Jonathots Daily Blog
(4507)
Click here to visit the Clazzy Art website!
Xantrippe–known as “the King of Egypt” in the novel on the life of Jesus, “I’M…the legend of the son of man,” takes the young Jesus on a journey to visit the Great Pyramids.
You can find the book on Amazon (Kindle or hard copy) by clicking the book below
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4499)
Click here to visit the Clazzy Art website!
Today’s painting is a preparation for Xantrippe, a character known as “the King of Egypt,” in the novel on the life of Jesus, “I’M…the legend of the son of man.”
Xantrippe is a great friend and mentor for a very young Jesus.
You can find the book on Amazon (Kindle or hard copy) by clicking the book below
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4295)
Comprehend the fight
To do what’s right
Wrong-headed: Incorrect headed in the wrong direction.
Although some people are critical of our country, I, for one, am astounded that things work as well as they do, considering how wrong-headed we are.
We are misguided. It is not malicious, but certainly is ignorant. And ignorant is a decision to ignore the logical.
Arguably, the most persecuted minorities in our country are the LGBTQ, Jewish and black communities.
Watching television, you are probably convinced that America is fifty percent gay, because they are well-represented in the entertainment industry and have gained the attention of politicians.
Likewise, if you listen to the pundits discussing the election, you might assume that the Jewish vote is at least thirty percent.
And in a quest to find truth, the number of shows and specials which are produced about the exploitation of the black race might cause you to think they are forty to fifty percent of the population.
From the LGBTQ community itself, it is estimated that 4.5 percent of Americans are gay, Lesbian, transgender and such.
Just 2 percent of the country is Jewish.
And 12.1 percent of America is black.
If you add these three numbers, you come up with 18.6 percent of the census.
They are a threat to no one.
They have no plans nor ability to take over our country and turn it into black power, Zionist or homosexual.
I just want to establish the statistics—for it is bad to begin a discussion believing false information. By no means am I offering these facts to make you think that because the numbers of these minorities are small, that they should be treated with disdain.
I’m just saying that you’ll never reach this country until you realize you are appealing that white people be more generous of spirit.
There’s just not much you can do if you’re gay, Jewish and black to change the heart of the United States of America to make it a home more suitable for your feelings.
If you’re a politician, a minister, a community organizer or just a concerned citizen, you should be motivating your white brothers and sisters to comprehend that this 18.6 percent that receives so much ambivalence, if not anger, are indeed “the least of these, my brethren,” that Jesus referred to when he was discussing those who need the most of our love and attention.
The problem in mentioning Jesus is that even though we tout ourselves “a Christian nation,” the religion of our country is…
It is a blending of our cultures, our likes, our religion, our prejudices, our egos and remnants of compassion.
It has absolutely nothing to do with Christianity.
If Jesus preached today, he would not last for three years. He would stir up trouble, get caught up in the 24-hour news cycle, be declared a cult leader and disgraced in two weeks.
Americanity has three premises:
1. America was founded by Europeans—basically white people.
2. Because of that and many other factors, we consider ourselves to be an “exceptional nation.”
3. Even though we accept an amount of integration, we do not want to lose the power of our white color and composition.
I understand that most people would not admit they have bought into these principles. Nevertheless, they are ingrained in you if you are not gay, Jewish or black.
Let me give you an example:
We are a country that is proud that we freed the slaves. Matter of fact, the average white person would point out that this is acceptable restitution—our gift to the black race for stealing them from Africa.
Now let’s take a Bible story everybody knows:
The children of Israel are slaves in Egypt. Moses wants to free them. Let’s say the Pharaoh agrees to free them, but then the slaves remain in Egypt, hanging around with those people who used to be their masters. How successful would that have been? How important was it for the Jews to escape Egypt, so they could really be free?
Yet in America, we tossed freedom to the black man, but forced him to live, work and worship around his former masters.
We promised “forty acres and a mule” and instead, trapped black families in a history that held them in bondage.
Simultaneously…
Even though the LGBTQ community, the black race and the Jewish folk are only 18.6 percent of the population, there is a group that is 52 percent, and they are still treated as a minority.
They are fighting for their lives; they are struggling for their right to be heard. They are pleading for their bodies—they are demanding an equality that should have been guaranteed long ago.
Before we solve the problems with the gays, the Jews and the blacks, we are desperately in need of a GENDER MENDER: a mingling of education, humor and understanding that closes the gap between men and women.
