Everyone, everyone, please be seated.

Old folks kick off your shoes, dads unbutton your shirts, and moms zip down your flies.

Today, the congregation physically present with us can take it easy because this service is about you.

Yes, you the listener, distant and distracted in a car, a train at a computer, hiding from the story. We are here for our congregants in all their forms, including your digital, impersonal worship.

Please, wherever you are, the story must be told.

The story must be told.

It just, it feels nice to speak to you directly.

There is much we can wonder about you, listener. Are you tall? Are you short? What kind of books do you read? Are you willing to give your hard-earned cheddar to the story? Well, this is a question all congregants face.

I myself have sacrificed my salary to the story.

We explain how in this following psalm.

Please, Brother Reed.

Take out your purse.

Unfold your wallet. Do we take checks? I'll allow it. The story provides ranting and ravings. All it does ask is for your life's savings.

Withdraw it all in coins and dollars, then coat it in ranch to aid with the swallers.

When your gut bursts with money profound, roll yourself down to story compound.

Yeah, we'll weigh your heft, determine how much you really love us, then slit that tum

and dangle you, oh, ankle style, until quarters and

dimes clang for all us glad to hear, please.

Did you hear that congregate?

Wherever you are, know the story is the truth for you. And all that truth

needs from you is everything. Oh, the story knows where you live. The story watches you, it watches all of us and it is coming for you,

whether you like it or love it. Take a hint from me. Love it. Love as the story finds you in

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