The best jokes about preachers
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Date: 2026-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

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Title: The best jokes about preachers

Little blue book no. 879

Editor: George Milburn

E. Haldeman-Julius

Release date: July 18, 2026 [eBook #79124]

Language: English

Original publication: Girard: Haldeman-Julius Publications, 1927

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79124

Credits: Tim Miller and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST JOKES ABOUT PREACHERS ***

LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO.
Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius

The Best Jokes
About Preachers

Edited by George Milburn

HALDEMAN-JULIUS PUBLICATIONS
GIRARD, KANSAS

Copyright, 1927,
Haldeman-Julius Company.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

FOREWORD

Why the spectacle of the preachers working so hard should be so painfully amusing, I fear I can’t tell but the parsons are, in jokesters’ eyes, droll boys. Their qualities of risibility-rousing are as axiomatic and as well-defined as those of a trick moustache or Dubuque, Iowa, or the pronunciation of Popocatapetl.

Neither does it matter a great deal why—I say, it doesn’t matter a great deal why the sky-pilots should so universally furnish material for jokes. It is more important that the men of the cloth are funny. As evidence the following pages are submitted. Lawf, larf or laff, skip all the sad ones—of which, unavoidably, there are several—and after service leave your book in the pew where you found it.

G. M.

THE BEST JOKES ABOUT PREACHERS

ROMPING THE STIFF

A certain clergyman was officiating at the funeral of a wealthy parishioner. He was particularly anxious to show his good feeling and sympathy; so at a critical moment during the funeral services, he turned to the congregation and said:

“Dearly beloved, many a time I have dangled this corpse upon my knee.”

JUDGE FOR YOURSELF

A noted eastern judge while visiting in the West went to church on Sunday; which isn’t so remarkable as the fact that he knew beforehand that the preacher was exceedingly tedious and long-winded to the last degree. After the service the preacher met the judge in the vestibule and said:

“Well, your Honor, how did you like the sermon?”

“Oh, it was wonderful,” replied the Judge. “It was like the peace and mercy of God.”

“Oh, I scarcely hoped to achieve that,” said the skypilot, much flattered. “How can you make such a comparison?”

“Why, very easily,” replied the magistrate. “It was like the peace of God, because it passed all understanding, and, like His mercy, I thought it would have endured forever.”

NEARER MY GOD, TO THEE

A country convert, full of zeal, offered himself for service in his first prayer meeting remarks.

“I am ready to do anything the Lord asks of me,” said he, “so long as it’s honorable.”

WHO’LL BE DAMNED?

The following notice was tacked to the door of a village church:

“There will be preaching in this church a week from next Wednesday, Providence permitting, and there will be preaching here whether or no on Monday following, upon the same subject, He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned at 3:30 in the afternoon.”

ONE SWEETLY SOLEMN THOUGHT

A minister of the Gospel was conducting religious services in an asylum for the insane. His discourse was suddenly interrupted by one of the inmates crying out wildly:

“I say, have we got to listen to this tommyrot?”

The minister, surprised and confused, turned to the keeper and said:

“Shall I stop speaking?”

The keeper replied:

“No, no; keep right on; that won’t happen again. That man has only one sane moment every seven years.”

HOLY SMOKE

Parson Brown, the saddle-colored pastor of the First Afro-American Methodist church was warming up for his Sunday morning sermon with a short prayer:

“Oh, Lawd, give thy servant this mawnin’ the eyes of the eagle and the wisdom of the owl; connect his soul with the gospel telephone in the central skies; ’luminate his brow with the sun of heaven; pizen his mind with the love for the people; turpentine his ’magination, grease his lips with ’possum oil, loosen his tongue with the sledge hammer of thy power, ’lectrify his brain with the lightnin’ of the Word, put ’petual motion in his arms, fill him plum full of the dynamite of thy glory, ’noint him all over with the kerosene oil of thy salvation, and set him on fire. Amen! Hallelooyah!”

AND PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

The new clergyman in the country parish, during his visit to an old lady of his flock, after some exchange of persiflage, cleared his throat and queried:

“Ah, Mrs. Potts, I sometimes wonder—do you accept fully the doctrine of Falling from Grace?”

The good woman nodded vigorously.

“Yes, sir,” she declared with pious zeal, “I believe in it, and, praise the Lord! I practice it!”

LOVE LIFTED ME

At a revival meeting, the evangelist, working himself up to the height of emotionalism, after having dilated upon the weaknesses of mankind in general, suddenly exclaimed:

“Who is the most perfect man? Is there such a being? If anybody has ever seen the perfect man, let him say so now.”

A small nervous man rose quietly in the rear of the hall. The evangelist gazed at him in astonishment.

“Do you mean to say, sir, that you know who is the perfect man?”

“I certainly do.”

“Who may he be?”

There was a breathless silence for a few moments as the man replied effectively:

“My wife’s first husband.”

IT FOLLOWS

Superintendent—“Children, this is the Rev. Dr. McSnorter, from Gowanus, who will address you with a few brief remarks. Children, he has come all the way to try and save your souls from hell—Here! Here! You are not paying attention! Now can any little boy or girl tell me where this gentleman is from?”

Chorus of children—“From hell!”

NAUGHTY MR. MOODY

One Sunday morning, Mr. Moody, the revivalist late lamented, entered a Chicago drug-store, distributing tracts. At the back of the store sat an elderly and distinguished citizen reading a morning newspaper. Mr. Moody approached the gentleman and threw one of the temperance tracts upon the paper before him. The old gentleman glanced at the tract, and then looking up benignantly at Moody, asked:

“Are you a reformed drunkard?”

“No, sir, I am not,” cried Moody, drawing back indignantly.

“Then why don’t you reform?” quietly asked the old gentleman.

FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW

A clergyman was discoursing on the desirability of chronological coherence in ideas, but he admitted that there are times when this method becomes a trifle too suggestive.

“For instance,” he said, “I once heard a neighboring minister make his usual Sunday morning announcements as follows: ‘The funeral of the late and much-lamented sexton takes place on Wednesday afternoon at three o’clock. Thanksgiving services will be held in this chapel on Thursday morning at eleven o’clock.’”

WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?

An out-of-town minister was preparing to occupy the pulpit at the Episcopal church.

“Do you wish to wear a surplice?” asked the rector.

“Surplice!” cried the visitor. “Surplice! I am a Methodist. What do I know about surplices? All I know about is a deficit!”

PUT UP THEM DUKES

The critical instinct grows by what it is fed upon. No matter how well you do, some people are never satisfied, and this is especially true in families.

A divine was entertaining a couple of out-of-town clergymen at dinner. The guests spoke in praise of a sermon which their host had delivered the Sunday before. The host’s son was at the table, and one of the visiting clergymen said to him:

“My lad, what did you think of your father’s sermon?”

“I suppose it was very good,” said the boy, “but there were three mighty fine places where he could have stopped.”

TILL WE MEET AGAIN

The minister had just preached his farewell sermon to the congregation with whom he had had much trouble.

“How beautiful!” said a visitor to one of the deacons, “and how appropriate for a farewell sermon!”

“Think so?” said the deacon gruffly.

“Why, yes. What better text could he find than ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions ... I go to prepare a place for you.’ By the way, where is his new charge located?”

The deacon smiled sourly as he answered:

“He becomes chaplain of the state penitentiary.”

WHY, OF COURSE!

“Now, children,” said the visiting minister who had been asked to question the Sunday school, “with what did Samson arm himself to fight against the Philistines?”

None of the children could tell him.

“Oh, yes, you know!” he said, and to help them he tapped his jaw with one finger. “What is this?” he asked.

This jogged their memories, and the class cried in chorus:

“The jawbone of an ass.”

OLD PREACHER BEECHER

A member of the congregation came up to Henry Ward Beecher after the great preacher had finished a sermon and stood by the pulpit, yet in the fuming after-heat of high discourse. The parishioner said to the minister:

“Mr. Beecher, I enjoyed your sermon very much, but I noticed one grammatical error you made.”

“One?” said the preacher. “I’ll bet my hat I made twenty.”

SIMPLY TURNING ’EM AWAY, M’DEAR

“I hear your new minister is very efficient.”

“Oh, yes.”

