A minister began his new work in a small country congregation. His first Sunday after service, a sweet older lady came back from her car with an apple pie. How did she know apple pie was his favorite? He thanked her, complemented her on the lattice-work crust. She blushed and said she loved baking and wanted to be the first to welcome him and his family.
After she walked off, one of the deacons pulled the minister aside. “Did she bake you one of her apple pies?”
“Yes, it is great to be welcomed that way,” the preacher answered.
“You don’t want that pie,” the deacon continued, “she is the worst cook in three counties. Toss it out as soon as you get home.”
The minister laughed thinking that the deacon was pulling his leg.
After lunch he announced to his family, “We have dessert! One of the dear sisters baked us a fresh apple pie!” Cheers erupted around the table. Then they all took a bite, immediately spitting what remained on their tongues onto their forks and in their plates. It was by far the worst pie ever. The dog even refused to eat it, so he tossed the remainder in the trash can and took the bag to the outside can.
That evening the preacher wondered what he could say to this dear lady about her pie. He hoped, no he prayed she would not ask about it. Sure enough, when she came up to him after services that evening she asked, “How was the pie?”
Not wanting to lie and not wanting to hurt her feelings, he answered her with his hand tenderly on her shoulder, “Sister, a pie like that doesn’t last long in our house.”
Maybe this preacher needs to run for political office . . .