They said we needed a new pastor. Said it like you’d say the sanctuary needed repainting or the coffee in the fellowship hall needed stronger grounds. But no, what we really needed was a spiritual miracle wrapped in a business plan, a degree from a seminary with Latin inscriptions, and preferably a wife who played piano like she was born in the Levites’ choir.
The posting went up on the church bulletin board and Facebook simultaneously—because we serve both the Lord and the algorithm. “Seeking God-fearing shepherd with 10+ years of experience, ability to rightly divide the word, manage social media accounts, and engage youth with minimal heresy.” Applications due next Friday, unless the rapture comes first.
The committee was formed from the spiritual Avengers of our congregation: Sister Doris (guardian of the potluck sign-up sheet), Deacon Earl (who believed drums were of the devil unless he was playing them), and Brother Curtis (who once called a young preacher a “heretic in skinny jeans”).
Interviews were held in the Sunday School room under the watchful eye of a flannelgraph Moses and a coloring page of the Ten Commandments. The first applicant wore a tie with flames on it. Literal flames. Said he was “on fire for the Lord” and had a TikTok ministry called “Holy Smokes.” Deacon Earl twitched like he was catching tongues.
The second one arrived with a PowerPoint presentation and a vision board. He spoke in marketing slogans. “We don’t need revival—we need rebranding.” Sister Doris’s eyes narrowed. “Son,” she said slowly, “Jesus flipped tables, not algorithms.”
We kept interviewing. One man insisted the King James Version was “too spicy” for today’s ears. Another refused to baptize anyone who hadn’t passed a personality quiz. A woman came in and preached circles around us all—but was dismissed quickly on account of our bylaws and Brother Curtis’s blood pressure.
And then came Randy.
Randy was our janitor.
We had never noticed Randy much. He swept, nodded politely, and smelled vaguely of Pine-Sol and mystery meat. But when Sister Doris sighed that maybe we’d never find a man of God who could lead this wild flock, Randy stood up, wiped his hands on his overalls, and said, “I got a word if y’all got ears.”
He preached. Right there between the broken whiteboard and the leftover communion cups. It wasn’t eloquent. It wasn’t polished. But it was Scripture. It was bold. It was real.
We hired him the next day.
He doesn’t have a degree. His TikTok is just videos of squirrels. But last Sunday, he preached a sermon that made Deacon Earl shout “Amen” and Sister Doris cry. The youth stayed awake. The old folks stayed humble.
And when the sound system failed during the altar call, Randy shouted the invitation loud enough for Heaven to hear.
That’s our new pastor.
He also unclogs the baptistry drain.
