Jesonian… February 11th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3215)

 

Opening my email, I discovered a message from a young man–a friend of mine–who was applying for a job and wanted to use me as a recommendation.

He had forwarded a list of questions from the company and asked me if I would take the time to fill it out and send it to them.

Here are the questions:

1. Does he or she work well with others?
2. Is he or she reliable? (prompt, truthful)
3. What are his or her special skills?
4. Does he or she take orders well?
5. Would you hire him or her?

A fascinating thought came to my mind. Even though I would have absolutely no trouble filling out this form for my dear friend, the question occurred to me–could I recommend Jesus for a job? If these same questions were sent to me in relationship to Jesus of Nazareth, what would my candid answers be?

(It’s part of understanding the Jesonian–rather than forming Jesus into our theological image which matches our doctrines, we instead take him on as he actually came, without being embarrassed by his approaches.)

1. Does he get along well with others?

Jesus seems to do well around people who are real, honest, humble, simple, flexible and aware. On the other hand, when he gets around hypocrisy, dishonesty, arrogance and a controlling spirit, he can go into a tirade. Rumor has it that he once threw things across the room because people misused the purpose of the experience.

So I would say, as long as Jesus of Nazareth is in the presence of those who are not afraid of who they are and not making up a false identity, he is a gentle brother and friend.

2. Is he reliable?

Generally speaking, you can count on him to be where he needs to be. Now, whether you can depend on him to be where you want him to be might be a different question.

Case in point: he was contacted to help a dying friend and delayed four days before going. But amazingly, upon arriving, he solved the problem.

Will he fall into lock-step and do what everybody else down the line is doing?

Probably not. But he will complete the task.

3. What are his special skills?

Jesus always contributes his part while encouraging others to bring their talent and faith, and then blends those efforts to a cooperative conclusion. I would say his special skills lie in his uncanny instinct to discern what is needed and provide it at just the right moment.

4. Does he take orders well?

Jesus is very independent–yet when he realizes that information is being offered to him that is wise, prudent and full of common sense, he marvels at it, gets behind that counsel and follows it. Even though he has great ability to lead, he does it from the perspective of his fellow-workers.

5. Would you hire him?

It depends on what the job is. If I wanted somebody to continue to follow a path which has proven to be unsuccessful, unproductive and without merit, Jesus would not be my choice.

If I wanted someone to patiently point out where things can be improved without throwing any attitude or insisting on his predominance, I could not find anyone to parallel him.

Therefore, in conclusion, Jesus probably could not get a job in mainstream America. We want people to toe the line whether it’s right or wrong.

So I sent off the completed form to the company on behalf of my young companion.

I had to smile–because there should have been a sixth question:

Can he or she be trusted?

On that one, I would say I can trust Jesus…with my life. 

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Untotaled: Stepping 33 (March 12th, 1967) Charley … September 27, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2364)

(Transcript)

Charley loved to run.

Not me.

I had chubby legs that seemed to be made out of cotton candy, generating the gait of a circus elephant.

In one of the brief fits of verbosity that possessed his soul, Charley once shared with me that running faster and faster made him feel that his feet were leaving the ground and he was soaring into the heavens to dance with the angels.

Pretty articulate for a Midwest kid.

I decided to go out for track and field more or less because I didn’t have anything else to do. Since I could not run or jump, they asked me to try out on the shot put. I did.

I was unimpressed, so I fell back into my acquired nature of quitting. But even though I departed the team, I found myself during study hall sitting at the table with these athletes, and when the monitor left the room, Randy spoke up and gave us a juicy piece of gossip. (Randy was also a runner but never quite as fast as Charley.)

Randy explained that Charley was a “gypsy type.” Now, I do not know what the origin of that phrase was in our community, but I knew that “gypsy type” meant that Charley was–well, dangerous. The adults had other terms for Charley’s problem when they were alone and away from the children.

• “Effeminate.”
• “Queer.”
• “Sodomite.”

Although I had no personal experience with Charley demonstrating such bizarre behavior, in 1967 just the mention of the situation caused your skin to crawl, making you want to avoid any contact with such perverted beings.

Randy knew this. In other words, it didn’t have to be true–just spoken. The gossip mill and bigotry would do the rest.

No one drew close to Charley after that.

He ate alone, he ran alone, he walked alone, he talked alone.

When he asked me why I was not sharing with him anymore, I clumsily replied, “I’ve been busy.”

One day we came to school and he was gone. No one even asked where he was or if he was coming back. Charley was soon forgotten, and the quest for other “gypsy types” was set in motion with renewed scrutiny.

