I was parking my car at 11:30 in the morning when an obviously sloshed middle-aged man walked past me. Well, he wasn’t really walking; he was kind of teetering forward like a sawed tree ready to fall over. I pulled out my trusty Million-dollar bill Gospel tract, jumped out of the car, and asked, “Did you get one of these?” “Yeah, I did,” he slurred.

“Did ya ever read the back?”

“No, I d-d-didn’t,” he stammered.

“Oh, it’s really important! Here take another one.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably, holding out his hand to receive the Bible bucks. “You know, I’ve been a solid Christian since I was 8-years-old!” he said, thoroughly convinced that what he was saying was the truth. I was ready to warn him that the Bible says that drunks will not enter Heaven, but he stumbled away quickly saying, “I can’t talk now. I’ve got to go.”

I think he may have nipped a little too much Communion wine, and was uh, drunk in the Spirit?