Jonathots Daily Blog
(3104)
Other Things That President Trump Might Choose to Ban
A. Cholesterol from eggs (and that’s no yolk!)
B. News from the Media
C. Chubby Strippers
D. Democrats from Congress (maybe Republicans, too)
E. Bannings
Good News and Better News… January 30th, 2017
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3103)
I had the privilege of sharing in Lighthouse Point, Florida.
What a fabulous name. Opens the door for all sorts of clever interpretation–especially for a writer who might become overly exuberant.
But what struck me was that we were returning for our third occasion to be sponsored by Pastor Gabe, in yet another of her assigned churches.
She is a dynamic woman. Let me change that. She is an outstanding person–a breast cancer survivor, a minister, an individual with a delightful sense of humor, and also, as I found out yesterday, enjoys watching reruns of “West Wing.”
During a conversation with Gabe, she mentioned that this present church was about the same size as all of the other churches she had pastored.
Kind of small.
Although she did not express any sadness or misgiving about the size, I thought to myself, “We live in a country that thinks the bigger things are, the better they are.”
Although that might apply to hamburgers and ice cream cones, it certainly does not come to play in discussing a church.
For you see, a church is not an organization, a meeting hall, a service or a club. A church does not become more impressive because there are more butts in seats.
A church is a place where those who are seeking maturity can come together to strengthen one another.
Factually, I don’t know if you can do that with more than a hundred people at a time. You can jam fifteen thousand Christians into an auditorium, but it doesn’t mean that a single-mindedness of joy and faith will be produced.
Yes, the purpose of the church is to encourage people to “grow to the fullness of the measure of the stature of Jesus.”
Whenever you gather more than three or four hundred together, you’ve got to have a program with praise band singers and create some sort of atmosphere of worship, hoping that somewhere over the coffee and donuts provided in the fellowship hall, human conversation might somehow ensue. But that’s not who we are.
We need fullness.
In the human experience, fullness occurs when we allow ourselves to feel. So when I go into a church and people are reluctant to express emotion, I know they’ve convinced themselves that they’re in a worship service instead of a fellowship.
We also need to reach a certain measure.
What is that measure? A sense of survival. After all, we will never succeed if we can’t first survive. We learn to survive by hearing the testimony of others–like Gabe, who herself survived the horror of disease.
We realize we are not alone. For after all, there is nothing lonelier than being in a room with ten thousand people and knowing nobody.
And finally, church should grant us stature.
In other words, we know we can grow. Why? Because we just testified to people about our new discovery.
This is the atmosphere that was intended for the church of Jesus of Nazareth.
- I can feel
- I can survive
- I can grow
And what Pastor Gabe, and all of us, need to celebrate is that the church is not noteworthy because of its sanctuary. It becomes the light of the world because it lights up its members.
The good news is that America is doing well because people like Pastor Gabe are on the job, with an attention to detail and a care for fellow-travelers.
The better news is that we in the church become a highly functioning organism when we motivate the souls around us to grow “to the fullness of the measure of the stature of Jesus.”
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
Reverend Meningsbee (Part 39) Indian Giver… January 29th, 2017
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3202)
During the swelling sweetness of satisfaction that settled into the souls of the Garsonville citizens, some surprising news came to the forefront.
USBN went bankrupt. (Well, at least some sort of business conclusion that’s too difficult to understand.)
The network had suffered severe financial losses due to litigation from civil suits, and was sold to another company which planned on dividing up office supplies and disbanding the whole idea.
The people of the town believed it was the hand of God–or at least the Almighty giving a finger.
They all felt redeemed, relieved and relaxed. There was a realization that reaching for the stars only makes you fall off the step-ladder.
It was about a month later that the Garsonville Church had visitors–two, to be exact–Buford Thomas Baxter and his wife, Harriet, both certainly in their mid-to-late seventies. They arrived dressed as televangelists, creatures roaming the Earth many decades ago.
Buford didn’t waste any time.
He asked for a private moment with Reverend Meningsbee and when that was acquired, he launched into his story. He explained that he had been teaching a Sunday School Class down at the Southern Baptist Church, and because the people did not want “the full Gospel,” and wanted to “hide their sins in secret places,” the pastor had requested that he leave and find other sheep to tend. So he had looked all over town to find the greatest need.
Buford hugged Reverend Meningsbee and said, “Even though I know you have a heart to do right, you have a wrong to achieve it. So I am here as your servant–to be used any way you see fit–to turn this congregation around in the direction of heaven’s portals.”
Meningsbee didn’t know what to say.
