I Decided to Read It… November 30, 2012

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Having some time on my hands, I stopped off in the parking lot of a Food Lion Grocery Store and chose to enjoy doing a little reading.

While sitting there helplessly in my van, I was approached by two fellows walking through the parking lot, peering for potential prospects. I thought they would want some money, so I reached for my wallet, rolled down my window and discovered that instead of being homeless, they were out trying to find the “churchless.”

They explained that they were concerned for my soul. It was interesting that they didn’t even inquire how my soul was doing. Apparently they could tell by looking at me that I was  lost. They handed me some literature–without a smile–and invited me out to their church, which had some Old Testament name which included a salute to a minor prophet. They went on their way.

Normally, I stuff such information into a glove compartment to rediscover it six months later during a thorough cleaning of the van. But I decided to read it. There were seven things that this particular gospel tract wanted me to know.

1. I am a sinner.
2. I am presently going to hell.
3. Jesus came to die for my sins.
4. Without his blood, I am disgusting in God’s eyes.
5. But if I accept Jesus, I can receive eternal life.
6. Then I should go to church and worship God.
7. And give my tithe to the church as evidence of my faith.

Forgive me. I was unimpressed.

The offer was not very satisfying–mainly because it wasn’t on point with any of my dreams and desires. So I came up with my own format for a gospel tract. See if you like it.

1. I want to do better. (I don’t think I’m alone here…)
2. I want to prosper. (I know I’m not alone there…)
3. I want to give everybody a chance. (I may have just lost a few travelers…)
4. I really want to learn what’s right. (Several more deserters…)
5. I want to honor God by loving people. (May be getting down to a party of five but still get the egg roll….)
6. I want to start heaven now and let God surprise me with His rendition. (Renewed interest from the gallery…)
7. I want to have fun doing it. (I just got my crowd back!)

I don’t begrudge anyone their faith. It’s just that I believe faith shouldn’t look like you just came from the dentist and discovered that Walgreen’s is completely out of the pain medication you were prescribed.

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The Battle or the War… November 29, 2012

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Ego drain–locate brain.

It’s a little two-phrase process I go through every time I get ready to go to a new location to set up for my presentation. For after all, the last thing the world needs is a dose of my ego. People are not created by God to make me feel good about myself. They are exactly what Jesus said they are–interested in themselves and if they can muster enough spirituality, they may learn to be able to extend that courtesy to others, including me.

One of the standard processes I face as I journey from city to city is learning to comprehend that the American people have been taught to have an agenda for everything under the guise of protecting their self-esteem. If you want to know why we have gridlock in Congress, it’s because we have allowed a false doctrine of self-esteem to rule the mind and heart of our nation for nearly two generations. Here’s what we have been taught over the past thirty years about self-esteem:

I matter because I was born. I have an opinion. And I am great because “God don’t make no junk.”

You can say those three statements in any arena–be it secular or religious–and get thunderous applause. Unfortunately, that is NOT self-esteem. That is a formula for a struggle between people, which perpetuates a battle without ever winning a war.

If two people arrive in a room and both of them think they’re important, that their opinions matter and God believes they are great, there will be no meeting of the minds and very little potential for finding the best solution.

That’s why I begin with ego drain. Three points that drive my life:

1. The people I’m about to meet don’t owe me anything.
2. The people I’m about to meet don’t really know me, and therefore their reaction is knee-jerk rather than intelligent.
3. The people I’m about to meet will only be blessed if I have some way to assist them where they are instead of demanding that they come to where I am.

There you go. That’s self-esteem. Self-esteem is when I realize that God has given me gifts–so if I use them humbly, I become of value. I am not valuable just because I breathe–I am valuable if I can breathe life into things that were presumed dead.

Everybody is fighting the battle and nobody’s winning the war. Hamas and Israel are involved in an ego struggle. The United States and Iran are entangled in a similar futile punching contest. No one has the integrity to discern the common good and promote the general welfare.

