St. Peter leaned closer and whispered:
“Every time Sister Angela walked into church, attendance doubled.”
Father Michael blinked.
“What?”
St. Peter nodded.
“Men came from three towns away.”
Father Michael stared at the magnificent mansion.
Then at Sister Angela.
Then back at St. Peter.
“You mean…”
St. Peter grinned.
“Many came because she was beautiful.”
Father Michael folded his arms.
“Aha! Then they weren’t inspired by faith at all.”
“At first, no.”
“But after they arrived, they listened to your sermons.”
Father Michael paused.
St. Peter continued.
“They joined Bible studies.”
“They volunteered.”
“They brought their families.”
“They were baptized.”
“They donated.”
“They became faithful church members.”
Father Michael’s eyes widened.
“So…”
St. Peter smiled.
“Your sermons kept them there.”
“But Sister Angela got them through the door.”
The nun laughed.
Father Michael looked horrified.
“You’re telling me forty years of ministry succeeded because people had a crush on a nun?”
St. Peter shrugged.
“Heaven uses whatever works.”
The nearby angels started laughing.
Father Michael wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.
Then St. Peter handed him a thick ledger.
“Look for yourself.”
Father Michael opened it.
Page after page listed names.
Thousands of them.
Beside many entries appeared the same note:
First attended church because of Sister Angela.
He flipped another page.
Same thing.
Another page.
Same thing.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Eventually Father Michael closed the book.
Slowly.
Then looked at the nun.
“Do you mean to tell me you knew?”
Sister Angela smiled innocently.
“Oh, Father. Of course I knew.”
“You did?”
“Certainly.”
“And you never said anything?”
She laughed.
“What was I supposed to say? ‘Please stop coming to church because you think I’m pretty’?”
Even St. Peter chuckled.
Then Sister Angela added:
“Once they arrived, they met God.”
The gates of Heaven fell silent.
Because she was right.
People came for the wrong reasons.
But many stayed for the right ones.
Father Michael shook his head.
“I spent forty years thinking I was doing all the work.”
Sister Angela winked.
“Team effort, Father.”
Then St. Peter placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Besides…”
Father Michael looked up.
St. Peter smiled.
“Your cabin isn’t permanent.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
Father Michael brightened immediately.
“So I get a mansion too?”
St. Peter laughed.
“No.”
Father Michael groaned.
Then St. Peter pointed toward a hill overlooking Heaven.
Construction crews of angels were working on an enormous estate.
Bigger than Sister Angela’s.
Far bigger.
Father Michael stared.
“Who’s that for?”
St. Peter smiled.
“The elderly church secretary who made sure both of you showed up on time for forty years.”
This time Sister Angela nearly fainted. 😄
