Just then, the farmer looks up and sees the clouds in the sky rearranging themselves to form letters. The letters say, "P.C."
"Preach Christ," exclaims the farmer. "But, of course!"
Whereupon he quits farming, enrolls in seminary and three years later finds himself in front of a congregation. The only problem is, he can't preach his way out of a paper bag, and his congregation has begun agitating for his removal.
In anguish, he falls to his knees and prays, "Lord, do you remember that day when you sent me the message in the clouds, telling me to preach Christ? I've been trying my best to do so ever since, but it's just not working. I'm beginning to think I'm not cut out for this."
Just then, a thundering voice fills the room. "No kidding," says the Lord. "When I set the letters 'P.C.' in the sky, I wasn't trying to say, 'Preach Christ.' What I really meant was: 'Plant corn.'"