It was many years later that Randy, the accuser of his running friend, came out of the closet, admitting that he was gay. (“Gypsy type” was no longer acceptable terminology.) Randy was lauded for his courage. He was embraced by his friends. Matter of fact, he was set apart as an example of someone who had endured a silent persecution and now was set free.

Mustering some boldness, I asked Randy about Charley. He said he didn’t remember much about Charley.

He paused and then added, “Oh, wasn’t Charley that good-looking kid that was really fast?”

I just smiled, and said, “Yeah. That’s him.”

I walked away from that encounter realizing that there is no such thing as a “righteous” judgment.

It’s all just crapping on people.

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Untotaled: Stepping 21 (April 17th, 1965) Gail’s Storm… July 5, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2282)

(Transcript)

Jennifer smiled at me.

She was known for her smile–yet I thoroughly believed this particular smirk had a certain passion attached to it, uniquely sending a message of deep affection in my direction.

Love not only was planted and sprouted, but came to full bloom within the confines of my chubby-chested, beating heart.

Jennifer was beautiful–long, pale-blonde, straight hair, with blue eyes and a bit of ruddy in her cheeks that tempted tweaking. Her lips were full and her breath–well, I never actually got close enough to tell, but I would assume a delightful, slightly musky Dentyne.

I was not given to hiding my affections, so I made it clear to a few of my friends concerning my budding devotion for this flower of Olympus. One of them, Gail, decided to make it her mission to create misery in my life.

It was a two-fold process:

Sometimes Gail told me that Jennifer was interested in me, and had even inquired about some of my likes and dislikes.

My entire being came to erection.

Then the next day, Gail whispered in my ear that Jennifer and a really good-looking guy named Glen had been caught necking behind the refreshment stand at the old football field following the last game.

I went back to having a chubby chest with a dead heart.

It was back and forth, day-to-day: jubilation and devastation.

It occurred to me that Gail seemed equally as overjoyed when I was elated or deflated.

One of my friends tried to explain that Gail was just pulling my chain, but since I considered myself to be chainless, I ignored it.

Finally I decided to solve my own problem and determine the veracity of the rumors by telling Jennifer about my deep-rooted admiration.

It was the first of many times in my life that I received the standardized “you’re a really nice guy and a great friend” speech. Why is it that following that proclamation, no one feels nice or friendly?

The bizarre part of the story is that several years later, the summer of receiving my driver’s license, Gail and I drove around town on adventures, wasting time and talking for hours.

Matter of fact, one hot summer day we came inches from using our tongues for something other than gossip.

So I will never know if Gail was just a fun-loving girl who thought being mean was cool, or perhaps she was jealous of my affection for the Princess of Central Ohio.

Gail brought a storm into my life, but I survived the winds … and eventually learned how to sail the seas.

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Resource and Remedy … January 13, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2119)

Each of us considers “normal” to be whatever we view as acceptable behavior, and has become our fallback position. So if you grew up around worriers, it seems natural to worry. If you were surrounded by gruff, unemotional human beings, you will think it is bizarre to be gregarious. If your background is in Judeo-Christian values, then you will be caught in the paradox between “do I love my neighbor as myself?” or is it “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?”

Even though we all believe we’re on a quest to find a remedy for our everyday problems and even our nagging addictions, we might want to stop and realize that the resources we tap will certainly determine the quality of the treatment.

Yesterday as I met the delightful and hungry souls at Cypress Trails United Methodist Church, I realized that each of them was  joining into a body of believers while secretly pursuing a private belief system of their own, which had been infused into them from the time they were tiny children, and is now “normal,” even if unfulfilling.

For we are much more likely to accept an unfulfilling life than we are to question our “normal.”

To challenge our upbringing means we put ourselves on the outside, looking in–and that sense of abandonment can be terrifying.

But every remedy I have found in my life has demanded that I question my resources, values and even faith to set in motion a new miracle for myself.

After all, in my case, it is difficult to get over obesity because I was taught that food is love. It’s like trying to remove affection from existence. It seems unnatural. It seems ungodly.

Take a moment every day and ask a simple question: am I doing this because I have chosen to do so and it has proven to make me a better human being, or am I repeating behavior that I learned, which has trapped me in the person I am instead of the person I desire to become?

In the realm of spirituality, ten commandments that we dangle over the collective head of humanity does not always jive with “judge not, lest ye be judged.”

You have to make a choice.