“How about his wife? Is she doing anything to bring people to church?”

“Indeed she is! Wears a different gown every Sunday.”

HONOR AMONG STICKUPS

Once upon a time a coach was held up by a road agent. The driver explained to the robber that his only passenger was a man, who was asleep inside. The highwayman insisted that the traveler be awakened.

“I want to go through his pockets!” he declared fiercely, with an oath.

The stage driver, urged on by prods from the highwayman’s sixgun, opened the door and hauled to light a much-frightened bishop.

“You surely would not rob a poor bishop!” he wailed. “I have no money worth your attention, and I am engaged on my duties as a bishop.”

The robber hesitated.

“A bishop, eh?” he said thoughtfully. “Of what church?”

“The Methodist.”

“The hell you are! That’s the church I belong to! So long! Driver, larrup them mules!”

PIETY, ERGO: FULL OF PIE

Colonel Gabe Bouch controlled his regiment with the iron hand of a dictator, and one day an itinerant evangelist wandered into camp saying:

“I am an humble servant of the Lord endeavoring to save the souls of the unfortunate. I have just left the camp of the 17th Massachusetts, where I was instrumental in leading eight men into the paths of righteousness——”

“Adjutant,” thundered the old Colonel, after a moment’s pause, “detail ten men for baptism. No damned Massachusetts regiment is a-goin’ to beat mine for piety!”

GENTLEMEN, BE SEATED!

Some time ago a dinner was given in New York at which a well-known actor, who is something of a freethinker along theological lines, sat at the guest table. When the hour for starting the feast arrived the toastmaster, a very religious man, discovered that no minister of the Gospel was present, although several had been invited. In this emergency he turned to the actor and said:

“Mr. Blank, inasmuch as there are no clergymen present, will you say grace?”

The actor rose, bowed his head, and in the midst of a deep hush said fervently:

“There being no clergyman present, let us thank God!”

AND BOUNCE HIM ALL THE WAY BACK

The clergyman drew near to the baptismal font, and directed that the candidates for baptism should now be presented. A woman in the congregation gave a gasp of dismay and turned to her husband, whom she addressed in a strenuous whisper:

“There! I just knew we’d forget something. John, you run right home as fast as you can, and fetch the baby.”

WHY, SO IT DOES!

The minister was addressing a Sunday school class. He had taken for his theme the familiar one of the children who mocked Elisha on his journey to Bethel—how the youngsters taunted the poor old prophet and how they were punished when two she-bears came out of the wild and ate forty-and-two of them.

“And now, children,” said the pastor, wishing to discover whether his talk had produced any moral effect, “what does this story show?”

“Please, sir,” came from a little girl well down in the front, “it shows how many children two she-bears can hold.”

SO DO THE JOKES

Tearful Parishioner (saying farewell to a departing minister)—“I don’t know what we will do when you are gone, Dr. Blank.”

Departing Minister—“Oh, the church will soon get a better man than I am.”

Tearful Parishioner—“That’s what they all say, but they keep getting worse and worse.”

DISASTER, NOTHING BUT DISASTER

The Minister—“Mackintosh, why don’t you come to church now?”

Mackintosh—“For three reasons, sir. Firstly, I dinna like yer theology; secondly, I dinna like yer singin’, and thirdly, it was in your kirk I first met my wife.”

HOW FAR YOU CAN GO WITH THE COOK

A minister of a fashionable church had always left the greeting of strangers to be attended to by the ushers, until he read the newspaper articles in reference to the matter.

“Suppose a reporter should visit our church?” said his wife. “Wouldn’t it be awful?”

“It would,” the minister admitted.

The following Sunday evening he noticed a plainly dressed woman in one of the free pews. She sat alone and was clearly not a member of the flock. After the benediction the minister hastened and intercepted her at the door.

“How do you do?” he said, offering his hand. “I am very glad to have you with us.”

“Thank you,” replied the young woman.

“I hope we may see you often in our church home,” he went. “We are always glad to see new faces.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you live in this parish?” he asked.

The girl looked blank.

“If you will give me your address my wife and I will call on you some evening.”

“You wouldn’t need to go far, sir,” said the young woman. “I’m your cook.”

AH-LE-YUP!

Parson—“Do you know where little boys go when they smoke?”

Boys—“Yep; up the alley.”

BUT IT WASN’T THAT KIND OF A DAWG

On one occasion the minister delivered a sermon of but ten minutes’ duration—a most unusual thing for him.

Upon the conclusion of his remarks he added:

“I regret to inform you, brethren, that my dog, who appears to be inordinately fond of paper, this morning ate that portion of my sermon that I have not delivered. Let us pray.”

After the service the clergyman was met at the door by a man who as a rule attended divine service in another parish. Shaking the good man by the hand he said:

“Doctor, I should like to know whether that dawg of yours has any pups. If it has, I want to get one to give to my minister.”

INFANT SALVATION

The four-year-old daughter of a clergyman was ailing one night and consequently she was put to bed early. As her mother was about to leave she called her back.

“Mamma,” she said, “I want to see my papa.”

“No, dear,” her mother replied, “your papa is busy and must not be disturbed.”

“But, mamma,” the child persisted, “I want to see my papa.”

As before, the mother replied: “No, your papa must not be disturbed.”

But the little one came back with a clincher:

“Mamma,” she declared solemnly, “I am a sick woman and I want to see my minister.”

EASY THAR, PARSON!

The small town boasted a female preacher. One day while working in her study she heard a timid knock at her door. Answering the summons she found a bashful young farmer on the step.

“Good afternoon,” the parsoness remarked. “Was there something that I could do?”

“Does the minister live in this house?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes? Well, I cal’clate on gettin’ married.”

“All right; I can marry you.”

The lady parson was no sight for sore eyes, and the young rustic, glanced just once at her face. Then without comment he jammed his hat on his head and hurried down the walk.

“Will you be back?” the ministrix called.

“You ain’t got no chanct to marry me,” he answered over his shoulder. “I don’t want you; I already got me a gel picked out.”

WHAT A CRUST

An Episcopal pastor and a Roman Catholic priest had neighboring churches and didn’t get along very well. After some time, however, they met and decided to forget past grievances.

“For, after all,” said the man of the Episcopal faith, “we are both doing the Lord’s work.”

“That is true,” said the priest. “Let us therefore do his work to the best of our ability: you in your way,” concluded the Roman, and then added with a twinkle, “and I in His!”

WHEN THE ROLL IS CALLED UP YONDER

A clergyman was spending the afternoon at a house in the English village where he had preached. After tea he was sitting in the garden with his hostess. Out rushed her little boy holding a rat above his head.

“Don’t be afraid, mother,” he cried; “it’s dead. We beat him and bashed him and thumped him until”—and then, catching sight of the clergyman, he added, in a lowered voice—“until God called him home.”

HANDS DOWN!

A minister, walking along the street one day, saw a crowd of boys sitting in a ring, with a small dog in the center. When the preacher came up to them he asked:

“What are you doing to the dog?”

One little boy said: “Whoever tells the biggest lie wins it.”

“I am surprised at you little boys. When I was young like you I never told a lie.”

There was a silence for a while, until one of the boys shouted:

“Hand him up the dog!”

THREE HOOTS AND A WEEL ON THIS ONE

The Scotch minister rose and cleared his throat, but remained silent, while the congregation awaited the sermon in puzzled expectancy. At last he spoke:

“There’s a laddie awa’ there in the gallery a-kissin’ a lassie,” he said. “When he’s done ah’ll begin.”

LITTLE FEET BE CAREFUL WHERE YOU TAKE ME TO

A self-conscious and egotistical young clergyman was supplying the pulpit of a country church. After the service he asked one of the deacons, a grizzled, plain-spoken man, what he thought of his morning effort.

“Wal,” answered the old man slowly, “I’ll tell ye in a kind of parable. I remember Tunk Weatherbee’s fust deer hunt, when he was green. He follered the deer’s tracks all right, but he follered ’em all day in the wrong direction.”

SO MOSES TOOK TWO TABLETS

The itinerant revivalist stopped a newsboy in Philadelphia during a recent revival in that city, and inquired the way to the post office.

“Down this street two blocks and turn to the right.”

