Absentmindedly, out of habit, the preacher kisses his missus goodnight. Sleepless, he battles and loses against recurring shameful thoughts of that voluptuous, fornicating woman in that movie. His review to his congregation will insist that the movie be boycotted for indecency.
In the morning he wraps resentment with hypocrisy of kindness and not so subtly tells his wife she's become fat and ugly. Her spirit dies.
Eloquently, he preaches that day about love and lust and how thou shalt not kill.
At home during Sunday brunch he misses his children, but pretends he's just as well without them. He wishes he had had a son instead of those promiscuous girls. One ran away when she was sixteen. She's a hooker now. The other lives in New York with some guy. Already she's had countless lovers. When she calls, she only talks to her mother.
“The evils of materialism, secularism and technology suffocate us, blind us and deceive us. We will be doomed, unless we open our eyes and repent.” He shouts from his pulpit the following Sunday, as his ego swells with feelings of superiority towards the poor, ignorant sinners before him.
That week his house, car, most of his possessions and his church are demolished by a tornado. He is forced to accept the hospitality of an atheist family who volunteered their home via the internet to victims of the storm.
He holds church under a tent in the park that week. When he stands before his pulpit, which unlike his wife, miraculously survived, he is struck by lightning. Not from the sky but from something that comes from inside of him. Speechless he walks away and never returns.
He likes the space under the bridge but occasionally he stays at the homeless shelter where nothing is expected of him. He is happy now that he's convinced of nothing... except One thing.