And when you’re choosing, just make sure that what you follow breeds life … instead of stifling it.

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Elf Control Band… December 14, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2093)

Just because you can doesn’t mean you should–and also, just because you shouldn’t have, doesn’t require that you spend a whole lot of time regretting.

That’s life.

This comes to my mind as I remember the Christmas 2000, when I convinced myself to open up a store for the holiday season. My daughter-in-law, Angy, was anxious to attempt a business project and I was in my usual adventurous state of mind to comply. We called it The Clazzy Christmas Store in honor of a CD recently put out by Janet and myself, loaded with music of the season.

We immediately ran into two problems: the amount of money we were able to afford to rent a commercial space in a shopping mall was not sufficient to acquire property in a successful, ongoing avenue. No, our funding only allowed for us to rent this type of facility in a mall which was dying out due to lack of interest, with quite limited foot traffic.

Secondly … well, we had no idea what we were doing.

Perhaps if this idea had been placed in a locale other than Outer Mongolia and staffed by leadership which had at least read an article on opening up new business, it might have prospered immensely. But because it was in a commercial environment that would have been well-suited to a tribe of monks, it was necessary for us to create a stir and generate publicity by offering incentives which we thought would stimulate commerce.

• So we hired a good Santa Claus, who alternated wearing both a red suit and a white suit.  Unique.
• We had parades through the parking lot to draw attention to ourselves and increase interest.
• And our third little escapade was to start something we called The Elf Control Band.

I went into a recording studio, took some classic rock songs and replaced the lyrics with Christmas sentiments (often silly in content) and then took my children–who ranged in age from third grade to junior high school–to embody these band members, dressing them in rubber elf ears, striped socks, funny hats, then placing them on a stage, lip-syncing and dancing to the songs which I had recorded.

To our amazement, this actually worked.

Although to this day my children insist that they do not have fond memories of the excursion, we got press coverage, television cameras and probably drew in the most “mall millers” this particular shopping center had experienced since they discovered fifteen dead raccoons in the heating ducts two years earlier.

We stocked our store with decorations and as much inventory as we could afford, and to our great fortune, only ended up by Christmas Day, losing about ten thousand dollars.

But here’s what I know: my children would never have had the experience of doing this together, creating a bond which has now lasted a lifetime. Matter of fact, one of them picked up a bass guitar that Christmas season which he has never put down and still plays funk and jazz today. Another one of the children started playing tambourine, cow bell and wood block and branched out into a career in drumline and technical support for those who march to a different beat.

It was truly amazing. It was creative in an environment where such shenanigans were viewed as bizarre, but still managed to gain enough acceptability to produce a smirk or two instead of just leers.

What I learned from The Elf Control Band is that even though something may seem silly, frivolous, out of step with the times or just downright ridiculous, it still can produce great benefit if energized by passion and love of life.

Some people spend their time wishing for what they could do. Others lament what they’ve already done.

I like to go out and do stuff and then … remember the good parts.

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A Nice Price for Mice … November 16, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2069)

It was a rather odd dream–not really spooky, just bizarre.

I found myself in a Wendy’s fast-food restaurant, chomping on a chicken sandwich, chatting with friends, when a young tyke about seven years old came walking up to me. He had chubby cheeks and wore a winter hat, similar to the ones you would see in the 1950s on kids who were forced to don them by their parents. In his hand he was holding an old-fashioned bird cage, and as I peeked inside, I discovered it was filled with little dead white mice.

I was taken aback. Then the youngster pointed to a sign pinned to his coat. It read, “A nice price for mice.”

I realized the kid was trying to sell these deceased little rodents–peddling from table to table.

Before I could express my horror, he ambled over to another patron, where a lovely older lady purchased one of the mice from the determined seller. He made his way all around the restaurant, with each person buying one of the dead boogers and patting the young man on the head.

I observed that none of the customers knew what to do with their purchase. As I mentioned, this was not a spooky dream. No one ate one or put it between their sesame seed buns. One lady wrapped the dead mouse delicately in a napkin and placed it in her purse; another man stuffed it in his pocket.

Why was the little boy selling dead mice? And why were people purchasing them?

Suddenly I awoke.

So you see, my friends, I don’t like to ignore my dreams. It may actually be one of the few occasions when my harried soul is still enough for God and my conscience to speak to me. In the process of analyzing the dream, I realized it was a parable of our American culture.

If Madison Avenue is able to find the right “little boy” to send our way to appeal to us, we are more than willing, at a nice price, to buy mice.

