rejoicing.
Fox Mulder: You saw it cross the road with your own eyes. How many more chickens have to cross the road before you believe it?
Richard M. Nixon: The chicken did not cross the road. I repeat, the chicken did *not* cross the road.
Jerry Seinfeld: Why does anyone cross a road? I mean, why doesn’t anyone ever think to ask, “What the heck was this *chicken* doing walking around all over the place anyway?”
Freud: The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.
Bill Gates: I have just released the new Chicken Office 2012, which will not only cross roads, but it will lay eggs, file your important documents AND balance your checkbook. Unfortunately, when it divides 3 by 2 it gets 1.4999999999.
Oliver Stone: The question is not “Why did the chicken cross the road?” But is rather “Who was crossing the road at the same time, whom we overlooked in our haste to observe the chicken crossing?”
Darwin: Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically dis-positioned to cross roads.
Louis Farrakhan: The road, you will see, represents the black man. The chicken crossed the “black man” in order to trample him and keep in him down.
Martin Luther King, Jr.: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question.
Grandpa: In my day, we didn’t ask why the chicken crossed the road. Someone told us that the chicken had crossed the road, and that was good enough for us.
Machiavelli: The point is that the chicken crossed the road. Who cares why? The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive there was.
Albert Einstein: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved beneath the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.
Buddha: Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.
Ralph Waldo Emerson: The chicken did not cross the road — it transcended it.
Ernest Hemingway: To die. In the rain.
Colonel Harlan Sanders: I missed one?
The woman applying for a job in a Florida lemon grove seemed way too qualified for the job.
“Look Miss,” said the foreman, “have you any actual experience in picking lemons ?”
“Well… as a matter if fact, Yes !” she replied. “I’ve been divorced three times.”