Nobody would argue, at least for long, that we have sacrificed millions of chickens through years at altar of Christian ministry. Who would think of inviting parson to supper without serving chicken?

Personally, I have had chicken served to me every way imaginable. A few times, I must admit, some hosts cooked fowl of ministerial choice to point of non-recognition.

I break no wishbones over this. I have learned to take what I get and ask no questions. The trouble with asking is, somebody always feels obligated to answer. Some things I do not want to know, such as: What is that, doing breaststroke, in gravy?

As a minister, I have consumed my fair share of fine-feathered fowl in all of its glory. The truth is, chickens are not only fowl of consumption within scope of ministerial experience.

But, those who have spent any time in sacred ministry know that one bird outranks lowly chicken. That special fowl is Corvus brachyrhynchos. That's right; common crow.

Believe me, there is nothing common about this bird except that it is plentiful. The successful minister soon discovers and masters fine art of eating crow. And this is really something to crow about.

On surface, crow does not look like much, but that's just surface. Under all those feathers is a large, chunky, ebony bird. I should know; I've been eating crow for more than 30 wonderful years.

I must admit, it did take some adjusting on my part. Crow cuisine is an acquired taste n a minister acquires it from his parishioners. There is nothing called "Eating Crow 101" in any seminary in our country n but there should be. It is most important aspect of Christian ministry.

I learned this hard way.

The lesson was brought home to me in early days of my pastoral ministry. It began quite innocently, as all things this important do. In my first parish, I found myself walking down main street. This, in itself, is astounding. Many people spend years trying to find themselves. Fortunately for me, I did not have to look very hard.

Those early ministry days can be quite precarious. Anything can happen and never for good.

On other side of street, I spied a young chap I recognized from my church. Standing on porch of a large white house, he struggled to reach doorbell. A small lad, he had to jump and still he could not reach doorbell. (There is a reason doorbells are placed so that small boys cannot reach them, but at time of incident, I did not know these things.)

-- Collected, compiled and cranked out by "The Quipping Queen" for your amusement and delight --

As ho ho ho season rolls around, one is reminded of some very wicked words from a few wise men, a smattering of witty women, and a handful of weird wee folk who wish to remain anonymous.

"A Merry Christmas to all my friends except two." (W.C. Fields)

"I am a poor man, but I would gladly give ten shillings to find out who sent me insulting Christmas card I received this morning." (George and Weedon Grossmith, The Diary of a Nobody, 1894)

"Christmas, that time to of year when people descend into bunker of family." (Byron Rogers, Daily Telegraph, 27 December 1993)

"There are some people who want to throw their arms round you simply because it is Christmas; there are other people who want to strangle you simply because it is Christmas." (Robert Lynd, “On Christmas," in The Book of This and That, 1915)

"Ever since Eve gave Adam apple, there has been a misunderstanding between sexes about gifts." (Nan Robertson, "On Christmas shopping", New York Times, 28 November 1957)

"George, a camel, stepped on foot of a Rockette; six sheep came off elevator as three kings bearing gifts got on; human Christmas trees bumped into eight maids-a-milking at water cooler and an elf came down with flu." (William E. Geist, on day “pandemonium paid a visit backstage” at opening of Radio City Music Hall’s Christmas spectacular. New York Times, 29 November 1986)