Last night a beautiful woman in a church was nervous about her upcoming Christmas program and felt a great responsibility to make sure her choir was ready to perform. She didn’t want to be bumped out of doing a good job by our program digging into her rehearsal time. I understand. It doesn’t matter whether I agree–my job is to put on that woman’s skin and don her brain for a few moments so that I can get the insight to know how I can help instead of hinder. I chose to set up my show in the smaller fellowship hall so this dear woman could have her rehearsal without trauma, fear or interruption. There are people in the American culture who would say I lost. They believe in the false definition of self-esteem. But self-esteem is providing for the common good and promoting the general welfare. We had a wham-bang time last night, and I hope my dear friend had a good rehearsal. For you see, I don’t need a building. I don’t need pre-eminence. I don’t even need respect.

I need a door of opportunity and a chance to make things better.

Stop fighting the battle and start winning the war. The battle is between egos of people who have bought into false self-esteem. The war will be won by those who realize “we ain’t nothin’ until we bring somethin’.”

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Mistaken Identity … November 28, 2012

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It happens–just never twice in the same night.

But last evening I got a double dose of mistaken identity. It began with a lady coming to my table and asking that frightening question. “Do you remember me?”

I always dodge it by saying, “You look familiar,” hoping that the person will fill in the details. She did. She was quite convinced that I had been the DJ at her son’s wedding. As I contemplated how to contradict her assertion, she launched into details about the reception, the recent birth of children and what name these offspring referred to her as when lovingly addressing their grandma. We were in the full swing of a mistaken identity–one which I had no idea whatsoever how to escape. So please pray for me–I went along with it.

She came back two or three times, reminding me of certain aspects of the evening which she felt we had shared in common, and once even brought along the sponsor of the concert, to share the irony of our re-crossing paths. He looked a bit bewildered as she told her story and squinted at me for either confirmation or denial and I just sat there with a blank look on my face–similar to someone who just discovered he was one number away from winning the lottery.

On the heels of my proposed DJ performance, another man came to the table and said how glad he was to see me again, because he had enjoyed me so much last year when I was performing at the Lexington Civic Center. Once again, before I could jump in and point out that I had never been to the Lexington Civic Center, he recited the details of my performance, including a duet I had sung with a young black boy. Once again, I was unable to escape and found myself in the midst of a great nod-fest.

Mistaken identity. I know I probably should have corrected these folks, but you see, at the heart of this particular event is a blessing. People meet you for the first time and really want to establish a connection, so they go ahead and manufacture one based on a similar experience they once had with someone who might have resembled you. I think it’s just a way of saying “I love you” without having to mouth the words.

Matter of fact, maybe the world would be better if we had MORE mistaken identity. If all bigots believed that black people were Denzel Washington and Oprah Winfrey, maybe there would be less prejudice. Those who have problems with the gay community may wish to project that all gay men and women are Rock Hudson and Ellen DeGeneres. How about politics? That’s easy.  All Republicans are Abraham Lincoln and all Democrats are Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

It may be a bit embarrassing when we do discover that all people with long hair, playing guitar are not the Beatles, but in the meantime, it might increase our toleration for one another and project some love out into a world that is starving to death for some of that good stuff.

I occasionally get mistaken for someone else.  Last night it was a DJ and a performer at a civic center. That’s not bad.  It has been worse. One night long ago in Michigan, a guy was convinced that I was the janitor at the local Goodwill store.  By the way–that one I denied. Sometimes people project that I’m Orson Wells or Dom Delouise or any one of a number of fat, aging men. Interesting though–so far, no Brad Pitt.

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When They Got the Mike … November 27, 2012

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He came running into the church, grabbed my arm, pulled me outside, took me around the side of the building, opened his Bible and began to read. He was Mike. He was my friend who was one of those bizarre mixtures of annoying and amusing.

Now, Mike reading the Bible had absolutely no theological motivation at all–I knew that Mike must have found something questionable. And I was right.

Mike had discovered that the Bible contained the word “pisseth.” Even funnier to him was the fact that the Bible suggested that it was really dumb to “piss against the wall.” Splash-back, I assume. He was laughing uncontrollably as he shared the passage.