Deep in his heart he knew this was not a good fit, especially considering that during the coffee time after Sunday School, Buford and Harriet tag-teamed their way through the congregants, explaining how prayer was “more than talking to God.” It was “negotiating the deal through fasting, consecration and long bouts of seclusion.”
Buford was particularly intent on letting everybody know that he had once appeared on Gordon Gaines’ Gospel Gala during the season when the show had millions of viewers. (The ministry of Gordon Gaines had been terminated many years ago, when it was discovered that he was romantically linked to a large number of his staff. For a time, the scandal made for great TV, and brought sadness to those who believed in a simpler approach.)
By the end of the morning service, Buford and Harriet had succeeded in annoying nearly everybody, with many of the faithful whispering to Meningsbee that he needed to get them out of there as quickly as possible.
To do so, the pastor had to promise that he would meet with Buford on Tuesday for lunch.
So on Monday morning, Meningsbee prayed–probably not right, like Buford would have him do, but the best he knew how.
He came up with an idea. He rather liked it.
So at the Tuesday luncheon, he said to Buford (and Harriet, who came along for the chicken salad and tomato soup) that there was really no room in the Sunday schedule for anyone else to participate, since the congregation was already fanning out and covering a multitude of activities, but there was a lovely clearing of land just beyond the parking lot of the church, where he believed that Buford and Harriet should have the chance to set up some sort of tent, hold some meetings and see if God might bring them a gathering of souls.
Meningsbee finished his proposal and watched the wheels turn inside the mind of the aging man. There was a brief silence, when suddenly Harriet stepped in and gave her vote of confidence. She believed it was a tremendous opportunity, thanking Meningsbee for his openness.
So three weeks later, Buford and Harriet launched a tent revival on the far side of the Garsonville Church property, which ran for exactly four nights.
The first night there were seven people.
The second night, six.
The third night, five, if you counted the baby.
And the fourth night…one.
Yes, a Native American of the Pawnee tribe. He sat on a hard, wooden chair as Buford preached for a good, solid hour. Or at least, that’s how Meningsbee heard it.
The next morning, the Native American, a descendent of the chief, came to the church to talk to Reverend Meningsbee. He asked the parson if it would be all right to invite the Baxters to come and pastor a small congregation of four Native American families about thirty miles away.
Meningsbee wasn’t quite sure why he was asking permission, but he gave it freely.
So Buford and Harriet Baxter packed up all their belongings and went down the road to become the pastors of the Pawnee People’s Fellowship.
Meningsbee lost contact with Buford after that, but he never heard anything negative–or of a new uprising from the Pawnee Nation.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
Jesonian… January 28th, 2017
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3201)
Jesus knows us because He was us. (What a great title for a praise band song).
He didn’t come to Earth to stand afar and consider our befuddled actions from his undergirded, divine nature. He was human.
He learned, he grew and he found favor through trial and error. I didn’t make that up. That’s what the Gospel of Luke says.
So by the time he reached his thirty-first birthday and was sharing the Sermon on the Mount, he had a firm comprehension of the human reaction to life.
It is in four phases:
- We feel
- We muse
- We think
- We do
There are folks who reject their feelings, muse over their failures and go to their brain–only to find it a library chock-full of old information, and therefore end up doing things repetitively, wondering why they can’t change.
Our emotions exist to tell us what we feel. They are not definitive, they are not final–they are sensors.
Our spirit is there to muse–to add that gentle balance that “all things will work together to the good.” Muse is the root word of music. The spirit should be the soundtrack to our solution. Sometimes it takes an hour; sometimes it takes a year. I suppose there are even things that take a lifetime.
But when we enter the third phase, we must be careful. We think.
Contrary to popular opinion, the mind is dangerous. Why? Because it is already programmed. It has our culture, our bigotry, our training, our prejudices and our false statistics. It’s the reason Jesus told his disciples, “Don’t think so much.”
Because if you come across a problem, feeling it may be a difficult one, and you muse over it in your spirit, but then decide to seek an answer in your brain, you’ll consider data that is often only worthy of the trash bin.
But do we put it in the garbage? No.
So when we start thinking, we start worrying, which negates our spirit and frustrates our emotions. We literally do the first thing that comes into our head–and it’s often wrong.
So what did Jesus suggest? What is the Jesonian?
Take your feelings to your spirit and muse over them until you get the music of wisdom–either from God, your own fresh experience, or even the counsel of others. Then move on that tuneful wisdom and do what’s right. At this point you can come back and renew your mind. It’s like putting another book in the library.
Your brain starts gaining flexibility.
