Watchdog's Remake of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" - in Honor of Ronnie Floyd and David Platt

Below is a remake of my 2009 "Twas the Sunday Before Christmas". You'll like the additions I'm sure!

I did this remake after I got so darned confused this past week by conflicting statements about my money uttered by two heavies in the SBC: President Ronnie Floyd, and International Mission Board President David Platt.

Ronnie Floyd told us church members we have only until December 31st to come into obedience and pay the full 10% tithe on ALL the 2014 income we have earned. I know the IRS gives us 3 1/2 months grace, but Ronnie says his SBC churches, need all the cash NOW.

But then I read David Platt told Christians they should write God a "blank check" so that people all over the world can hear the gospel. He didn't say where I should send this blank check to God, or if I need to make it out to "God" or someone else. My hunch is that sending it to the IMB is where David believes God wants me to send it.

In my confused state, I decided to stiff both Ronnie and David, and as my gift to the SBC and David and Ronnie, offer up this version of:

"Twas the Sunday Before Christmas"

'Twas the Sunday before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The accounting was done, all revenue included with care,

In hopes that by tithing, God's blessings soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds;

But their needs must come second, or God's collection tactics we dread;

And mama in her Jaguar, and I in my Lexus,

Had just bought our beach house which is much better than Texas,

When up on the platform there arose such a clatter,

I sat up in my pew to see what was the matter.

Up on the stage, a man ranted and stomped, like a flash;

So I tore open my wallet and forked over my cash.

The man on the platform turned white as the new-fallen snow,

His face twisted and somber as giving was low,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a jolly fat admin pastor to whisper a prayer,

With an arrogant tone, he prayed so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment Pastor's boots he would lick.

More rapid than eagles his pleadings they came,

And he stomped, and he shouted, and called us by name:

"Now, Yes Man! now, Gullible! now Cursed and Robber!

On, Thief! On, Lost Man! On, Kool-Aid Drinker!

To the top of the heavens! To Nehemiah's wall!

Give cash away! Cash away! Cash away all!"

As bullies that before the weak listeners cry,

When they meet with a budget obstacle, amounts to the sky;

So up to the pulpit the followers of men flew

With the wallets full of cash, assets, dividends too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard alas,

The stomping and mugging of one pompous ass.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the aisle Mega Pastor came with a bound.

He was dressed all in the fanciest of suits, I didn't dare blink;

And his clothes were all accessorized with golden cuff links;

A bundle of rage he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a horse's ass and just like a quack.

His beady rat eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And what hair remained on his bald head was as white as the snow;

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he stomped, like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had everything to dread;

He said he spoke God's word, misusing verses to support his work,

And filled his own pockets; wow, what a jerk,

And sticking his finger high in the air,

He showed that church what he thought of  non-tithers there;

He sprang to the exit, to his enablers he gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, ere he stomped so erect,

“Catch up on your tithing, or be sure God will collect!"