That was Mike. If any sentence spoken aloud offered a double entendre, Mike would find it. Mike loved to giggle at words. Mike loved to take normally somber situations and turn them into a comedy club because someone said something that could be interpreted another way. You can imagine what he was like during sex education class in high school. He giggled so loudly that he had to be escorted out of the room by two teachers.

I thought Mike was just going to be an immature guy I met during the process of growing up, and that when I finally became an adult, all the “Mikes” of the world would turn into–well, Michael.  You know. Maturity.

But it’s not so.

I am going to make a bold statement: Every book ever written, including the Bible, the Qur’an (the Koran), the Book of Mormon and any number of presumably spiritual volumes, is full of statements that can be taken many ways–and are even occasionally embarrassing.

For instance, I tighten up with discomfort when the Epistle of Timothy is read and Paul suggests that women are supposed to be subject to men because they were the ones who fell to Satan in Eden and are responsible for the decline of humankind. Yet you and I both know there are “Mikes” walking around who pronounce this erroneous idea to be as just as holy doctrine as “love your neighbor as yourself.”

There are millions of Muslims who believe the better parts of the Qur’an and ignore the portions that are out-dated and without practical use. But there are those “Mikes” even in the Arab world who find words to justify hate, bigotry and murder.

And God knows, there are folks who read the Constitution of the United States and discover all the phrases that support their particular form of backwardness, extolling them as noble gestures instead of passed-over practices. The Constitution does tell us we have the right to bear arms, but at no time does it tell us we have the need. The Constitution informs us that we have the opportunity to pursue our own happiness, but it also warns that we have a greater requirement–to chase down the common good.

I guess you and I will have to deal with all those people and organizations who “got the Mike.”  For as long as people laugh about “pisseth” being in the Bible, there will have to be someone who comes along who finds the truly important meanings and brings them to the forefront, while warning us all that anything that’s been touched by human hands–even if we think it’s divinely inspired–smells of “people.”

My choice? I choose to believe in what is still human-friendly, scientifically confirmed and God blessed.

So women–relax. Just like both sexes worked together to fall from grace in Eden, if we work together now, we just might be able to plant a new garden.

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I’m One of Them … November 26, 2012

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He was very serious.

It was the kind of somber, cranky style that gives me the creeps. Maybe it’s the furrowed brow. It could be the long pauses between sentences to connote deep thought in the process of excavating some powerful piece of truth from a private cavern in his brain. I don’t know. I just don’t like it.

Here’s what he said: “The trouble with people of faith is that they like Christmas more than Good Friday–and unfortunately, our world is geared more to the latter.”

I turned it off. For you see, I was watching another talking head on TV expound upon his particular revelations–to sell a new book. When did smart become so complicated? Why can’t smart be simple? Why do we have to establish our preeminence through the surrender to sullenness?

I said to myself, I’m one of them.

Yes, I am one of those knuckle-headed “people of faith” who’s a sucker for a good baby-in-the-manger story over the mauling of a human being on a cross. Shoot me. Or better yet–cover me in tinsel.

I don’t like Christmas better than Good Friday because I’m stupid and vacant of a world vision. I like Christmas because it’s the only time of the year when we actually focus in on what Jesus really came to do instead of commemorating what he ended up accomplishing. I love Christmas because it tells us that God was smart enough to realize that commandments, voices from mountains, burning bushes, and even prophets were not getting the job done.

The message of Christmas is that God became human because human beings only speak and understand that language.

When I was a blessed man yesterday and had a chance to perform in front of the inspiring Tennesseans at Beaver Ridge United Methodist Church, I could see it in their faces. Written all over their beautiful countenances were the words, “Tell us something good.”

Even though my friend on the TV would probably call them shallow or ill-prepared to handle the tribulations of the world, I truthfully have never seen anyone who’s more prepared for battle simply because they wear armor.

So here we go–into another Christmas season. I’m on my way to North Carolina to tell people, without apology, that Christmas IS better than Good Friday.

And if we will take this season and learn the message of the angels and start spreading a little “peace on earth, good will toward men,” maybe by springtime a few less brothers and sisters … will end up crucified.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

I’m One of Them … November 26, 2012

(1,711)

He was very serious.