“You seem a bright little fellow,” said the evangelist. “Do you know who I am?”

“Nope!”

“Why, I’m the famous preacher who is holding the revival services over in the big tabernacle. If you’ll come to my meeting tonight I’ll show you the way to Heaven.”

“Aw, go on!” answered the youngster; “you don’t even know the way to the post office.”

WHO’S A GOAT?

The little girl was deeply impressed by the clergyman’s sermon as to the separation of the sheep and the goats. That night after she had gone to bed, she was heard sobbing, and the mother went to her to ask what was the matter.

“It’s about the goats!” Jenny confessed at last. “I’m so afraid I am a goat, and so I’ll never go to heaven. Oh, I’m so afraid I’m a goat!”

“My dear,” the mother assured her weeping child. “You’re a sweet little lamb. If you were to die tonight, you would go straight to heaven.” Her words were successful in quieting the little girl, and she slept.

But the following night Jenny was found crying again in her bed, and when the mother appeared she wailed:

“I’m afraid about the goats.”

“But mother has told you that you are a little lamb, and that you must never worry over being a goat.”

Jenny, however, was by no means comforted, and continued her sobs.

“Yes, mamma,” she declared softly, “I know that. But I’m afraid—awful afraid you’re a goat!”

GETTING THE HELL OUT

“Why don’t yo’ put mo’ hell in yo’ sermons, Br’er Williams?”

“Well, w’en I gibs ’em too much er it de congregation makes sich a noise fannin’ deysel’ I has ter order a recess!”

AND FELL ON HIS NECK

“The Prodigal Son” was the subject of the Sunday school lesson, and the minister, who had paused to visit the children’s class, was dwelling on the character of the elder brother.

“But amidst all the enjoyment,” said the preacher, “there was one to whom the preparation of the feast brought no joy; to whom the prodigal’s return gave no happiness, only bitterness, one who did not approve of the feast and had no wish to attend it. Now, who can tell me who this was?”

Silence for several moments; then a hand raised and a small sympathetic voice said:

“Please, sir, it was the fatted calf.”

ADAM AND EVE AND PINCH ME

“So you attend Sunday regularly?” asked the Rev. Adam Apple of little Eve.

“Oh, yes, sir,” said little Eve.

“And you know your Bible?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Could you, perhaps, tell me something that is in it?”

“I could tell you everything that’s in it.”

“Indeed.” And the Rev. Adam Apple smiled. “Do tell me, then.”

“Sister’s steady’s snapshots are in it,” said little Eve promptly, “and ma’s recipe for vanishin’ cream is in it, and a lock of my hair, cut off when I was a baby is in it, and the hock ticket for pa’s watch is in it.”

ASK ME NO QUESTIONS

The colored minister was loud in his praise for the goose which Elder Johnson had served for dinner. Finally he said:

“Brother Johnson, whar did you git such a fine, fat, tasty goose?”

“Pahson,” replied the elder, “when you preaches a specially good sermon, does I ever ast you whar you got it at?”

HE’S AS HARD TO FIND AS THE G. C. D.

A colored clergyman asked a member of his congregation:

“Whar is de Lord?”

“’Deed, I dunno, pahson,” replied the parishioner.

“De Lawd! Why, de Lawd am ever’where,” said the parson, answering his own question.

A few days later the preacher met the layman on the street and asked him:

“Whar is de Lawd?”

The parishioner looked around in great surprise and exclaimed:

“What’s dat, pahson? Am he lost again?”

BUT BARE SKIN IS BEST

A young lady sat next to a distinguished bishop at a church dinner. She was somewhat modest and diffident, and was rather awed by the bishop’s presence. For some time she hesitated to speak to him, waiting for what she considered a favorable opportunity. Finally, seeing some bananas passed, she turned to him and said:

“I beg your pardon, but are you fond of bananas?”

The bishop was slightly deaf, and leaning forward, asked:

“What did you say?”

“I said,” repeated the young lady, blushing, “are you fond of bananas?”

The bishop thought a moment, and then said:

“If you want my honest opinion, I have always preferred the old-fashioned nightshirt.”

WHAT TO GIVE YOUR MINISTER

The telephone jangled.

Taking up the instrument, the reverend gentleman took down the receiver and placed it to his ear.

“Hello.”

“Hello. Bring around a couple of quarts of Scotch tonight, Mullins,” directed a woman’s voice.

The reverend recognized the voice as that of one of his parishioners.

“This is not your bootlegger,” he answered in a stern reproof; “this is your rector.”

Was there a dull thud?

No.

“Indeed,” inquired the lady quickly, “and pray what are you doing over at Mullins’ dive?”

THE ORDEAL OF MARK TWAIN

Bishop Doane of Albany was at one time rector of an Episcopal church in Hartford, and Mark Twain, who occasionally attended his services, played a joke on him one Sunday.

“Dr. Doane,” he said at the end of the service, “I enjoyed your service this morning. I welcomed it like an old friend. I have, you know, a book at home containing every word of it.”

“You have not,” said Dr. Doane.

“I have so.”

“Well, send that book to me. I’d like to see it.”

“I’ll send it,” the humorist replied.

Next morning he sent an unabridged dictionary to the rector.

HELL

A young minister unexpectedly called upon to address a Sunday school asked, to gain time:

“Children, what shall I speak about?”

A little girl on the front seat, who was in the habit of reciting at entertainments, had committed to memory several declamations so that she was always prepared for any occasion. Sympathy and interest shone in her face as she held up her hand in a shrill voice inquired:

“What do you know best?”

OH, THE NORTH COUNTREE IS A HARD COUNTREE!

A newly appointed Scotch minister on his first Sunday of office had reason to complain of the poorness of the collection.

“Mon,” replied one of the elders, “they are close—verra close.” And then, in more confiding tones—“But the auld meenister he put three or four saxpence into the plate hissel’, jist to gie then a start. Of course, he took the saxpence awa’ wi’ him afterward.”

The new minister tried the same plan, but the next Sunday he again had to report a dismal failure. The total collection was not only small, but he was grieved to find that his own sixpences were missing.

“Ye may be a better preacher than the auld meenister,” exclaimed the elder, “but if ye had half the knowledge of the world, an’ yer ain flock in particular, ye’d ha’ done what he did an’ glued the saxpences to the plate.”

IT PAYS TO BE

“Which is the first and most important sacrament?” asked a Sunday school teacher of a small girl preparing for confirmation.

“Marriage,” was the prompt response.

“No, baptism is the first and most important sacrament,” the teacher corrected.

“Not in our family,” said the pupil haughtily. “We are respectable.”

IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT’S HOLY!

On the way to the baptism, the baby somehow loosened the stopper of his bottle, with the result that the milk made a frightful mess over the christening robe. The mother was greatly shamed, but she was compelled to hand over the child in its mussed garments to the clergyman at the front.

“What name?” the clergyman whispered.

The agitated mother failed to understand, and thought he complained of the baby’s condition. So she offered explanation:

“Nozzle come off—nozzle come off!”

The clergyman, puzzled, repeated his whisper:

“What name?”

“Nozzle come off—nozzle come off!” The woman insisted, almost in tears.

The clergyman gave it up, and continued the rite:

“Nozzlecomeoff Smithers, I baptize thee in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.”

THE EGO AND HIS OWN

Said the teacher to Willie: “Why, Willie, what are you drawing?”

“I’m drawing a picture of God.”

“But, Willie, you mustn’t do that; nobody knows how God looks.”

Willie smiled confidently.

“Well,” he said, “they will when I get this done.”

WHILE WE SING NUMBER 69

The colored parson had just concluded a powerful sermon on “Salvation Am Free,” and was announcing that a collection would be taken for the benefit of the parson and his family. Up jumped an acutely brunette brother in the back of the church.

“Lookie heah, pahson,” he interrupted, “yo’ ain’t no sooner done tellin’ us dat salvation am free dan yo’ go askin’ us fo’ money. If salvation am free, what’s de use o’ payin’ fo’ it? Dat’s whut I wants to know. An’ I tell yo’ p’intedly dat I ain’t goin’ to gib yo’ nothin’ until I find out. Now——”

“Patience, bruthah, patience,” said the parson. “Jes’ hol’ on while I ’lucidates: S’pose yo’ was thirsty an’ come to a rivah. Yo’ could kneel right down an’ drink yo’ fill, couldn’t yo’? An’ it wouldn’t cost yo’ nothin’, would it?”

