One Sunday morning, an old man wearing patched overalls, a faded shirt, and a frayed jacket entered a church just as the service was about to begin. The church was in an affluent part of town, and everyone in the congregation was very expensively dressed. None of them greeted or welcomed the visitor.
After the service was over, the minister approached the old man and said, “Before you come back here again, have a talk with God and ask Him what He thinks is the proper attire to wear to church.”
The old man assured the minister that he would. The following Sunday, he showed up again, dressed exactly as he had been the week before. The minister took him aside and said, “I thought I asked you to speak to God before you came back here.”
“I did,” said the old man. “But He told me that He didn’t have a clue what I should wear — said He’d never been inside here before.”
A Scotsman named Angus painted houses for a living. Because he was a penny pincher, he often thinned down his paint with water to make it go a wee bit farther. He got away with this until the day he painted the house of Brother McTavish, who was an elder in the Presbyterian church.
Just when Angus had almost finished the job, suddenly there was a loud clap of thunder and rain began pouring down, washing all the watered-down paint from the house. Then a bolt of lightning struck the ladder where Angus was standing and knocked him to the ground.
Angus knew this was a judgment from the Almighty, and he fell to his knees and cried out, “Forgive me, Lord! What should I do?” And from the thunder came a mighty voice saying, “Repaint! Repaint! And thin no more!”
On Fr. Gregory’s day off he went to the golf course dressed in his civvies. He was just getting ready to tee off on the first hole when a stranger approached and asked if he could join him. Fr. Greg usually played alone, but he agreed to make it a twosome.
Fr. Greg and the stranger were even after the first two holes. The stranger suggested that since they seemed to be pretty evenly matched, how about playing for five bucks a hole? Fr. Greg had never been much for betting, but he agreed.
The stranger won the remaining sixteen holes with ease, and Fr. Greg handed over $80.00. The stranger then confessed that he was actually a pro who liked to pick on suckers, whereupon Fr. Greg revealed that he was a parish priest.
The pro was embarrassed and apologetic and tried to return Fr. Greg’s money, but the priest refused to take it, insisting that the other had won it fair and square. Still, the pro felt guilty for having taken advantage of a priest, and asked if there were anything he could do to make it up to him.
Fr. Greg suggested that he come to mass on Sunday and make a donation to the church. The pro agreed to this. He thanked the priest, picked up his clubs, and turned to leave.
“And while you’re at it,” Fr. Greg called after him, “bring your mother and father with you, and I’ll marry them.”
Herbie was a regular visitor at the racetrack. One day he witnessed something unusual. Right before the first race, a Catholic priest visited one of the horses in the stable and blessed it. Herbie watched the race, and the horse the priest had blessed came in first.
Herbie followed the priest before the next race, and again he went to the stables and blessed another horse. Herbie bet a few dollars on the horse that the priest had blessed, and sure enough, the horse came in first and Herbie won close to fifty dollars.
The priest continued the same procedure through the next few races, and Herbie won each time by betting on whichever horse the priest had blessed. The system was working so well that between races he ran to the bank and withdrew $50,000.
Herbie got back to the track just in time for the last race of the day. Once again he followed the priest and noted which horse received the blessing, then he went to the betting window and put his whole bundle on that horse to win.
Then Herbie went to watch the race. But when the horses crossed the finish line, the one he’d bet on came in last.
Herbie was crushed. He found the priest and told him that he had been watching him all day, and all the horses he’d blessed had been winners except the last one.
“What happened to that last horse?” Herbie asked. “Why didn’t it win like the others?”
The priest sighed. “You Protestants,” he said. “You can’t even tell the difference between a blessing and last rites!”