It was the kind of somber, cranky style that gives me the creeps. Maybe it’s the furrowed brow. It could be the long pauses between sentences to connote deep thought in the process of excavating some powerful piece of truth from a private cavern in his brain. I don’t know. I just don’t like it.

Here’s what he said: “The trouble with people of faith is that they like Christmas more than Good Friday–and unfortunately, our world is geared more to the latter.”

I turned it off. For you see, I was watching another talking head on TV expound upon his particular revelations–to sell a new book. When did smart become so complicated? Why can’t smart be simple? Why do we have to establish our preeminence through the surrender to sullenness?

I said to myself, I’m one of them.

Yes, I am one of those knuckle-headed “people of faith” who’s a sucker for a good baby-in-the-manger story over the mauling of a human being on a cross. Shoot me. Or better yet–cover me in tinsel.

I don’t like Christmas better than Good Friday because I’m stupid and vacant of a world vision. I like Christmas because it’s the only time of the year when we actually focus in on what Jesus really came to do instead of commemorating what he ended up accomplishing. I love Christmas because it tells us that God was smart enough to realize that commandments, voices from mountains, burning bushes, and even prophets were not getting the job done.

The message of Christmas is that God became human because human beings only speak and understand that language.

When I was a blessed man yesterday and had a chance to perform in front of the inspiring Tennesseans at Beaver Ridge United Methodist Church, I could see it in their faces. Written all over their beautiful countenances were the words, “Tell us something good.”

Even though my friend on the TV would probably call them shallow or ill-prepared to handle the tribulations of the world, I truthfully have never seen anyone who’s more prepared for battle simply because they wear armor.

So here we go–into another Christmas season. I’m on my way to North Carolina to tell people, without apology, that Christmas IS better than Good Friday.

And if we will take this season and learn the message of the angels and start spreading a little “peace on earth, good will toward men,” maybe by springtime a few less brothers and sisters … will end up crucified.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

Step Into It … November 25, 2012

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He was five foot ten inches tall and weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. He was on my team–a good friend, and his name was Scott.

I used to love practice with him. He was so much fun to tackle. It was like chasing a bowling ball down the alley and trying to wrestle it into the gutter before it knocked down the pins.

One day during scrimmage, he was having great success against our defense. On one play, while running through the line, I caught him at just the right angle and solidly knocked him to the ground. I was so proud. Rising to my feet, I realized that my coach was standing over me. He grabbed me by the arm, took me back to the original line, pointed to a place on the ground and said, “That’s where you SHOULD have gotten him. You should have stepped into it two yards earlier and kept him from making any progress at all.”

Being just a punky kid, I was aggravated with the criticism, especially considering the fact I had made such a magnificent tackle. It got in my craw.

So at the end of the practice, the coach gathered us all together and did his daily wrap-up of our efforts. At the end of his pep talk, he pointed at me and told all the fellows on the team, “You guys see Cring, there?  Cring is so good–he can be better.” Then he looked at everybody’s face. Some people smiled; some crinkled their brows in bewilderment. One or two laughed and about four clapped their hands.

Realizing that nobody understood what he meant, he explained. “When you haven’t got much, it isn’t worth the time to try to make more. But if you’ve got something to start with, then your greatest joy is knowing that you can make it even bigger.”

Of course, we were just a bunch of bratty kids and didn’t understand. But I still remember that day. Matter of fact, it came to my mind on Tuesday when I was trying to get out of my van and my knees hurt really bad. I was about ready to hatch a fresh batch of complaining. It crossed my mind that this whole business with my legs was a little unfair, considering that all I want to do with my life is share my little dab of talent and help out where I can. And then … I heard the words again.

“Cring, you are so good that you can be better.”

I realized that the only way God can say He loves me is to give me greater challenges so I have a chance to produce lasting possibilities. I was humbled. I recognized that even though we think our accomplishments are sufficient, each and every one of us CAN “step into it.”

And the greatest compliment God can give us is to trust that we won’t give up just because it gets a little harder.

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity