Dammit, I think Jim’s got us cornered on this one, The Miracle of Monday: Or, Proof of the Existence of God.
You see, beloved reader (and the several of you only loved by your mother, if even by them), every single Sunday there are reams and loads and bucketfull’s of Christian people who are laid up on the bed of infirmity. They aren’t able to utter any more than these three words, and them only through strained and strangled terminally ill voices: “I’m not going.” Of course where they aren’t going is off to worship.
But here’s where the miracle happens: those same virtually terminally ill are miraculously and amazingly healed on Monday morning! Hallelujah! Freed from their terrible infirmity of a mere 24 hours previously (and usually quite sooner, usually in fact around 12:30 p.m. on Sunday itself) they are able to go to work, go to the park, go to their favorite theater, and pursue all manner of interests which they adore!
It’s a miracle!!!!!!
As dis-confirming evidence, I cite my experience in Green Bay, where many a Christian is still laid up (read: hungover) on Monday morning.