The Ballad of Reverend Gainsworthy and the Christian Vibrator

Reverend Joshua P. Gainsworthy, a man whose smile could charm the gold fillings right out of your teeth, presided over the Church of the Golden Arches. Not those Golden Arches, mind you, but a pair of truly magnificent, gilded arches that welcomed a flock of over ten thousand souls. On high holy days like Christmas and Easter, the church was so packed, even the angels had to stand in the aisles.

Now, Reverend Gainsworthy was a masterful preacher. He had the vocal range of a gospel choir, the dramatic timing of a Broadway star, and a knack for finding just the right passage to tug at the heartstrings – or, more accurately, the purse strings. Because, let’s be honest, Reverend Gainsworthy loved money. And he knew, with the precision of a seasoned prospector, that his richest vein of generosity flowed from the elderly women of his congregation. Bless their cotton socks and their generous spirits.

He often mused, “A happy woman is a giving woman,” and he’d scour the Good Book for passages that supported this profound theological insight. His favorite, though not always directly quoted, was the spirit of, “Let joy be your strength, and let your strength be… well, joyful!”

One fateful Sunday, the air in the Church of the Golden Arches crackled with anticipation. Reverend Gainsworthy, resplendent in his finest robes, ascended the pulpit. He began softly, a low hum that vibrated through the pews, drawing every eye, particularly those of the front-row matriarchs. He spoke of life’s burdens, the aches and pains of aging, the quiet solitude that sometimes settled in the twilight years. He went high, he went low, he whispered, he thundered, and he had them, every last one of those dear elderly women, hanging on his every word.

Then, with a dramatic pause that could rival a Shakespearean soliloquy, he leaned into the microphone, his voice dropping to a confidential, almost conspiratorial tone. “My beloved sisters,” he intoned, “I have recently been privy to a most… enlightening medical paper. A paper, mind you, from the most reputable of scientific journals, that reveals a startling truth about the well-being of our esteemed senior ladies.”

A collective gasp rippled through the congregation. What could it be? A new diet? A miracle cure for bunions?

“This paper,” Reverend Gainsworthy continued, his eyes twinkling, “indicates that a significant number of our precious elderly women, when confined to their beds, often… shall we say… engage in activities that, while perhaps bringing a moment of personal solace, can put an undue strain on the heart.”

The elderly women blinked. A few shifted uncomfortably. The younger congregants exchanged bewildered glances.

Then, with the flourish of a magician revealing his grand finale, Reverend Gainsworthy reached under his pulpit. He pulled out, with reverence usually reserved for the Holy Grail, a sleek, pearlescent device. It hummed softly in his hand.

“Behold!” he proclaimed, holding it aloft like a sacred relic. “I give you… The Christian Vibrator!“

A hush fell. Then, a few titters. Then, outright gasps.

“My dear sisters,” he continued, completely unfazed, “this is not merely a device. This is a tool for joyous longevity! The medical paper, you see, also suggested that a more… efficient and less strenuous path to personal satisfaction could actually reduce cardiac strain! And what, I ask you, is more Christian than living a long, happy, and heart-healthy life?”

He demonstrated its gentle hum, its ergonomic design. “It’s perfectly permissible, my dears! An electrical device, sanctioned by modern science and, dare I say, by the very spirit of joy that God intends for us all! Less strain on the heart, more satisfaction in the soul! You deserve to live long, vibrant lives!”

The elderly women, initially stunned, began to murmur amongst themselves. Less strain? More satisfaction? This sounded… surprisingly appealing.

“And today, my beloved flock,” Reverend Gainsworthy boomed, his voice swelling with righteous fervor, “as a special, one-time offering, to ensure your continued health and happiness, we are making The Christian Vibrator available for a modest donation of only $400 each!”

The line formed before the benediction was even finished. The ushers, usually collecting tithes, were now briskly handling transactions. The hum of the vibrators, still in their boxes, seemed to fill the air. By the end of the day, over 1,000 Christian Vibrators had found new homes. Reverend Gainsworthy, watching the piles of cash grow, screamed “Hallelujah!” with a joy that was undeniably genuine.

In just one month, the sales soared past $10,000,000. The Church of the Golden Arches was awash in a new kind of prosperity.

The very next morning, a Monday, the church staff arrived to find a note tacked to the pulpit. It read: “Gone fishing for souls (and maybe some sunshine). Blessings, Rev. J.P.G.” Reverend Gainsworthy was nowhere to be found. He had, indeed, pulled off his white collar, donned a ridiculously loud Hawaiian shirt, and vanished without a trace. No one ever heard from him again.

But here’s the truly unbelievable part: Not one of the elderly women complained. Not a single one. They all had a special, quiet place in their hearts, and in their nightstands, where they remembered Reverend Gainsworthy each time they turned their new “joy-enhancer” on. And, to the surprise of absolutely no one, many of the men, after a bit of discreet inquiry, also found themselves in possession of a Christian Vibrator, discovering that heart-healthy satisfaction was, indeed, a universal desire.

It was, truly, a magnificent story. And a very profitable one.