A monk his entire adult life, Brother Andrew was responsible for training new scribes in the art of copying by hand -- word for word -- the holy writs. One day an eager new scribe, Brother Jonathan, asked if anyone had ever made a mistake.

"Oh no," said Brother Andrew. "These words have always been correctly copied from generation to generation." Skeptical, Brother Jonathan asked Brother Andrew how he knew. "My son," said Brother Andrew as he shuffled off toward the monastery's library, "let me get you the first volume ever written, and you will see that it is just as correct today as it was then." Many hours passed. Finally Brother Jonathan decided he had better check on the elderly monk. At the library, he spotted Brother Andrew sitting alone in a candle-lit corner, tears running down his wrinkled cheeks. "What's the matter?" Brother Jonathan asked.

"I can't believe it," Brother Andrew responded, his voice quivering with emotion. "The word is not spelled cel-I-bate, it's cel-E-brate."

IF YOU LIKE THIS JOKE, YOU'LL LOVE AND GOD SAID!