A local youth minister reportedly began perspiring heavily Wednesday evening after realizing he had less than three minutes to bridge the ancient story of a destitute Moabite widow to a stack of Little Caesars pizzas waiting in the church basement.
A local youth minister reportedly began perspiring heavily Wednesday evening after realizing he had less than three minutes to bridge the ancient story of a destitute Moabite widow to a stack of Little Caesars pizzas waiting in the church basement.
Witnesses confirmed that 26-year-old Caleb Hensley’s voice climbed two octaves as the smell of garlic butter began to waft through the multi-purpose room, severely undercutting his solemn lesson on Levirate marriage and ancient agrarian law. Attendees noted Hensley gripped the neck of his acoustic guitar with white knuckles while attempting to draw a direct theological line between Ruth humbly gleaning leftover barley in the harsh, sun-baked fields of Boaz and the youth group’s upcoming opportunity to glean a strict maximum of three slices each from the cardboard warming boxes.
As the silence in the room thickened, Hensley reportedly tried to lean on a whiteboard diagram detailing the Moabite migration, frantically drawing a dry-erase arrow from the word loyalty to a hastily sketched drawing of a pepperoni wheel. Those in the front row stated that the minister’s eyes darted wildly toward the hallway as he asked the unblinking middle schoolers if they, too, were ready to make a covenant with the Lord before the cheese congealed.
He really lost the thread when he tried to explain that just as Boaz acted as a kinsman-redeemer to save Naomi's bloodline, Pastor Dave used the discretionary fund to redeem a coupon for free Crazy Bread.
The theological maneuvering reportedly grew more desperate as the session crept past 7:00 p.m. and the teenagers began staring pointedly at the door. Hensley was seen rapidly wiping his forehead with a flannel sleeve while pacing in front of the whiteboard, his breathing shallow as he embarked on a chaotic tangent about how the bitterness of the decade-long famine in Bethlehem was exactly like the bitterness of waiting for the two-liter bottles of room-temperature Sprite to be poured into small paper cups.
At press time, a defeated Hensley had abandoned his closing prayer about steadfast loyalty entirely, instead bowing his head to mumble that the Lord had blessed them with both salvation and a stuffed-crust option before collapsing into a folding chair.