Can you imagine how much easier it would be to grant equality to other minorities if the treatment of women was mitigated by common sense?
Instead, we pretend that women are about one percent of the population and ask them to stand to the rear and wait their turn.
You will not comprehend the difficulties faced by the Jewish race until the bigotry against women is resolved.
And you will never, ever complete the journey of a free America, and open the doors to the LGBTQ community, until men and women in this country arrive at a tender, but firm understanding of their union.
I can certainly assure you, however, that I am…
They have survived the shenanigans of twenty years of war, political lying and cheating and murder in their schools.
They have no stomach for Americanity.
And they are completely turned off to the idea that minorities must stand in line and wait their turn.
Yet even the young humans out there are screwed up on the issue of men and women—borrowing way too much tradition from their parents.
It is time to deal with the BAD. Look at the stats the way they are, realize that America is mostly white and needs to be appealed to for its better angels to make our plans work.
And please, once and for all, can we get rid of the sad Americanity—which believes in red, blue and white supremacy?
I’d like to see us get MAD and start to seek out a way to GENDER MENDER the difficulties between men and women.
Then we can be glad and offer the next generation a better palette, so their painting can be filled with color.
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4126)
And then all at once, an interruption came to rob the attention from the cause. The priest sank to his knees, seemingly overcome by the desert heat. He grabbed his head as the perspiration poured off his face. The gathered horde of critics moved to his side, deeply concerned for his well-being.
“You see what you’ve done, boys? I’m very tired of your disrespect,” said the suit.
The robe stepped forward threateningly. “You must learn to hold your tongue, young man.”
And the priest, still on his knees breathing heavily, voiced his objection. “My collar does not pinch me.”
He turned to those holding him up, finishing. “I will be fine, my brothers. Just a little too much heat.”
All the adults turned with one disapproving gaze in the direction of the pair of renegade escapees.
Pal stepped forward. “Listen, you should not be here. He’s sick. Just leave us alone. If you are truly men of God, as you say, you need to realize that there’s nothing wrong with love between two friends.”
“Honor your father and mother,” replied the suit.
All the men vigorously nodded their heads in agreement. They had finally found a common axiom which they could all agree upon.
Iz and Pal looked at the four men and then back at each other. Trying to talk to these immovable statues was a fruitless task. It seemed they were speaking different languages.
“Understand this,” said blue jeans. “We were sent to resolve this peacefully. We mean you no harm. We’re not trying to overtake you. But when they come with the rally, they will not be as nice as we have been to you.”
“Why can’t you just leave us alone?” demanded Pal.
“Because you are children,” responded the collar.
“Weren’t you a child once?” queried Iz.
Now standing solidly on his feet, he replied, “Yes. But I’ve put away childish things.” His face was still flushed with crimson.
Iz stopped and held his hands up in the air, requiring a reprieve. Several times the collar, the robe, the blue jeans and the suit tried to speak, but he covered his ears.
When Iz saw that their lips didn’t move any more and silence had settled in, he said, “I guess we’re just not ready to put away childish things—because you grown-ups pack away all of their dreams along with those childish things. We are not ready to be dreamless.”
The robe screamed at the top of his voice, “Is it true there’s a hand grenade?”
Pal was very nervous, but somehow or another managed to remain cool. He glanced over at Iz, who displayed an unsettling, icy stare. “Would you like to see it?” he asked. “Or would you like to hear it?”
The men were not willing to overwhelm the two boys—not at the risk of their own lives. The meeting was over. The committee stared at the unflinching features of the young men. One by one, the invaders turned and walked slowly down the hill.
Collar spoke as he left. “May it never be said that we didn’t try to warn you.”
Pal yelled after them as they trudged along. “How about Joseph and his brothers? They lived in Egypt and lived in peace—Jew and Arab. Did anyone hold a rally and try to stop them? Were they wrong, Mullah?”
There was no more response.
After all, the mission was not about discovering the truth or even discussing the facts. It wasn’t even about redeeming the time. The whole goal had been to get the little boys to do what little boys were supposed to do.
Yet what do you do when you’re old and the young will not listen? What is your recourse when boys grow into men without your permission?
Iz and Pal stood and watched as the men finished their walk and disappeared.
The rally would be in two days. That meant there were forty-eight hours of freedom left—guaranteed space for Iz and Pal.
They decided not to waste a second of it thinking about religious figures who frowned and never smiled…and also resembled melting snow that had no place in the desert.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog
(4119)
There was an attempt at a silent meeting of the minds.
