Brothers and Sisters of the Story, Sister Callista, liturgical director Carl, deacon Adam, Pastor Andrew, the story must be told.

The story must be told. Before we start today, I'd like to address the issue of my sunburn. Head on. I'm sure even the grip family in the back, hello,

can see my bright red blistering countenance. Until last week, I've gone over 20 years without

taking a vacation. I wake up, I read the story, I eat lunch, I channel the story, I make waste, I think about the story, I sleep, I have nightmares about the story.

So, I allowed myself a three-day vacation on the story's special, story yacht, reserved only for congregants who are the most committed to the story.

It's also reserved for some who need to be put to work for a few years in its engine room,

to toil for the story. Long, story short, so to speak, I fell asleep

in an Adirondack chair on the deck, the story resting on my bare chest. For hours I slept in

the hot Caribbean sun. I blistered. I cooked like a hot dog. And well, the top layer of my skin

has simply melted away. So let us remind ourselves. There is no break from the story. And I

hereby ban all vacations. If you need time off, we have plenty of work for you to do

around the church, Patui. Oh, water evaporates out of my skin faster than my body can process it.

I have a fever. Uh, Pastor Andrew, just read a psalm. All right.

I make my own hungry man, frozen dinners to suit my greedy appetite. Instead of fried chicken,

I melt nickels in the microwave, shape the molten nickel,

like a fried bird's breast, and eat until my teeth chip. Instead of mashed potatoes, I steal

from my cat's litter box clean, of course, and I stir the unfilthed pebbles with boiling water to make a crude oatmeal.

Instead of vegetables, I eat sawdust, secretly stolen from the janitor at William Penn Elementary School

three blocks away. I forsake desserts. Ooh. I can smell it, my mouth watering.

There's a mass in my colon of my own design, kitty litter, coins, tree dust.

The blockage reminds me to stay humble.

Hungry man dinners, well not the official dinners of the story, are the preferred dinners of the story.

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