A priest goes into a pub to avoid the rain and spies a member of his congregation in there looking miserably in to his pint. ‘What’s wrong, Brian?’ asks the kindly man of God.
‘It’s my grandfather,’ replies Brian. ‘He’s just died.’
‘Well, did you not try to take him to Lourdes and get him cured?’
‘We had a whip-round in the pub and I went with him, but we had only been there an hour when he died,’ answered Brian.
‘Well,’ comforts the Priest. ‘Sometimes the Lord moves in mysterious ways.’
‘I think it was more likely to be the speed of the cricket ball that hit him in the head.’