The Sermon on the Mount is not a wish list by a religious boy who came from God, possessing an advantage. It is the observation of a man who lived in a household with at least six other brothers and sisters, worked as a carpenter, flushed out some bad demons in the wilderness, and was prepared to look at life as it really was … instead of trying to think he could handle everything.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunityty
G-Poppers … January 27th, 2017
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3200)
18 years of age.
G-Pop’s granddaughter is celebrating today.
She is so excited. She has waited a lifetime for it–at least, her lifetime.
She is ready to be a person instead of a passenger.
A participant rather than a daughter.
A mover and not just a child.
G-Pop could share many superlatives about this young woman and bore you to tears.
She is intelligent to the point of being sharp.
She is clever and creative.
She is tender-hearted and allows tears to flow without shame.
Even though her life has been peppered with missteps, she went back, corrected them and took responsibility for the stumbles.
She is talented, she can sing, and dear Lord, she even plays the ukulele.
The canvas set before her is prepared for the beautiful colorations of her dreams.
But she is still plagued by one concern:
She doesn’t want to miss anything.
She doesn’t want to be considered an “also ran.”
She does not want people to believe she’s just a preacher’s daughter who cushioned herself from the realities of human life.
She wants to do it all.
She is frightened of becoming a “goody-two-shoes.”
It is a sensation that jolts the heart of every person who dares to pursue goodness. Can you chase the star of purity and still enjoy the cosmic journey?
But here’s the reality: nothing bad ever made anything good.
No vice ever actually promoted a versa.
No inhalation stimulated respiration.
No liquid spirit ever conjured a Holy Spirit.
Side-tracks. That’s what all those are–little temptations to distraction that we’ve convinced ourselves are necessary to add to our diary to make our lives seem plausible instead of merely a fairy tale.
What G-Pop would like to tell his granddaughter on this glorious day is that good is the only thing worth living for.
But you must never preach it.
Preaching good always leads to self-righteousness, selfishness and anger over missing out over some sort of sinful delicacy.
The more the reverend reverberates against iniquity, the more he is drawn to it. It is a historical fact.
God never gave us permission to preach good–thus the warning, “Don’t judge other people.”
G-Pop would also tell his granddaughter that being good is the curse of a thousand yearnings.
None of us are good. No, not one.
So every time we try to be good, we punish ourselves, incriminate our hearts and tear down our confidence. It’s why the phrase, “I’m sorry” needs to be at our tongue-tip, prepared to be uttered at any moment.
We’re just not good.
And those who try to be good often end up either lying or preaching. (I’m not sure if there’s a difference there.)
What G-Pop wants to wish to his beautiful, creative, gentle, comical granddaughter is the mission of doing good.
Good becomes very obvious because it’s always the thing that includes somebody besides yourself. It’s not hard to find–and even though you’re not going to preach against evil nor claim to be pure, the least you can do for a battered, bewildered and betrayed mankind is grant them the touch of grace brought by a moment of goodness.
I’m always enamored by the story that comes out of the 1969 music festival, Woodstock. Even though all the parents were critical of their young ones who went off to this “den of iniquity”–and perhaps there was a farm-load of sin being perpetuated in every field–when it was discovered that the purple acid was hurting people, they interrupted the concert and got on the microphone to warn their brothers and sisters to stay away from it.
They did good.
I suppose some pious parents might suggest that if the children were not taking acid in the first place, there would be no reason to avoid the purple.
But you see, that’s not life.
Life is realizing that wherever you are, whoever you’re working with, and whatever the rules for that environment, there is still a way to do good.
It does not make you a goody-two-shoes.
It means that you walk with feet of blessing.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
Dudley … January 26th, 2017
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3198)
DUDLEY
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this inspirational opportunity
PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … January 25th, 2017
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3197)
Way of the Transgressor
Good morning, Adam
How is the Garden?
Still need a pardon?
Good day, dear Eve
You got the boot
Due to forbidden fruit
Hey, Julius–stabbing pain?
From Brutus, quite insane
Iscariot hit the ground
Unable to hang around
While Cleo, snakebit on the boat
Pretty dead–watch her float
Adolph, Eva tried to hunker
Side-by-side in the bunker
Booth shot like a dog
In the barn near the hog
Jezebel took her final bow
And quickly became puppy chow
Attila, a Hun, not much fun
Spent his life on the run
The devil–cast down to Earth
To torment the children given birth
For we lament wicked deeds
Fail to notice how it bleeds
The way of the transgressor is hard
Always playing the dead soul’s card
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog 