Parishioner Chet Ulcers told me a story, and I can’t help but relate it to today’s service. He said he saw his wife at the movies last week. Well, she wasn’t in the seat next to him. She wasn’t in the lobby. Course, for as long as she’d been dead, she shouldn’t have been anywhere. He saw her on the screen—big as a row boat. She was in the back of a Cro-Croa ad, dressed the way Chet said she was buried. Heh, she didn’t smile, heh he, but she sure waved. InvocationPsalm: “A Pestilence of Babies”Liturgical Reading: “Oh Poor Dennis”Concluding PrayerEveryone wrote a poem last week, and we said we’d pick our favorite one for this week’s bulletin. The winning poem was written by eight-year-old Jeck Hefthocks, and it goes like this: Can’t rub life / into a dead cat / unless thems the hands / that snuffed it. Uh oh, he’s a tricksterrr.