Those melting in the desert heat who were over eighteen years of age peered at one another, trying to decide who should speak up next to foil the efforts of the little ingrates. In the meantime, Iz frowned. He had grown weary of the conversation.
Before the inquisitors could come to terms on whose turn it was to interrogate the boys, Iz spoke up. “Here—I have some questions. Listen, if you can answer them, then I will certainly stay silent and receive what you have to say. Let me start with you, Rabbi. Are Ishmael and Isaac brothers—both sons of Abraham?”
The shirt and tie cleared his throat. “Well, actually, half-brothers. Abraham had Ishmael with a slave girl and Isaac was born under the true promise of God.”
“E-e-e-e-h-h-h, there’s the buzzer,” said Iz. “Wrong again. They’re either brothers or they’re not. And actually, Ishmael was Isaac’s older brother. Don’t you think God knew he needed an older brother? Weren’t they supposed to stay together?”
The mullah stepped forward. “My answer would have been quite different…”
“Yes,” Pal interrupted. “I know your answer. I learned it early on. You believe Ishmael was a child of promise, too, and he was mistreated by the Jews and forced into exile, where God raised him up to be equal. But here’s my question, Mullah. Doesn’t that make him the underdog? Aren’t you always teaching that we have to struggle to live up to the same standard as the Jews instead of having our own identity, our own mission?”
The mullah chuckled. “You are so young. You do not understand, and I don’t have the time to educate you.”
“Next question,” said Iz, inserting himself. “This one goes to the guy with the funny collar. Was your Jesus a Jew, and if he was, why didn’t he come as an Arab instead?”
The collar spoke. “By the way, I am Father Shannon, and you’re right. I believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ, and we do believe Jesus was a Jew…”
Pal raised his hand. “So why should I care about him? Why do I want another Jewish guy to be in charge of me, telling me I’m not part of the promise of God?”
Blue jeans interceded. “Actually, according to Christian theology, Jesus was Jewish on his mother’s side, but spent most of his early years in Egypt, as an Arab. Lots of theologians believe God wanted Jesus’s disciples to take the message to the Jews, Arabs and Afrikaans first. Well, they really didn’t. They ended up taking it to the Jews, Greeks and Romans.”
“You see?” screamed Iz. “They screwed up, and because they screwed up, you all got different names for the same things that end up doing nothing for anybody. And Pal and I get messed up because we don’t get to be friends, ’cause you guys can’t even agree on what clothes to wear. One of you’s got a collar pinching your throat, another is dressed like a businessman, you over there—well, you’re wearing a robe like some sort of shepherd, and dude—you’ve got on blue jeans, trying to pretend like you’re young.”
“I hear a lot of anger,” said Blue jeans.
“I see a lot of stupid,” said Pal.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3628)
For thirty-six hours, God walked away and left humanity to dangle in its notorious decisions.
Long ago, from six o’clock Friday to six o’clock on Sunday morning, the conclusions derived by the honoring of religion, the promotion of politics and the inclusion of jealousy reigned supreme on the Earth.
In the process, a hapless lamb was slaughtered so that a less-than-noble tribe of Bedouins could believe they were special because their ancestors had the fortitude to escape Egypt.
A governor of Judea slinked away to Caesarea to spend a quiet weekend with his wife, only to discover that she was enraged because he had failed to take her dream into consideration when judging an innocent man.
A betrayer from Kerioth who was blindly jealous of his Master, his best friend, climbed a small hill, tied a rope around his neck and hung himself from a tree.
Soldiers were demanded to guard a tomb to make sure that nobody went in, or for that matter, nobody came out.
Disciples who had followed a messenger of love were scared into hiding because they simply believed that “loving your neighbor as yourself” was not a greeting-card sentiment.
Repairmen came to clean up after an unexpected earthquake shook the region, leaving behind great damage, even in the Temple.
The world proceeded with a nauseating sameness, which gained the smugness of superiority because it appeared that any variables were nailed down and silenced.
The kingdom of religion seemed to succeed–a philosophy contending that tradition must decide.
The kingdom of politics stomped around the Great Hall, believing that greed decides.
And the kingdom of jealousy slithered away to lick its wounds, confident of temporary victory because fear had made its decision.
For thirty-six hours, God removed Himself from the circumstances, leaving religion, politics and jealousy to win the day.
It seemed that the obvious forces in power were as formidable as advertised–because everything which had objected, contradicted or shared a different approach was beaten, crucified and buried.
