PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … May 2nd, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3660)

Listen to the Poet

Blessed Bastard

Oh, blessed bastard, I continue to plod

In search of important

I missed a meaningful opportunity

Trying to be spiritual

God simply passed me by

Yearning to be loved

I was deemed intense

Laughing at the clown

The circus left town

Chasing a dream

Ignoring a possibility

Trying to be equitable

I appear contrived

Insisting I am not a bigot

I out my disguised prejudice

Mindful of my emotions

I withhold my heart from my soul

My body is demanding

I listen to my flesh

So my complaint betrays my talent

And my sarcasm abandons all hope

I can see where I fail

But still fail to see all I can

Never do I quiet, hearing the whisper

Bewildered by the screaming in my ears

I always thought if I understood

Evil would be denied

I’d embrace the good

But good arrives a wee bit late

Deciding hastily, I seal my fate

Breathe deeply, blessed bastard

Yes, air instead of error

I must learn to find the flow

Then relax and take it slow.

*****

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Cracked 5 … December 19th, 2017


Jonathots Daily Blog

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cracked 5 logo keeper with border

Very Unusual Birthday Wishes

A. “Thought you were dead. Now that I know you’re alive, it gives me a chance to kill you.”

 

B. “I knew your mother. You could be my bastard.”

 

C. “We baked your birthday cake. Unfortunately, our dog, Fritzenrod, peed on it, so please don’t eat.”

 

D. “I was going to buy you a birthday present–then realized you were not that shallow.”

 

E. “The ancestors of John Wilkes Booth found out you had the same birthday as him. They changed his.

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Catchy (Sitting 18) Clippings … October 15th, 2017

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3461)

 

Michael Hinston sat back in a leather chair which had been a gift from a Congressman from Mississippi who had recently remodeled his office, had no need for the extra furniture piece and “saw no reason for it to go to waste.”

In Michael’s hand was a plain manila envelope–the kind you would buy at a dollar store. There was no writing on the outside, except in the lower right hand corner, in small letters, was the name, Milford Hayes.

It did not take Michael any time at all to recollect who Milford Hayes was. Ever since the visit in his office, when he was given the fifty thousand dollars from Caine Industries, he had recalled the conversation with the stranger many, many times.

He hated himself because he hadn’t kicked the bastard out the door.

He hated himself for being part of a political system that allowed such corruption.

He hated himself because corporations thought they could buy and sell politicians like sides of beef.

He also hated himself because he had already spent some of the money.

And unlike more noble souls who could suddenly possess a fit of conscience and give the money back, he had no such resource.

He was in.

Whatever “in” meant.

And apparently, with the arrival of this envelope, he was about to find out.

He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to hold all calls, though nobody was actually phoning him. This was another troubling part of his journey in Washington. He had been elected by rural hometown folks in Ohio, but nobody in the Capitol even knew he was alive.

He had thought he was going to be invited to dinner with the President, but when it turned out that his vote was not needed for an upcoming piece of legislation, apologies were offered and he ended up eating pepperoni pizza with his family.

So now, sitting in his cast-off chair, in his uncomfortable office, with the knowledge in his mind that his wife and children despised their new home, he slowly opened the envelope.

Pulling out the contents, he found a clump of press clippings held together with a paper clip, and a white business envelope with the words “For the Kids” written on the outside.

He set the white envelope to the side and thumbed through the articles. They had one central theme–they were tiny news announcements, reports, opinions and press releases about his friend, Matthew, taking on the Harts fortune to popularize Jesus.

Included was an 8 X 10 glossy picture of a young man with long hair. Scrawled in magic marker across the photo was the name, Jubal Carlos.

Satisfied that he had discovered the essence of the newspaper clippings, he moved toward the business envelope. He opened it. Inside was a note written on 20-pound typing paper, along with ten one hundred-dollar bills. The note read:

It’s time to do something. It’s time for you to earn your money. Your nosy friend has decided to take on the challenge and we must do what is necessary to stall his efforts. The picture is of Jubal Carlos, a freelance musician from Las Vegas who lives on the street with the homeless and the indigent. Your buddy from college plans on using him. Don’t you think it would be a good idea for you to use your congressional clout to have the local authorities investigate him? It couldn’t hurt, right?

I have enclosed some “pin money” for little Alisa and Bernice. Stay faithful. Milford Hayes.

Michael put the letter down and stared at the picture of Jubal Carlos. He didn’t know what to do. The young man in the photograph certainly seemed likeable–a bright countenance.

Why would he want to trouble someone causing no trouble?

Why would he allow himself to be part of some plot against an old friend?

Why should he care what a dead, old billionaire wanted to do with the rest of his money?

But what truly haunted Michael was the thousand dollars. Just twenty minutes earlier, his wife, Barbara, had called to tell him that the school was launching a field trip to New York City. There would be additional expense. The secretary from the school said it would cost $500 for each daughter. Barbara apologized for laying a thousand-dollar burden on his mind while he was at work.

Michael paused, shaking his head. Now, twenty minutes later, he was staring at a thousand dollars in cash. A coincidence? A miracle? A blessing?

Or did Milford Hayes and Caine Industries know too much about his daughters?