We really don’t know what we’re going to do with them. We don’t particularly favor them. But we find it difficult to say no to the attractive offer–especially when those around us are purchasing.

So we end up stuck with something we may not even believe in, and certainly do not treasure, as we pretend that it is our choice. Here’s the truth: mice aren’t nice–at any price.

Especially dead ones.

So I will tell you–there are some mice which have entered our society, promoted by Madison Avenue and large corporations. I would like to point them out and call them nasty, instead of wrapping them up in a napkin and tucking them away.

Here are three that immediately come to my mind:

1. Killing.

I am against it. I don’t like war. I don’t agree with capital punishment. I don’t like abortion. I don’t particularly like it when a guy shoots a woman through a screen door. It’s a dirty little mouse being peddled to the public as realistic and entertaining.

2. Drug abuse.

I don’t understand why we need them. What I mean is, I don’t understand why we would want to take drugs for recreational purposes when we’re reluctant to use them for treatment. I think we should be in the business of becoming a drug-free society because we’re working on being happier people. I will not purchase that little wall-dweller and call it a pet.

3.  Pornography.

It isn’t cute. It isn’t pretty. It doesn’t create equality between the sexes. It is another form of slavery for women. It is notorious. It is a dead “stinky” being sold by pretty people who want to portray themselves as open-minded–unless you are talking about the rights and dignity of the female of our species.

There you go.

I realize we live in a society that wants to peddle a nice price for mice, but I will tell you, things like killing, drug abuse and pornography are dirty rats.

And they are not a deal for me … at any price.

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Morse Code… September 28, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2020)

What an absolutely magical and simultaneously bizarre sensation it was last night as I turned onto Morse Road and headed to my gig at Ascension Lutheran. From the 3-C Highway to High Street is about a three or four mile stretch of pavement which explodes with memories from my childhood. I breathed them all in, smiled, heading off toward my evening’s activities.

Right on the corner was the location of Stan’s Restaurant, a place where, as a young boy, my parents would stop to eat dinner after their weekly excursion of puttering around at the Northern Lights Shopping Center. We children were always instructed to order the “chicken in a basket” while my dad had a T-bone steak. We didn’t care. It was eating out.

Right next door was the Lion’s Den Gentlemen’s Store. There was one church in town that didn’t think it was an establishment for gentlemen. They picketed against the pornography and made the newspaper for a season, but as the years have passed, the church is long-gone and the Lion’s Den, prosperous.

Just  down that road was the Northland Shopping Center, one of the first places I took my music group to perform in front of bustling patrons more interested in sales than in a rag-tag music group attempting to gain their attention. We were oblivious. The mall gave us fifty dollars for doing two shows, and we thought we had struck oil.

At that mall I also played the part of Santa Claus, which was suited both to my body type and my financial needs.

Just a few blocks down was a place called Schmidt’s Sausage House. The company still exists, though they long ago moved from the original location. Mr. Schmidt (or whoever the owner was) encountered our music group at a Catholic church, and he liked us so much he asked us to come in and perform on Monday nights, in the hopes of building his crowd by having live entertainment. (I’m not so sure we ever did that for him, but I do have great memories of a “Bahama Mama,” which, by the way, is a sausage, not an exotic dancer.)

And not too far down the road was a place called Lowe’s Theater. It was one of the closest movie-going places to my hometown. It was also the site of my first date with a girl at age sixteen. I can remember that I was so glad when the movie started, so we didn’t have to keep coming up with things to talk about. After much consternation, about three-quarters of the way through the film, I worked up the courage to reach over and hold her hand. I was surprised at how wet it was. I don’t know whether it was my perspiration or hers, but it was the first time I shared sweat with another human being.

And finally, down on the corner of High Street, there used to be a Frisch’s Restaurant. When I was twenty-four years old I sat in that restaurant with a friend and made one of the major decisions of my life. I decided to take my family, in our beat-up van, along with my music group, and move to Nashville, Tennessee and try to make a go of it. I was tired of being a local singer, pretty well-respected for my talent, but completely disdained and criticized for having no money.

That move to Nashville was undoubtedly one of the highlights of my young existence–and changed everything from a dream to a pathway of reality.

So when I went in concert last night at Ascension Lutheran and only fourteen people showed up for the “local boy who’s done good,” I had to laugh. It was another piece of my own personal Morse Code from Morse Road–another memory to add to the scrapbook.

And I guess I’ll just keep adding them–good, bad and ugly–until there are just no more pictures to be taken … because I’m gone.

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