“Ob, cou’se not. Dat’s jes’ whut I——”

“Dat watuh would be free,” continued the parson. “But a-s’posin’ yo’ was to hab watuh piped to yo’ house? Yo’d hab to pay, wouldn’t yo’?”

“Wall, bruthuh, so it is wid salvation. De salvation am free, but it’s de havin’ it piped to yo’ dat yo’ got to pay fo’. Pass de hat, deacon, pass de hat.”

SO SHE SHOOK HER TAMBORINE

Minister: “Would you care to join in the new missionary movement?”

Miss Ala Mode: “I’m crazy to try it. Is it anything like the Charleston?”

BUT THEY PASSED OUT TOO

A clergyman who was also an amateur wit, once preached rather a long sermon from the text “Thou art weighed in the balance and art found wanting.”

After his congregation had listened for about an hour, some began to get weary and went out. Others soon followed, greatly to the annoyance of the minister.

Another person started, whereupon the parson stopped in his sermon and said:

“That’s right, gentlemen; as fast as you are weighed pass out.”

And the others waited until the sermon was ended.

WASHED IN THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB

An evangelist was exhorting his hearers to flee the wrath to come.

“I warn you,” he thundered, “that there will be weeping, and wailing and gnashing of teeth!”

At this point an old lady in the gallery stood up.

“Sir,” she shouted, “I have no teeth.”

“Madam,” roared the evangelist, “teeth will be provided.”

IT WOULD BE

“I thought your minister was to have a call to Minneapolis.”

“He did expect it, but he went up there to preach a trial sermon and took his text from St. Paul, so it’s all off.”

THE D. T’S. I’D CALL IT

A Negro preacher chanced to make use in the course of his sermon, of the word “phenomenon.” At the close of the meeting one of his congregation asked the meaning of the word. The preacher put him off until the following Sunday, when he thus defined:

“If you see a cow, that’s not a ‘phenomenon.’ If you see a briar, that’s not a ‘phenomenon.’ And if you see a bird that sings, that’s not a ‘phenomenon’ either. But if you see a cow sitting on a briar and singing like a bird, then brother, that’s a ‘phenomenon’.”

SOMEBODY SHOULD INVESTIGATE THIS

Mr. Jones had recently become a father of triplets. The minister stopped him on the street to congratulate him.

“Well, Jones,” he said, in his best felicitatory bass, “I hear that the Stork has smiled on you.”

“Smiled on me!” repeated Jones. “He laughed out loud at me!”

I NEVER DID LIKE MISSIONARIES

Bloated Plutocrat: “No, sir. I am sorry I cannot help you. I disapprove of foreign missions.”

Parson: “But the Scripture commands us to feed the hungry.”

Plutocrat: “Very likely. But surely we can feed them on something cheaper and more nourishing than missionaries.”

SMACK HIS FACE

A spiritualist had died and his friends came to a clergyman and asked him to preach a funeral sermon, even though that was in conflict with their tenets. The parson did his best. When he had finished his sermon, the widow of the man arose, announced that she had a communication from the deceased, and proceeded to tear the clergyman, his sermon, and his sentiments to ribbons.

“I’m mighty sorry,” said the spiritualist leader.

“I’m not,” said the preacher. “I’ve preached many a funeral sermon, but this is the first time I was ever sassed by the corpse.”

THE TIME, THE PLACE AND THE GIRL

At a country funeral the preacher who had been asked to deliver the funeral oration was a stranger in the community and didn’t know the departed sister very well. After he said all he could, he suggested that anyone who could add a few words about the dear departed would be heard gladly.

Three or four arose in turn and paid tribute to the memory of the woman who had passed beyond. Then there was a pause. Finally one old brother arose and said:

“Well, if we’re all through speaking about the departed sister I will now make a few brief remarks on the tariff.”

BY ME

Minister: “And now would any little boy or girl like to ask me a question?”

Little Boy: “Please, sir, why did the angels walk up and down Jacob’s ladder, when they had wings?”

Minister: “Um—er—quite so. And now would any other little girl or boy like to answer that question?”

SADIE THOMPSON SAID THAT TOO

This quotation is from a Connecticut woman’s diary, dated 1790:

“We had roast pork for dinner, and Parson S——, who carved, held up a rib on his fork and said:

“‘Here, ladies, is what Mother Eve was made of.’”

“‘Yes,’ said Sister Patty, ‘and it’s from very much the same kind of critter.’”

THIS IS TOO MUCH!

The preacher’s evening discourse was dry and long, and the congregation gradually melted away. The sexton tiptoed up to the pulpit and slipped a note under one corner of the Bible. It read:

“When you are through, will you please turn off the lights, lock the door, and put the key under the mat?”

OUR TRADE CLASSIC

Once upon a time there was an Indian named Big Smoke, employed as a missionary to his fellow Smokes.

A white man encountering Big Smoke, asked him what he did for a living.

“Umph!” said Big Smoke, “me preach.”

“That so? What you get for preaching?”

“Me get ten dollars a year.”

“Well,” said the white man, “that’s damn poor pay.”

“Umph!” said Big Smoke, “me damn poor preacher.”

GRACIOUS YES!

A stranger entered the church in the middle of the sermon and seated himself in the back pew. After a while he began to fidget. Leaning over to a white-haired man at his side, evidently an old member of the congregation, he whispered:

“How long has he been preaching?”

“Thirty or forty years, I think,” the old man answered.

“I’ll stay then,” decided the stranger. “He must be nearly done.”

LET US TURN TO HYMN NUMBER—

A distinguished theologian was invited to make an address before a Sunday school. The divine spoke for over two hours and his remarks were of too deep a character for the average juvenile mind to comprehend. At the conclusion, the superintendent, according to custom, requested some one in the Sunday school to name an appropriate hymn to be sung.

“Sing ‘Revive Us Again’,” shouted a boy in the rear of the room.

OUR TRAINED PARSON

The railroad official invited the stern citizen to communicate his troubles.

“I want you to give orders,” demanded the visitor, “that the engineer of the express which passes through Elm Grove at 11:55 be restrained from blowing his whistle on Sunday mornings.”

“Impossible!” exploded the official. “What prompts you to make such a ridiculous request?”

“Well, you see,” explained the citizen in an undertone, “our pastor preaches until he hears the whistle blow and that confounded express was twenty minutes late last Sunday.”

AND GRAVE THY VICTORIE?

The worthy shepherd of the Mission Methodist church in a burst of passionate eloquence in denunciation of the world’s wickedness declared:

“Hell is full of cocktails, highballs, short skirts and one-piece bathing suits!”

Voice from the gallery:

“Oh, Death, where is thy sting!”

THROW OUT THE LIFELINE

An old Scotch lady had the habit of driving to church. Her coachman, when he considered the sermon nearly at an end, would slip out quietly to have the carriage ready. One Sunday John, after hanging about the door, grew impatient. Creeping down the aisle toward his mistress, he whispered:

“Is he no dune yet?”

“Dune!” returned the old lady in high indignation, for her patience had long since been exhausted, “he’s dune half an hour since, but he’ll no stop!”

HOW TO RILE YOUR PARSON

During the Sunday morning sermon a baby began to cry at the top of its voice, and its mother carried it towards the door.

“Stop!” said the minister. “Your baby is not disturbing me.”

The mother turned toward the pulpit and addressed the preacher:

“Oh, he ain’t, ain’t he? Well, you’re a-disturbin’ of him.”

THE TERRIBLE TEMPERED MR. BANG

“Yes, sir,” said the irate man, “I got even with that preacher. I slurred him. Why, I hired one hundred people to attend his church and go to sleep before he had preached five minutes.”

PLOP!

The clergyman on his vacation wrote a long letter concerning his traveling experiences to be circulated among the members of the congregation. The letter opened in this form:

“Dear Friends:

“I will not address you as ladies and gentlemen, because I know you so well.”

OR TO HOLLYWOOD, CAL.

Visiting Parson: “Do you know where bad little girls go?”

