It’s only a bit of gas!

In the quiet, reverent corridors of Saint Jude’s Parish, the air usually carried the familiar blend of beeswax candles and incense. But recently, Father Dan had begun noticing something else entirely. During his weekly visits to the convent, he often found himself crossing paths with Sister Ann. She was known for her gentle nature, her quiet devotion, and her modest demeanor. Yet over time, Father Dan couldn’t help but observe that her silhouette seemed to be… changing.

“Sister Ann,” Father Dan said one afternoon, his gaze drifting toward her midsection, which appeared to be pressing firmly against the dark fabric of her habit. “Are you… perhaps putting on a bit of holiday weight?”

Sister Ann remained perfectly composed. She smoothed her apron and offered a serene smile. “Oh no, Father,” she replied softly, bowing her head. “It’s nothing at all. Just a little gas.”

A few months passed, and the situation became far more noticeable. On his next visit, Father Dan watched Sister Ann carefully maneuver down the narrow hallway with the slow, swaying walk of someone balancing extra weight. Her habit wasn’t just snug anymore. It looked ready to give up entirely.

“Sister,” he asked again, genuine concern lining his face, “that seems like quite the discomfort you’re dealing with.”

“Just a bit of gas, Father,” she murmured, cheeks tinged pink as she hurried off toward the chapel.

The mystery resolved itself several weeks later. Father Dan was heading toward the rectory when he spotted Sister Ann coming through the garden. This time, she wasn’t alone. She was pushing a spotless navy blue baby carriage.

He stopped, adjusted his glasses, and leaned over the pram. Inside lay a peaceful, rosy cheeked infant.

Father Dan looked at the baby. Then at Sister Ann. Then back at the baby again.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes twinkling, “that is certainly one adorable little fart.”

Humor, much like faith, has a way of appearing in unexpected places. Sometimes in a convent. Sometimes in a parishioner’s living room.

Later that same week, Father Dan paid a surprise visit to Mrs. Smith, a beloved church member who had recently turned eighty five.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith,” he said as she opened the door. “I was nearby and thought I’d stop in to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, I’m just fine, Father. Come in, come in,” she said cheerfully, guiding him to a cushioned armchair. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

As they chatted at the lace covered coffee table, Father Dan noticed a crystal bowl filled with large chocolate covered almonds.

“May I try one?” he asked.

“Of course, Father. Have as many as you like.”

They spoke about church events and her garden while he absentmindedly helped himself to almond after almond until the bowl was nearly empty. Suddenly he glanced at his watch.

“Oh dear, look at the time! I’ve stayed too long. And Mrs. Smith, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve eaten all your almonds. I’ll bring you more next week.”

Mrs. Smith patted his hand with a gummy smile. “Oh, don’t trouble yourself, Father. It’s no problem. Ever since I lost my teeth, I can’t chew them anyway. I just lick the chocolate off and put them back.”

Father Dan’s day only grew more eventful.

On a sweltering Thursday, he joined a Minister and a Rabbi for a long planned hike through Secluded Pines trail. By midday, the heat was suffocating, their clerical collars soaked through.

They were relieved to discover a hidden lake with a stretch of white sand. Seeing no one around, they decided on a quick swim. They left their clothes in a neat pile on a fallen log and ran into the water.

Halfway back to shore, refreshed and dripping, they heard voices. A group of women from the town committee was approaching the beach.

Panic struck.

With no time to grab their clothes, the Minister and Father Dan covered their midsections as they ran for cover. The Rabbi, however, clapped both hands over his face and sprinted for the bushes.

Once the coast was clear and they were dressed again, the Minister asked, puzzled, “Why did you cover your face instead of… well… the important part?”

The Rabbi adjusted his hat calmly. “I don’t know about you two, but in my congregation, it’s my face they’d recognize.”

That evening, Father Dan attended a dinner hosted by a young couple from the parish. The young man was introducing his fiancée to his traditional parents. The atmosphere was polite but tense.

During dinner, the young woman, nervous and reacting to a spicy appetizer, accidentally let out a small puff of gas. Mortified, she froze.

The father in law frowned and barked at the Golden Retriever sleeping under her chair. “Rocky!”

Relieved, she realized the dog had taken the blame. A few minutes later, her nerves got the better of her again and a louder sound slipped out.

The father in law’s expression hardened. “Rocky! Watch it!”

Now feeling safe behind her furry scapegoat, she stopped holding back. A final, unmistakable blast echoed under the table.

The father in law shot to his feet, face red, pointing at the dog.

“Rocky! Get out of there fast before she does something worse to you!”