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Thou Shalt Not Snore

© Henry L. Lefevre

Upon her reaching the age of maturity, an angel visited Moses' ninety-third generation granddaughter and told her, "Return to Mount Whitney for God hath a new commandment for you and your people." Like all abnormal teenagers, Serena obeyed. Upon arriving at the peak, she found God, in all Her radiant splendor holding a computer of stone. After checking her sundial, with the trace of a frown, God imparted the following wisdom. "Child," said God. "Thou hath been chosen to receive the eleventh commandment: While in my holy temple, neither thou, nor thy significant other, nor thy handmaiden, nor thy bookie shall desecrate My house by uttering raucous noises."

"What noises are those?" asked the compliant Serena.

God looked down with the hint of disgust. "Snoring," She finally said. "In church, thou shalt make joyful noises unto the Lord. Snoring disrupts My karma."

Serena gulped. Her significant other was prone to sleep through most of the service whenever he ventured into God's temple. Nevertheless, Serena passed the word on to her pastor.

Her suggestion paid off. On January 1, 2012, the hierarchy of the church passed edicts permitting the use of shock therapy and other painful stimuli to minimize snoring in church. In compliance with God's Holy edict, they also displayed torture racks in their narthexes as a warning to the wayward souls who might fall by the wayside.

Within weeks, the torture wracks began breaking due to overuse. A mile-long queue of offending parishioners soon formed.

To make matters worse, a multitude of pulpiteers gleefully increased the length of their sermons in an attempt to break into the Guineas book of records. Others increased their droning, muttering and slurring in order to ensure that their torture racks never got rusty. Sleepyhead Sam, Serena's intended, didn't disrupted the services for the first forty days.

As Serena's elbow began to develop arthritis from punching Sam in the ribs, she decided to supply the pastor and parishioners with earplugs. That worked for a while. Eventually, however, Sam's snoring exceeded the 150-decibel level and the Church Council decided that God might no longer ignore it.

Sleepyhead Sam squirmed in his seat as the Church Council put him on trial. "It isn't my fault," he blurted. With Serena's elbow in need of a rest, there's nobody here with enough guts to give me a jab in the ribs when I start nodding off. Even my lifelong friend, Grinder Jones, isn't much help."

"Don't blame me," said Grinder. "I try to wake him whenever I can but the minister's sermons put me to sleep too. I can't keep Sam alert when I'm dozing myself."

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