Naughty Nellie: “Of course I do!”

Visiting Parson: “Where do they go?”

Naughty Nellie: “They go down to the railroad station to see the traveling salesmen come in.”

MARRIED MEN MAKE THE BEST HUSBANDS

The archbishop had preached a fine sermon on married life and its duties. Two old Irish women were heard coming out of the church commenting on the address:

“’Twas a fine sermon His Grace would be after giving us,” said one to the other.

“It is indeed,” was the quick reply, “and I wish I knew as little about the matter as he does.”

PROHIBITION JOKE

“We will take for our text this morning,” announced the absent-minded clergyman, consulting his memorandum, “the sixth and seventh verses of the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs.”

Never suspecting that his vivacious son and heir had found the memorandum in his study on the previous night, and, knowing that his papa had composed a sermon celebrating the increased severity of dry law enforcement, had diabolically changed the chapter and verse numerals to indicate a very different text, the absent-minded clergyman turned to the place and read aloud these words of Solomon:

“Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts. Let him drink and forget his past poverty, and remember his misery no more.”

LET’S SEE NOW

“What are the sins of omission?” asked the clergyman, examining the Sunday school.

“They are the sin you ought to have committed and haven’t,” answered the prodigy in the Cradle Roll.

THE POWER OF A LIE

A certain famous preacher when preaching one Sunday in the summer time observed that many among the congregation were drowsing. Suddenly, then, he paused, and afterward continued in a loud voice, relating an incident that had no connection whatever with the sermon. This was to the following effect:

“I was once riding along a country road. I came to the house of a farmer, and halted to observe one of the most remarkable sights I have ever seen. There was a sow with a litter of ten little pigs. This sow and each of her offspring had a long curved horn growing out of the forehead between the ears.”

The clergyman again paused and ran his eye over the congregation. Everybody was now wide awake. He thereupon remarked:

“Behold how strange! A few minutes since, when I was telling you the truth, you went to sleep. But now when you heard a whopping lie, you are all wide awake.”

BRIDES OF THE LAMB

The aged Negro clergyman announced solemnly from the pulpit:

“Next Sabbath, dar will be a baptism in dis chu’ch at half-pas’ ten in de mawnin’. Dis baptism will be of two adults and six adulteresses.”

HOT TONGUE

The bridegroom, who was in a horribly nervous condition, appealed to the clergyman in a loud whisper, at the close of the ceremony:

“Is it kisstomary to cuss the bride?”

The clergyman replied:

“Not yet, but soon.”

MARK TWAIN SPECIAL

Mark Twain used to tell the story to illustrate the value of brevity in speech. Twain began by saying that he went to church one Sunday morning, and the preacher began a passionate appeal for funds to save the heathen. The novelist listened for five minutes, and was in tears and willing to contribute fifty dollars. After the minister had gone on for ten minutes more, he reduced the amount of his prospective contribution to twenty-five dollars, and after half an hour more of eloquence, he cut the sum to five dollars. At the end of an hour of oratory when the plate was passed around Twain stole two dollars out of it.

SITTIN’ PRETTY

It was the bridegroom’s third matrimonial undertaking, and the bride’s fourth. When the clergyman on whom they had called for the ceremony entered the parlor, he found the couple comfortably seated. They made no effort to rise, so, as he opened the book to begin the service, he directed them:

“Please stand up.”

The bridegroom looked at the bride, and the bride stared back at him, and then both regarded the clergyman, while the man voiced their decision in a tone that was quite polite, but very firm:

“We have generally sot.”

THE VICARIOUS ATONEMENT

Bessie had a new dime to invest in an ice cream soda.

“Why don’t you give your dime to the missions?” said the minister, who was calling.

“I thought about that,” said Bessie, “but I think I’ll buy the ice cream and let the druggist give it to the missions.”

THE PESSIMISTIC PASTOR

The very young clergyman made his first parochial call. He tried to admire the baby, and asked how old it was.

“Just ten weeks,” the proud mother replied.

And the very young clergyman inquired interestedly:

“And is it your youngest?”

ENCORE

The assistant minister announced to the congregation that a special baptismal service would be held the following Sunday at three o’clock in the afternoon, and that any infants to receive the rite should be brought at that time.

The old clergyman, who was deaf, thought that his assistant was speaking of the new hymnals, and he added a bit of information:

“Anyone not already provided can obtain them in the vestry for a dollar, or with red backs and speckled edges for one dollar and a half.”

THE NAME OF THE MAKER STAMPED ON THE BOTTOM

The new clergyman was coming to call, and the mother gave Emma some instructions:

“If he asks your name, say Emma Jane; if he asks how old you are, say you are eight years old, if he asks who made you, say God made me.”

The clergyman arrived in due time, and, putting down his hat and Bible approached little Emma and, patting her head, asked:

“What is your name, little girl?”

“Emma Jane.”

“And how old are you, Emma Jane?”

“Eight years old,” replied Emma Jane.

“Well, well, well! Isn’t that fine! Do you know who made you, Emma Jane?”

The little girl hesitated for several moments, and then she replied:

“Mamma did tell me the man’s name, but I’ve gone and forgotten it.”

SEND A GLEAM ACROSS THE WAVE

As the boat was sinking, the skipper lifted his voice to ask:

“Does anybody know how to pray?”

A Methodist parson stepped forward confidently.

“Yes, Captain, I do.”

The captain nodded.

“That’s all right then,” he declared. “You go ahead and pray. The rest of us will put on life-belts. They’re one short.”

A LITTLE STATISTICAL ORGY

Burdette quotes as follows a year’s statistics of parochial work, as compiled by a young curate:

“Preached 104 sermons, 18 mortuary discourses, solemnized 21 hymnal ceremonies, delivered 17 lectures, of which 16 were on secular and all the rest on religious subjects; made 39 addresses, of which all but 27 were on matters most nearly touching the vital religious concerns of the church, read aloud in church 156 chapters of the Bible, 149 of which were very long ones; made pastoral calls, 312; took tea on such occasion, 312 times; distributed 804 tracts; visited the sick several times; sat on the platform at temperance and other public meetings 47 times; had the headache Sunday mornings, and so was compelled to appear in a condition of physical pain, nervous prostration and bodily distress that utterly unfitted me for preaching 104 times; picnics attended, 10; dinners, 37; suffered from attacks of malignant dyspepsia, 37 times; read 748 hymns; instructed the choir in regard to the selection of tunes, 1 time; had a severe cold 104 times; sore throat, 104 times; malaria, 104 times; wrote 3,120 pages of sermons; declined invitations to tea, 1 time; started the tune in prayer meeting, 2 times; started the wrong tune, 2 times; sung hymns that nobody else knew, 2 times; received into church membership, 3; dismissed by letter, 49; expelled, 16; lost, strayed, or stolen, 137.”

OPTIONS

A colored deacon who was the leader in a congregation down South, wrote to the bishop to explain the need of a minister for the church. He concluded his appeal as follows:

“Send us a Bishop to preach. If you can’t send us a Bishop, send us a Sliding Elder. If you can’t send us a Sliding Elder, send us a Stationary Preacher. If you can spare him, send us a Circus Rider. If you can’t spare him, send us a Locust Preacher. And if you can’t send us a Locust Preacher, send us an Exhauster.”

HELL BENT

The deacon had been dead a week. A parishioner, meeting the parson of his church on the street one day inquired:

“When do you expect to see Deacon Jones again?”

“Never, never again!” the minister declared solemnly. “The deacon is in heaven.”

OH THEM WORDS!

When the colored couple were being married by the clergyman, and the word “love, honor and obey” were spoken, the bridegroom interrupted:

“Read that again, suh! Read it once moah, so’s de lady kin ketch the full solemnity ob de meanin’. I’se been married befoah.”

IS PROGRESS AN ILLUSION?

The kindly clergyman, newly come to the parish, was at great pains to teach an illiterate old man, crippled with rheumatism, his letters so he could read the Bible. On the clergyman’s return after a short absence from the parish, he met the old man’s wife.

“And how is Thomas making out with reading his Bible?”

“Bless you, sir,” the wife declared proudly, “he’s out of the Bible and into the newspaper long ago.”

