Just before the zombie reaches the doorway, you head him off, waving your arms and pleading, “please, Mr. Zombie, you are our distinguished guest! We mean no offense — right everybody???!!!“
Reluctantly, the youth group simmers down. What at first sounded like cries for war turn to please for mercy.
“Please, Mister Zombie, Please!!”
“Ohhhhh awwwwwllll rightttt,” says the flesh-rotting figure. But he stays where he is at, waiting.
“What our friend means to say,” you explain cautiously, “is that Jesus demonstrated power only God could have. At best, we can resuscitate people who have been dead for a few minutes. But it would take divine power to bring someone back like that little girl.”
Satisfied, the zombie heads out the door, waving thankyou and goodbye with his remaining arm. He leaves drops of flesh behind him as he goes.