Megachurch Pastor Tells all Three Services They’re his Favorite, but Word Gets Out

Reverend Stone Fulsome doesn’t want a second jet. That’s impractical. Everyone knows you can’t simultaneously fly to the poor orphans in Sierra Leone and the downtrodden at McMurdo Base.

Pastor Fulsome wants an intergalactic yacht he can fly solo after being “inspired” by Jesse Duplantis’ appeal for a $600m space rocket.

The only way to raise that sort of money is to pit the multiple Sunday congregations at his main campus against each other–sort of boys against girls in kid’s church but on a grander scale.

The first step was easy enough–whatever happens in first service stays in first service. There’s no live stream, few parishioners under the age of sixty-five, and not even a fog machine on account of everybody’s inability to claim victory over Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease.

“You are the closest to God and dearest to my heart. Those child-chasing soccer moms and their snoring husbands in the second service, and the skinny-jeaned latte sippers in the third service don’t care enough about the Kingdom to give like you will. Think of the children. Think of the aliens!”

Pastor Fulsome repeated the process for the next two services without incident, preaching that an intergalactic yacht was simply a humble way to fulfil the Great Commission and go out into all the galaxy.

He modified his approach slightly: slow moving ushers with collection plates for the first service so no one felt rushed finding their reading glasses and pens to write a check, and bitcoin wallet addresses for the third service, of course.

Second service was always a toss up, depending on the cost of Trevor’s violin lessons and if Dad’s polo shirt collection needed updated. The donations came pouring in, smelling of victory and overcomeness (it’s an essential oil, look it up).

But, even with Paypal, cashier’s checks, and second offerings for loose change, Pastor didn’t think of everything necessary to finance a spaceship via donations.

Was the problem alien savages resistant to his simple prosperity message?

No, it was more outlandish than that–several parishioners stayed for more than one service! The terrible news that everyone was equally special instead of slightly more specialler caused a steep drop in donations.

Last Sunday, the good Reverend continued his push for donations, but adjusted his yacht dreams to plead for a new stand up paddle board.

Reporter: Dripping Ether