OH, SISTER AIN’T THAT HOT

The deacon carried a chain to the blacksmith to have a link welded. When he returned to the shop a few hours later, he saw the chain lying on the floor, and picked it up. It was just next to red hot, and the deacon dropped it with an ejaculation:

“Hell!”

Then he added hastily: “I like to have said.”

WHAT MATTER OF MEN ARE THESE?

A Protestant Episcopal clergyman was walking down a city street wearing the garb of his profession. He was seen by two Irish boys.

“Good morning, Father,” said one of the boys.

“Hush, he ain’t no father,” said the other, “he’s got a wife and two kids.”

THE SUN ALSO RISES

The aged colored clergyman, who made up in enthusiasm what he lacked in education, preached a sermon on the verse of the Psalm, “Awake, Psaltery and Harp! I myself will awake right early.”

The explanation of the words, which preceded the exhortation, was as follows:

“Awake, Peasel Tree an’ Ha’ap. I myself will awake airly. Dis yere Sam was wrote by de prophet Moses. Moses was mighty fond o’ playin’ on de ha’ap all de day long, an’ at night when he went to bed he’d hang up de ha’ap on de limb ob a Peasel tree what grew on de outside o’ de window, an’ in de mawnin’, when de sun would get up an’ shine in his face, he’d jump out o’ bed, and exclaim, ‘Wake, Peasel Tree and Ha’ap! I myself will awake airly!’”

TOTAL LOSS

Abe Jones was a colored man who made a living by chicken stealing. He was converted at a camp meeting. When the parson was receiving testimonials from the mourners’ bench, he at last called on Abe:

“Brother,” he exhorted, “won’t you tell the congregation now what the Lord has done for you?”

Abe got to his feet awkwardly, and mumbled his response in a tone tinged with bitterness:

“It sutinly looks lak de Lawd done ruint me.”

REVELATIONS

A certain country parson who used to distribute books to his parishioners as reading material, one day, deciding to surprise them, gave them each a Bible neatly wrapped up in brown paper. A few days later he called round on each of his flock, and the first place he called was at the village butchers.

“Well, Mr. Simpson,” he said, “how did you like that little book I gave you the other day?”

Simpson was rather taken aback at the query, for truth to tell, the little book still remained in its brown paper wrapping somewhere under the counter.

“Splendid!” lied Simpson bravely, “but,” he added in a burst of confidence, “it ended like they all end.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the clergyman, “in what way?”

And Simpson, thinking he was on safe ground, replied:

“Why, they lived happy ever after.”

DOESN’T IT THOUGH?

Minister’s Wife: “My husband was asking only this morning why you weren’t in the habit of attending church.”

Latest Inhabitant: “Well, you see, it does so cut into one’s Sundays.”

NOW THAT YOU’VE STUCK IT OUT THIS FAR—

An old lady in the London parish of the famous Doctor Gill made a nuisance of herself by constant interference in the affairs of others. As a gossip she was notorious. It appeared to her that the neckbands worn by the Doctor were longer than was fitting. She therefore took occasion to visit the clergyman, and harangued him at length on the sinfulness of pride. Then she exhibited a pair of scissors, and suggested that she should cut down the offending neckbands to a size fitting her ideas of propriety. The Doctor listened patiently to her exhortation, and at the end offered her the neckbands on which to work her will. She triumphantly trimmed them to her taste, and returned the shorn remnants to the minister.

“And now,” said the Doctor, “you must do me a good turn also.”

“That I will, Doctor,” the woman declared heartily. “What can it be?”

“Well,” the clergyman explained, “you have something about you which is a deal too long and which causes me and my parishioners and many others such trouble that I should like to see it shorter.”

“Indeed, dear Doctor, I shall not hesitate to gratify you. What is it? See, here are the scissors! Use them as you please.”

“Come, then,” said the Doctor, “good sister, put out your tongue.”

DOWN IN TENNESSEE

The new minister drove his two-horse rig up to the mountain ranch of one of his congregation. There had been some difference of opinion as to his qualifications. At the gate he was met by a small boy of the family, who was evidently cogitating a matter of deep perplexity.

“Be you our preacher?”

“I am.”

The boy eyed first the preacher and then the horses, his brow puckered with growing perplexity.

“That’s queer,” he drawled. “I hern Pap tell the neighbors you was a one-hoss preacher.”

THE FALL OF BROTHER BINGEY

Parson Black met one of his parishioners carrying a huge watermelon homeward one evening. As the parson approached the man made an unsuccessful effort to hide his burden under his coat.

“Did you come by dat watermelyun honestly, Bruddah Bingey?” sank out Parson Black.

“’Deed I did, pahson—I come by it honestly ebry day fo’ nigh on two weeks,” replied the melon toter.

SO

Doctor (to patient being examined for nervous disorder)—“Do you talk in your sleep?”

Parson Blub—“No, doctor. I talk in other people’s.”

ONE TEASPOON AFTER EACH MEAL

A man in the threadbare coat and a week’s beard came out of a downtown mission where he had signed the pledge and joined the church, only to be nabbed for theft half an hour later.

“Why did you make off with the pocketbook you saw this lady drop on the street?” demanded the Judge in court.

“It’s all the minister’s fault, your honor. I went to him discouraged and out of money, and he told me I must learn to take things as I found them.”

TWICE TOLD TALES

Three Scotchmen were in church one Sunday morning when the minister made a strong appeal for some worthy cause, hoping that everyone in the congregation would give at least one dollar or more. The three Scots became very nervous as the collection plate neared them. Finally one of them fainted and the other two carried him out.

AND THAT’S ALL THAT MATTERS

A Scottish minister, taking his walk early in the morning, found one of his parishioners recumbent in a ditch.

“Where ha’e ye been the nicht, Andrew?” asked the minister.

“Well, I dinna richtly ken,” answered the prostrate one, “whether it was a funeral or a wedding, but whichever it was, it was a most extraordinary success.”

AND WHO COULD?

The minister was calling on one of his wealthier, although somewhat illiterate, parishioners, soliciting a contribution toward buying a new chandelier for the church.

“Mr. Gottrocks,” began the preacher, “as you may know our church is badly in need of a chandelier, and I have been thinking that you would be willing to contribute a small sum toward the purchase of one.”

“Well, parson, about what would one of the things cost us?”

“Why, I should say that we could get a splendid chandelier for about two hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred dollars for a chandelier! What extravagance is this?”

“Well, that isn’t such an exorbitant price, as the prices of chandeliers run.”

“But even if we got one, parson, I doubt whether there’s a single person in the congregation who’d know how to play it.”

DON’T WEAR NO BLACK

Before a house where a colored man had died, a small darkey was standing erect at one side of the door. It was about time for the services to begin, and the parson appeared from within and said to the darkey:

“De services are about to begin. Ain’t yo’ a-gwine in?”

“I’se would if I’se could, parson,” answered the little negro, “but yo’ see I’se de crape.”

SOME LIKE ’EM STIFF

In a country church the curate was asked by the rector to give out two notices, the first of which was about baptisms, and the latter had to do with a new hymn book. Owing to an accident he inverted the order, and gave out as follows:

“I am requested to give notice that the new hymn book will be used for the first time in this church on Sunday next, and I am also requested to call attention to the delay which often takes place in bringing children to be baptized; they should be brought on the earliest day possible. This is particularly pressed on mothers who have young babies.”

“And for the information of those who have none,” added the rector, in gentle, kindly tones, and who, being deaf, had not heard what had been previously said, “for the information of those who have none I may state that, if wished, they can be obtained on application in the vestry immediately after service today. Limp ones, twenty-five cents each; with stiff backs, fifty cents.”

DON’T LOOK FOR THIS IN THE GOOD BOOK

The Negro preacher had successfully concealed the fact that he had served a term in prison, but long years of upright living had not destroyed his fear of exposure.

One Sunday on rising to begin his sermon his heart sank on seeing in one of the front pews a former cellmate.

Quick thinking was necessary. Turning the Bible around a couple of times to gain time, he fixed his eye on the stranger and delivered himself slowly and impressively as follows:

“Ah takes mah text dis mawnin’ from de sixty-fifth chaptuh an de fo’ hundudth vu’se ob de Gospel ob Saint John, which says, ‘Dem as sees me an’ knows me, an’ says nothin’, dem will Ah see later.”

OR AT LEAST GET A PAIN

A negro preacher addressed his flock with great earnestness on the subject of “Miracles” as follows:

“My beloved friends, de greatest ob all miracles was ’bout de loaves and fishes. Dey was 5,000 loaves and 2,000 fishes and de twelve apostles had to eat ’em all. De miracle is, dey didn’t bust.”

OH, YE GODS AND—!

The Rev. Adam Apple, off on a vacational fishing trip, was horrified to hear a youthful angler using words that were dyed a dark, deep electric blue.

“My boy,” he remonstrated, “don’t you know that the fish will never bite if you swear like that?”

“I know I ain’t very good at it,” replied the youngster apologetically, “but I thought maybe I could get some little ones on the few words I know. Here, you take my pole and see what you can do.”

ANOTHER CASE OF SCOTCH

John B. Gough was fond of telling of a laird and his servant Sandy. The two were on their way home on horseback late at night, and both were much muddled by drink. At a ford where the bank was steep, the laird fell head first into the creek. He scrambled up, and shouted to his servant:

“Hold on, Sandy! Something fell off—I heard it splash!”

Sandy climbed down from the saddle, and waded about blindly in the shallow water, with groping hands. At last, he seized on the laird.

“Why, it’s yerself, mon, as fell oof!”

“No, Sandy,” the master declared stoutly. “It can’t be me—here I am.” Then he added: “But if it is me, get me back on the horse.”

Sandy helped the laird to the horse, and boosted him up astride. In the dark, the rider was faced the wrong way to.

“Gie me the reins,” the master ordered.

Sandy felt about the horse’s rump, and then cried out, clutching the tail:

“It waur the horse’s head as fell off—nothin’ left but the mane!”

“Gie me the mane, then,” the laird directed stolidly. “I must een hae something to hold on.”

So, presently, when he had the tail firmly grasped in both hands, and Sandy had mounted, the procession began to move. Whereat, the laird shouted in dismay:

“Haud on, Sandy! It’s gaein’ the wrang way!”

“H” AS IN “AT”

The parson’s daughter spoke pleasantly, but with a hint of rebuke, to one of her father’s humble parishioners:

“Good morning, Giles. I haven’t noticed you in church for the last few weeks.”

“No, miss,” the man answered. “I’ve been oop at Noocastle a-vistin’ my old ’aunts. And strange, miss, ain’t it, I don’t see no change in ’em since I was a child like?”

The parson’s daughter was duly impressed.

“What wonderful old ladies they must be!”

But the man shook his head, and explained with remarkable clearness:

“I didn’t say ‘arnts’, miss. I said ‘awnts’—’aunts where I used to wander in my childhood days like.”

UPSIE GO!

“Now, children,” said the Sunday school teacher, “I have told you the story of Jonah and the whale. Willie, you may tell me what this story teaches.”

“Yes’m,” said Willie, the bright-eyed son of the pastor; “it teaches that you can’t keep a good man down.”

WHAT IMPERTINENCE!

The young lady worker for the Sunday school called on the newly wedded pair.

“I am endeavoring to secure new scholars,” she explained. “Won’t you send your children?”

When she was informed that there were no children in the family as yet, she continued brightly:

“But won’t you please send them when you do have them?”

FOR 2¢ I’D LEAVE THIS OUT

The Sunday school teacher examined his new class.

“Who made the world?” he demanded. Nobody seemed to know. He repeated the question somewhat sternly. As the silence persisted, he frowned and spoke with increased severity:

“Children, I must know who made the world!”

Then, at last, a small boy piped up in much agitation:

“Oh, sir, please, sir, it wasn’t me!”

JUST FEATURE THAT, DEARIE

A clerical visitor to the city entered a taxicab. No sooner was the door closed than the car leaped forward violently, and afterward went racing wildly along the street, narrowly missing collision with innumerable things. The preacher, naturally enough, was terrified. He thrust his head through the open window of the door, and shouted at the chauffeur:

“Please, be careful, sir! I’m nervous. This is the first time I ever rode in a taxi.”

The driver yelled in reply, without turning his head:

“That’s all right, duke. It’s the first time I ever drove one!”

CRITICISM

They were threading homeward from the village kirk one Sunday morning. And as the congregation dispersed, Mrs. Gilfillan accosted Mrs. Macleod with:

“Hoo did ye like that young mon we had today?”

“Weel, I had jist three faults to his sermon,” replied the discerning Mrs. Macleod.

“And wha’ were these?”

“Weel,” she said, “firstly, it was read; and secondly, it wasna read weel; and thirdly, it wasna worth reading.”

CATASTROPHE

Nothing if not ambitious, the young minister determined on a plan to gain him greater popularity.

“Well, John,” he said to the beadle after service one Sunday, “I was just thinking it might greatly enhance my sermons if you would oblige me by saying ‘Amen’ now and then.”

“Right! Right! I weel, sir, but hoo am I to ken whaun tae say ‘Amen’?” inquired the sturdy John.

“I’ll have a bag of green peas beside me, John, and if you sit under the pulpit I’ll drop one when I wish you to speak,” was the reply.

The following Sunday all went well for a time. The minister would drop a pellet, and John would respond with a hearty “Amen!” But all of a sudden John began to exclaim hurriedly:

“Amen! amen! amen! amen! amen! amen! amen-amen-amen ame——”

“Hush, John!” the minister whispered. “The bag’s burst!”

WHO SHOULD COME AROUND THE CORNER BUT——

He was, among other things, an Episcopalian clergyman and a prohibition crusader. In this latter capacity never did he let pass an opportunity to deal the Rum Curse sharp, thudding blows.

One Sunday night, after his sermon, he found it necessary to ride uptown on a crowded surface car. After a few blocks had been passed, a young man, decidedly under the influence of juniper juice, boarded the car, and groggily caught a strap beside the clergyman. The divine looked at the swaying young man with strong disapproval for a few minutes, then tapped him on the shoulder and addressed him:

“Young man, if you knew how sorely it grieves my heart to see you exposed to public ridicule in such a condition, you would never allow alcoholic liquor to pass your lips again.”

The young man turned on the cleric a bleary eye, looked him over, considered his clerical garments, and, hiccoughing slightly, replied in a jovial bellow:

“Shay, you gotta lotta right to talk, you have! Shandin’ there with your collar on backwards!”

IT’S BAD FOR THE EYES

The president of a fresh water college in the middle west was a doctor of divinity and an ardent foe of the Demon Rum. Evil reports had filtered in and reached the reverend doctor’s ears. One of the students, it was being bruited about, was in the habit of absorbing more liquor than was good for him and the reputation of the school’s prohibitive policies. The president, a conscientious man, determined to do his duty and investigate the matter.

Meeting the young man under suspicion on a campus walk shortly after breakfast one morning the Doctor of Divinity walked up to him and pompously demanded:

“Young man, do you drink?”

“Why-why-why,” stammered the young man, “why, doctor, not so early in the morning, thank you.”

THE HEIGHT OF HER AMBITION

An old Negro preacher was doing the baptising; the candidate for immersion was a coal-black Negro woman. The man of God led her far out into the stream, where she could be thoroughly wetted; then called out in a loud voice:

“Stiddy, sistah, stiddy—one dip and you’ll come up whiter dan snow!”

“Oh, preachah,” she cooed, “dat’s axin’ too much of de Lawd. A cream color’ll do.”

HALP! HALP!

The little meenister, walking down the lane one foggy night, fell into a deep hole. He shouted for help, and after some time a burly laborer heard his cries and approached.

“Who are ye?” he asked.

“I’m the meenister,” was the agitated reply. “Help me oot quickly, my gude mon!”

“Weel, weel, ye needna’ make sic a howl,” answered the other slowly. “This is only Wednesday night, an’ ye’ll no’ be wanted before the Sawbath.”

MODERN EFFICIENCY

A negro preacher, whose supply of hominy and bacon was running low, decided to take radical steps to impress upon his flock the necessity for contributing to the church exchequer. Accordingly, at the close of the sermon he made an impressive pause and then proceeded:

“Breddren an’ sistern, I have foun’ it necessary, on account of de astringency of de hard times, an’ de general deficiency of de church, to interduce a new autermatic collection-box.”