At first sight, there was no light.
And then God returned.
Actually, it was the Kingdom of God, which is within us. It is a Kingdom where faith decides because we are the ones who offer the input.
Even though the disciples of the slain Master were still tucked away, three women bravely made their way to a tomb.
They were not expecting a resurrection.
They were not anticipating finding a miracle.
They did what women have done since the beginning of time–they viewed how men had screwed everything up and they came to clean up the mess.
No bands played, no dignitaries arrived with a key to the city, no men who had pledged eternal allegiance surfaced.
Just three women carrying a bunch of spices, which they immediately dropped when they saw an empty tomb.
Easter is a time when we celebrate more than a resurrection. It is a moment in history when God shows us that even though insanity may temporarily take control, His grace, mercy, understanding and wisdom are never far away.
It was not easy to survive thirty-six hours without God. But because those thirty-six hours showed us the foolishness of religion, politics and jealousy, we can now revel with great joy in the Kingdom of God, which allows our faith to decide.
*****
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*******
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3530)
A baby being born in a sheep stall in Bethlehem of poor Palestinian parents is not difficult to believe. After all, poverty extracts much of the comfort of good cheer.
Maybe the angels seem a little far-fetched to you (but you know how it is with stories about your young’uns.)
Believing that a year-and-a-half later, a troop of astrologers made their way into town to proclaim this child the hope of the world and the King of the Jews does seem highly unlikely–yet there are always people who have their eccentric ways and live them out because they have enough money to fund them.
Comprehending that there could be a leader of a nation who was so insecure that he was frightened of any competition, and scared a young family away, fearing for their lives, does not seem improbable. Matter of fact, it could be ripped from the headlines. One more refugee family ending up in a foreign land where they have neither kin nor kind is certainly well within the grasp of reality.
Having that young boy return to his alleged home town at age seven, carrying all the trappings and mannerisms of the heathen, would certainly make growing up difficult, not to mention the colliding wills of an every-growing collection of siblings.
Thinking that this boy would have no interest in carpentry, but instead, a precocious passion for humanity and the things of Spirit, is not implausible. After all, he’s the ugly duckling, whom we assume might one day become a swan. He grew in wisdom and stature, and even though he was a foreigner, gradually gained the favor of his neighbors.
It’s not difficult to believe that he lost his Papa, his only real connection with the village of Nazareth, and like many young men, launched out to find some purpose, ending up at the Jordan River, interacting with a wild and wooly cousin named John.
You can certainly believe he got baptized, and probably went out into the wilderness for a while, just to find himself, coming back with claims of interfacing with the devil. You might even forgive his youthful explanation, knowing that to some degree, we all wrestle with our demons.
But the story stalls.
He is rejected by his home town, moves to Capernaum next to the Sea of Galilee, encompassed by a sea of apathy, picks up some friends and followers, and starts traveling the countryside. It is hit-and-miss at best.
It is at this point that many folks who consider themselves to be intelligent and reasonable become cynical about a miracle-worker who calms the waves and casts out demons. But to a certain degree, even those sardonic souls might be able to explain away this and that, but still maintain their interest in the story–especially since he begins to hammer away at religion, loses the favor of the crowd and opens the door of the hierarchy to plot against him, find a betrayer, try him, beat him, nail him to a cross and kill him.
If the story ended there, the baby born in Bethlehem had a life that was a complete failure. His friends are scattered in every direction, his movement was about to become a joke–a piece of farcical history.
So this is where faith comes in. That’s right–you don’t really have to use much to this point. You can just glide along with the story, picking and choosing at will.
But the tale that unfolds, spoken of by those who claimed to be eyewitnesses, is that this baby of Bethlehem rose from the dead.
Now … faith is in full function and also full demand.
Did Jesus of Bethlehem, Egypt, Nazareth, Jordan River, wilderness, Capernaum and Mesopotamia end his life as a failure, beaten down by his critics?
Or did God, the power of the Ethos and the Spirit of the Universe, choose to resurrect him to give the message one more chance?
It’s a very important decision.
It changes this story from a baby shower to a heaven-ordained miracle.
For as we know, several weeks later, a hundred and twenty people in an Upper Room believed it was true. Twelve disciples gave their lives as martyrs, insisting they had witnessed a resurrection.
And at last count, 2.2 billion humans still living two thousand years later have taken their faith beyond the crib, past the crypt … and placed it in the Christ.
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A voice writing in the wilderness
Jonathots Daily Blog 