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Cracked 5 … May 16th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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cracked 5 logo keeper with border

Other Names Considered for Jesus (and also the ones who proposed the “handle”)

 

A. Temple Tumbler–presented by the sarcastic Pharisees after Jesus “turned the tables” on them.

 

B. Winey Boy–a quickly devised name by some very drunken souls in Cana who suddenly found themselves slurping a burgundy made out of water

 

C. Jim Bay Luben–a proposal by the Southern Galilean Baptists, who were hoping it might promote Jesus to be more like his cousin, John

 

D. Carpo the Carpenter–a business-package idea by the Nazareth Chamber of Commerce

 

E. Bastard–a never-dying rumor by old, disgruntled Nazarenes who were “month-counters” for Mother Mary.

 

 

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … February 8th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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pohymn-salva

Plantation Salva

A damning God

Seems quite odd

Why the fuss

Since He made us

Didn’t He know

How it would go

A fruitless problem

Closed the Garden

Making the nomad

Always a little sad

Chasing a dream

A meaningless scheme

Killing, making war

Settling an endless score

God sent preachers

Hideous, pious creatures

Listening to what they tell

Made us further rebel

Hate the wait

Fate is late

Will, for me

But it ain’t free

Sow and reap

Fail and weep

What a bore

Craving more

The color of skin

The depth of sin

Chosen people

Erect steeple

While we are here

Twisted in fear

God is over there

Cursed, so unfair

Settle the wild

Birth the child

He’s the Word

Judged absurd

A Master disaster

Kill the Bastard

Where can we hide

No place to abide

Then a voice

Offers a choice

His life, your Eden

Everything you’ve been needin’,

Your Plantation Salva

Is assembling

For you to discern

With a holy trembling

 

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Jesonian: Reasonable (Part 18) Wounded … April 3rd, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Jesonian hands

He asked me if he could have a moment of my time.

We went into his office, shut the door and he sat down in his over-stuffed leather chair behind his huge mahogany desk. With a gentle, understanding tone, he said, “I’m just concerned that you’re ministering from a wounded place.”

I gathered from his approach and facial expression that he thought doing so was a mistake.

I replied, “Yes, I am. I wouldn’t trust any ministry that wasn’t.”

Jesus was the greatest minister of all time.

He was also very wounded.

Long before they hammered nails into his hands and feet, he was born of a virgin, considered a bastard, chased out of Bethlehem, exiled in Egypt, rejected by his home town, denied by his family, criticized, mocked, marginalized, cast out, called a sinner, a drunkard, a glutton and even proclaimed to be Satan.

These things hurt.

The truth of the matter is, none of us are worth a damn to be healers until we’ve survived the wounds.

For lacking the experience of transformation, we have a tendency to be impatient with those who have difficulty getting over the pain.

Life is not about whether you’ll be wounded or not.

You will be.

It’s about what you do next.

And the first thing you should do after being wounded is bleed.

Not a lot. You don’t want to pour out all of your life flow and confidence–just enough to dispel infection. Then stop the bleeding, cease the self-pity and clean the wound.

Take what you know to be true–memories of how you’ve been blessed–and tenderly use all of these affirmations to expel the dangerous rot that would attempt to infest you.

Bandage it.

Your healing process is nobody else’s business. It could be ugly. Other folks do not need to see your scabs. Take a private moment to heal–and then, when you’re all done, remove the bandages and proudly display your scar.

A scar tells everybody that you’ve been through the battle but you’ve endured the wounds and are coming out on the other side, healed.

No human being can escape the wounds.

Jesus didn’t.

But we become reasonable to one another when we allow the healing process to move forward, while simultaneously offering to others exactly what Jesus said to Thomas:

“Come see my scars.”

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Jesonian: The Name Game … August 30th, 2015

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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jesus and woman caught in adultery

2000 years later, Jesus is called the Son of God.

When he was a man sporting sandals, they often drew different conclusions:

1. He’s a bastard.

As difficult as it may be to believe, Mary’s little story about being impregnated at the beckoning of an angel did not fly with all the residents of Nazareth. So to those who festered in disbelief, he was born illegitimately.

Jesus is proof positive that there’s no such thing as an illegitimate child. How we get here is not as important as what we do upon arrival.

2. He’s an illegal.

The fussy Jews on the issue of immigration found the arrival of the little boy and his family from Egypt to be disturbing.

Yet there’s no such thing as an alien, just people who need to learn how to get here with an ingenious way to help.

3. He’s a devil.

It is so easy to characterize anything that is foreign to our little box as being “born from the pits of hell.” The truth of the matter is, if you want to determine the origins of my purpose, you should watch what I do–and then watch who I praise.

4. He forgives sexual immorality.

Even though we insist that Jesus was perfect and free of any encumbering notions of lust, when asked to condemn a woman caught in adultery, he challenged those around him to consider their own impurity. And since he didn’t stone the woman himself, that would include his own introspection.

5. He’s crazy.

This assertion was not made by competitors or critics, but rather, levied against him by his own family.

We must always remember that family is great for holidays, birthdays and special occasions, but rarely do they ever comprehend our mission.

Jesus embraced his life by being willing to take on the brunt of human critique. Although he was saddled with great difficulty, he turned his life into a tableau of colorful and creative emotion and forgiveness.

We will be called many things.

But history will only recall what we accomplish to include humanity instead of deterring or destroying it.

 

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***************************

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