He paused; a puzzled sister called out, “Praise Jee-sus,” then grew suddenly silent.

“We is praisin’ Him dis way. It am so arranged dat a half a dollah or a silvah quahtah falls on de red plush widout any noise; a nickel will ring a small bell distinctly heard by the congregation; an’ a suspender button, my breddren, will fire off a pistol. So you will please govren yo’selves accordin’ly. Let de collection now proceed, while I takes off my hat an’ lines out de hymn, ‘Give yo’ hearts to Gawd Ermighty, an yo’ pocket book to me!’”

WHY CONDUCTORS DIE YOUNG

A pompous little clergyman with gold-rimmed spectacles and a thoughtful brow boarded the street car and took the only unoccupied seat. For a while the little preacher contented himself with sniffing contemptuously at his neighbor, but finally he summoned the conductor.

“Conductor,” he demanded indignantly, “do you permit drunken people to ride on this car?”

“No, sir,” replied the guard in a confidential whisper. “But don’t say a word and stay where you are, sir. If ye hadn’t told me, I’d never have noticed ye.”

PURE CARELESSNESS

It was visiting day at the prison and the uplifters were on deck.

“My good man,” said one kindly lady, “I hope that since you have come here you have had time for meditation and have decided to correct your faults.”

“I have that, mum,” replied the prisoner in heartfelt tones. “Believe me, the next job I pull, this baby wears gloves.”

UNDRESSED WHITE KIDS

A Southern family had a coal-black cook named Sarah, and when her husband was killed in an accident Sarah appeared on the day of the funeral dressed in a sable outfit except in one respect. “Why, Sarah,” said her mistress, “what made you get white gloves?” Sarah drew herself up and said in tones of dignity, “Don’t you s’pose I wants dem niggahs to see dat I’se got on gloves?”

JUST WHAT HE WAS

Sam Jones, the great white evangelist, on one occasion preached a sermon to an immense concourse of colored people. After he had finished a stout old colored woman waddled up to him, seized his hand, and pumped it up and down vigorously.

“Gawd bless you, Brudder Jones! You is everybody’s preacher, black as well as white! You may have a white skin, Brudder, but you is sho got a black heart!”

WHY THE SISTER GOT HAPPY

In one of the small churches in a country town the pastor took for the text of his sermon: “Better Church Attendance.”

The parson held forth on the theme that the automobile has taken more people away from the church than any other thing. He concluded with the explanation:

“The Ford car has taken more people to hell than any other thing I can mention.”

Whereupon an old lady in the congregation began to clap her hands and moan:

“Glory to God! Praise Gee-sus! Shout His Name!”

“Why, what’s the matter, sister?” asked the preacher.

The old sister’s moan rose to a shout and she began to quiver like a car load full of jello in a freight train. Pretty soon the parson began to grow vexed, and he spoke sharply:

“Sister, sister, what’s wrong with you? What’s the meanings of these carryings-on?”

The old lady stopped shaking for a moment to answer in a powerful voice:

“A Ford never went anywhere it couldn’t come back from, so I reckon all them folks in hell will be comin’ back some day. So praise His Name!”

ANY PLACE ELSE BUT THERE

Parson (visiting prison): “Am I right in presuming that it was your passion for strong drink that brought you here?”

Prisoner: “I don’t think you can know this place, guv’nor. It’s the last place on earth I’d come to if I was looking for anything to drink.”

TAKES ALL KINDS OF DEVILS TO MAKE A HELL

There was an old Scottish pagan in a small village who could by no means be persuaded to attend church. One day the minister met him and began:

“Hoo is it, John, ye are sae persistent in yer absence from the kirk?”

“Weel, it’s like this—the sermons are ower lang fer me.”

“John! John!” wrathfully cried the minister, “ye’ll dee and ye’ll gang tae a place where ye’ll hear no sermon, lang or short!”

“Ah, weel, maybe that will be,” replied the phlegmatic John, “but I’m sure it’ll no’ be fer want o’ meenisters.”

GOOD GRIEF!

At the wake, the bereaved husband displayed all the evidences of frantic grief. He cried aloud heart-rendingly, and tore his hair. The other mourners had to restrain him from leaping into the open coffin.

The next day, a friend who had been at the wake encountered the widower on the street and spoke sympathetically of the great woe displayed by the man.

“Did you go to the cemetery for the burying?” the stricken husband inquired anxiously, and when he was answered in the negative, continued proudly: “It’s a pity ye weren’t there. Ye ought to have seen the way I cut up.”

SHE SHOUTED, BROTHER

It was a typical Holy Roller revival service, and the minister had just appealed to the pent up audience to “hit the sawdust trail.”

One buxom old dame who had been quivering convulsively all evening suddenly sprang to her feet and yelled, “Last night I was in the arms of the Devil, but tonight I am in the arms of the Lord!”

Voice from the rear of the tabernacle calls out: “Have you got a date for tomorrow night, sister?”

THE CIRCUS RIDER

The most absent-minded of clergyman was a Methodist minister who served several churches each Sunday, riding from one to another on horseback. One Sunday morning he went to the stable while still meditating on his sermon and attempted to saddle the horse. After a long period of toil, he aroused to the fact that he had put the saddle on himself, and had spent a full half hour in vain efforts to climb on his own back.

AND THE TIME DOES FLY!

The colored man was condemned to be hanged, and was awaiting the time set for execution in a Mississippi jail. Since all other efforts had failed him, he addressed a letter to the governor, with a plea for executive clemency. The opening paragraph left no doubt as to his urgent need:

“Dear Boss: The white folks is got me in dis jail fixin’ to hang me on Friday mornin’ and here it is Wednesday already.”

HOT PANTS

Some wasps built their nests during the week in a Scotch clergyman’s best breeches. On the Sabbath as he warmed up to his preaching, the wasps, too, warmed up, with the result that presently the minister was leaping about like a jack in the box, and slapping his lower anatomy with great vigor, to the amazement of the congregation.

“Be calm, brethren,” he shouted. “The word of God is in my mouth, but the De’il’s in my breeches!”

HERE’S HOW

In the days before prohibition, a bibulous person issued from a saloon in a state of melancholy intoxication, and outside the door he encountered the parson of his church.

The pastor exclaimed mournfully:

“Oh, John, I am so sorry to see you come out of such a place as that!”

The bibulous one wept sympathetically.

“Then,” he declared huskily, “I’ll go right back!” And he did.

SAW, HEIFER, SAW!

The clergyman, absorbed in thinking out a sermon, rounded a turn in the path and bumped into a cow. He swept off his hat with a flourish, exclaiming:

“I beg your pardon, madam.”

Then he observed his error, and was greatly chagrined. Soon, however, again engaged with thoughts of the sermon, he collided with a lady at another bend of the path.

“Get out of the way, you brute!” he said.

Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious punctuation errors have been silently corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences in this work. Some hyphens in words have been silently removed when a predominant preference was found in the original work. Except for those changes noted below, original spellings in the text and inconsistent or dialectic usage have been retained.

Forward: “or the pronounciation” replaced by “or the pronunciation”.

Page 12: “a itinerant evangelist” replaced by “an itinerant evangelist”.

Page 19: “to the postoffice” replaced by “to the post office”.

Page 20: “as to the seperation” replaced by “as to the separation”.

Page 21: “attend Sunday Sunday” replaced by “attend Sunday”.

Page 28: “rather along sermon” replaced by “rather a long sermon”.

Page 29: “best felictatory” replaced by “best felicitatory”.

Page 36: “absent-imnded” replaced by “absent-minded”.

Page 37: “clergyman again pused” replaced by “clergyman again paused”.

Page 44: “Psaltery and and Harp” replaced by “Psaltery and Harp”.

Page 45: “Mr. Simson” replaced by “Mr. Simpson”.

Page 45: “Simson was rather” replaced by “Simpson was rather”.

Page 61: “visting prison” replaced by “visiting prison”.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BEST JOKES ABOUT PREACHERS ***

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Table of Contents

- The Best Jokes About Preachers
- FOREWORD
- THE BEST JOKES ABOUT PREACHERS
- Transcriber’s Notes
- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE