Jesonian … October 30th, 2018

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(3841)

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The disciples of Jesus decided that children had no business hanging around with the big, important people who were doing big, important things for God in a big, important way.

After all, they were kids and all they wanted to do was have fun, and such jubilation is often an unwelcome interruption to austerity.

They decided, as grownups, in a mature way, that they would make an adult provision to eliminate these brats, as they frowned from their ancient faces.

Jesus disagreed.

He explained that the message of the Gospel is for children, and the goal was not to make younger people act older, but to make older people act younger.

It’s amazing that his message is now celebrated by those who are on the verge of death instead of those who are just beginning their lives.

Jesus had a children’s message because he said we’re all supposed to become children.

It’s the only way to escape growing up, being mean and acting childish.


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Catchy (Sitting 67) Just When You Realized the Donkey’s Ears Were Not As Long As You Originally Thought… September 23rd, 2018

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(3804)

The name of the restaurant was Vous L’Appelez, which was French for “You Name It.”

It was one of nine restaurants at the Haven on the Mount which offered all sorts of fine cuisine at very reasonable prices since money was not an issue.

The frustration of cash had been removed from the compound by using credits and bartering as a way of distributing goods and services instead of passing around American currency, which really had no relevance. Each family maintained their own personal accounts in other parts of the world, depending on whether they wanted to be “missing in action,” or “presumed dead.”

But Vous L’Appelez had a wonderful advertising scheme of offering anything you wanted to eat–as long as you phoned ahead. Matthew had rented the entire facility for the evening, for what he hoped would be a very special night.

It was the six-month anniversary of his arrival in the mountains, and he felt it was time to sit down with Leonora, offer a ring and a proposal he hoped she would not refuse. Their relationship was sweet. It was well-thought-out. It was without contention–for after all, everything in the region was minus strife and the pursuit of vanity. Their romance was clean, free of obstruction.

But there were moments when Matthew felt that the energetic young woman, who had a tendency to lose interest very quickly, was absent and that her mind was floating to other concerns, even during their times of intimacy.

He had no way of proving it. Every time he brought up some problem with their connection, she cited a hundred examples of bliss and joy. So pushing past his own foolish insecurity and overbearing need to throw a wrench into all great works, he set up this dinner–this meeting, this moment–to once and for all enter a relationship with a woman that would last for more than a night.

It had been an amazing six months. Although he had seen Michael Hinston for some meetings and luncheons, and made sure to connect with Jo-Jay, and even had a coffee a time or two with the billionaire king himself, most of his daytime hours were spent being mentored and emotionally healed by Joshua Jackson.

Joshua was a large man–formidable. Almost frightening. Had it not been for his gentle eyes and warm embraces, Matthew would have been intimidated.

Joshua knew everything.

He knew all the stories of what led up to Matthew’s arrival at the Haven on the Mount and he seemed to have a unique way of taking the cumbersome Bible scriptures and bringing them down to common sense and simplicity for the often-cynical former marketer.

They developed such a deep friendship that several of the residents mistook Joshua and Matthew for lovers. So Matthew was careful to spend his days with Joshua and his nights with Leonora. He wanted to at least appear bi-sexual.

Joshua filled in many of the blanks. He explained a phenomenon that Matthew had never considered–that in every organization there always existed a subversive core of individuals who wanted to use the power of their authority to gain wealth, even if they had to hurt other people.

It made no difference if the organization was a library, a country or a bank–tucked deep into the underbelly of every business or corporation were the radicals who desired to manipulate.

Joshua had been hired to find those under-bellies. It was his job to join them, fellowship with them, drink their favorite booze and learn how to prevent their nasty plans from destroying the movement.

Therefore he often appeared to be the enemy, when he was actually the stopgap who kept tragedy from befalling the lives of those who were trying to bring a little peace on Earth, goodwill toward men.

Joshua had planned the abduction of Jo-Jay, rescuing her through that kidnapping from being murdered by a car bomb. He had carefully placed her in the Amazon forest, knowing full well that another member of the team, Reverend Paulson, would be nearby for the recovery when the time was right.

(Matter of fact, the Paulson family, with both children, were currently dwelling in the Haven on the Mount–a blessed retirement for years of bringing the Gospel to the ignored.)

Joshua had also quietly saved Jubal’s life several times, and had even set in motion a plan to foil the plot in Salisbury, North Carolina, killing believers, by joining up with the three assassins. Joshua’s plan was to murder the trio right before the attack. Unfortunately, his fellow-assassins got nervous and antsy, and decided to instigate the job before Joshua arrived.

When Joshua came to Salisbury and saw the death and destruction around him, he was overcome with grief and took his pistol and aimed it at his head to take his own life, feeling he had failed.

It was Carlin Canaby who stopped him; otherwise he would have been marked by all eternity as one of the deceased murderers.

This was before Carlin became known by the group, standing on the sidelines to make sure “the edges didn’t curl up.”

Joshua told story after story of his work among the more sinister, rebellious elements around the country–how each secret counter-culture had manufactured an America in their minds that was run either by Satan or greed.

Time and time again he stepped in to fill the need–a space which was fortunately unknown to most people because of his effectiveness.

Notably, the Christian Liberty Operation (the CLO) used him as an operative and because of his work there, he was able to expose an errant terrorist group within their own ranks, preventing disaster–thereby legitimizing what turned out to be a worthwhile organization.

Matthew fell in love with Joshua–a brotherly love he had never experienced before. He had never known anyone like Joshua. Joshua was candid. Joshua was self-effacing, without being frightened or imbalanced.

Joshua loved people.

After he was convinced that Matthew could be trusted, Joshua shared the story of Prophet Morgan. He did so quietly but defiantly. Joshua still questioned what happened to the young preacher. He believed that Arthur Harts had made a hasty decision because of his dislike of the Southern boy.

Joshua explained that there was no doubt that Morgan was a drug addict. He had started as a boy–to try to keep up with his father’s tent revivals, to stay alert and energetic, but then he was never able to get out from under the monkey on his back, which gradually turned into a gorilla, smashing him into the ground.

Joshua worked with him. Because Prophet Morgan did not know who Joshua was or why he was there, Joshua was able to take him on like a little brother. But the Prophet was determined to fulfill his own dark self-prophesy.

When it became obvious to Joshua that the boy needed help and rehabilitation–perhaps to be brought to the Haven on the Mount to heal–Harts refused.

He explained to Joshua, “To everything there’s a season. This is not a season for the young Prophet.”

Three days later, Morgan took his car out into the middle of the desert and found a way to kill himself. Even though many people in Vegas thought it was a murder, it was, in fact, a horrible suicide.

Joshua closed the story by saying to Matthew, “I do understand. And I do appreciate the importance of the decision. I just don’t agree.”

Matthew had six months of rich conversations and revelations in his mind as he sat down to dinner with Leonora.

He had requested all forms of baked and broiled seafood along with tropical fruits. She loved that mixture and so did he. They dined, they giggled a bit, and they both chilled with joy over being together in such a safe utopia.

Dinner came to an end and Leonora was growing a bit impatient from hanging around the restaurant. Matthew knew he needed to make his move.

What was stopping him? Why didn’t he just reach into his pocket and pull out the ring–a family heirloom provided by Billionaire Harts for the occasion–and place it on her finger?

There was one question–an unanswered, festering notion–that he needed her to explain. It was so awkward, perhaps petty. But still–he wanted to know.

Matthew geared up his courage, guzzled some mineral water, took her hands, looked into her eyes, and said, “I have a question.”

She nodded her head, maintaining her eye contact.

“When I was so sick,” he began, “and it was obvious I needed a liver transplant–but more importantly, I needed you–why did you choose that moment to go away?”

She surprised him. She bristled, stiffened and pulled her hands back.

“Why are we going into this now?” she asked. “I thought…”

Then she stopped.

“You thought what?” asked Matthew.

She shook her head. He leaned forward, drawing closer to her face.

“No, Leonora. Tell me. You thought what?”

Leonora stood to her feet, stepped behind her chair, pivoted and spoke. “I thought you were going to propose to me tonight.”

Matthew leaned back. “What gave you that idea?”

Leonora stepped a couple of feet away, and then turned and replied. “You know what gave me that idea. My grandfather said he gave you the family heirloom ring, and also permission to ask. I thought that’s what this dinner was about. Why are we talking about old silliness when we have our lives ahead of us?”

Matthew craned his neck to stare up at her.

“So which part of this is silly? Me being sick? Me being weak? Me needing you? Or you disappearing?”

“It’s all silly,” she said, moving back into her chair. She took his hands again. “Come on. The past is the past. Why are we ruining this moment, worrying about what’s already happened?”

Matthew took a deep breath and spoke words he had only whispered in his heart in the middle of the night.

“Because, Leonora…I don’t think you love me.”

He shocked himself when he heard the words. They were so lonesome as they hung in the air, without any support; abandoned, needing a place to find rest, but orphaned in the silence.

“You don’t think I love you?” Leonora said. “Haven’t I shown you I love you? I’ve never loved a man the way I love you.”

Matthew interrupted. “I believe that. I do. I just don’t know…Well, I just don’t know if that’s enough for me.”

Leonora stood to her feet again, repeating her pivot around her chair.

“Matthew Ransley, what is it you want? What do you want from me? Am I to be your devotee? Am I supposed to cheer your every move? Should I lessen myself so you feel better?”

Matthew jumped in. “So you think you have to lessen yourself to be my equal? Is that what you’re saying?”

Leonora walked across the room with all the appearances of departing, but stopped a few paces from the exit.

“What I’m saying,” she spit, “is that I don’t like complications. You see what I have to offer. You see who I am. You see how I function. You know my height, you know my depth–and if it isn’t enough, then fine. But don’t ask me to pretend to be your dream girl. I’m nobody’s girl. I am Leonora. I don’t plan on changing that. I am just like my instrument–the oboe. Yes. I’m just like the oboe. You put the right reed in me and you finger me correctly, and add the breath, and I will play you a beautiful tune. It may sound like a silly analogy and it probably is. But not nearly as ridiculous as this conversation. So do you love me? Are you going to give me the ring? Or are we going to sit and talk about this all night?”

Matthew sat and stared at the self-aware but also self-serving lady before him. She was perfect. That’s why he couldn’t be with her.

“Yes,” he said. “I will give you the ring so you can return it to your grandfather. You deserve better than me. Privately you know that. It’s just that sometimes your private thoughts get in my head.”

Leonora walked back to the table, took the ring, thought about speaking, but decided to just walk away.

Matthew sat and stared for a long time at the space once occupied by the woman he desired. He realized that desire is just not enough.

He took his phone out of his pocket, dialed a number and spoke.

“Plan Z.”

The owner of the restaurant, realizing that things had not turned out the way Matthew had anticipated, came over and gave him a tender, Christian hug, and said the meal was free. Matthew patted him on the shoulder, stepped out into the night air, climbed onto the golf cart which had been provided for his needs, and drove the one mile to the airport.

His jet was waiting for him.

Matthew realized that he could stand to live in the Haven if he and Leonora could have had a life together. But a sanctuary of safety was never what Matthew wanted in his life. He would much rather be in the chaos, and try to find a way to tie two ends together, to create some wholeness.

He did not belong at the Haven in the Mount. He was more of a Jubal, a Jasper, a Rolinda. He was going home.

But he was going home with a change in his heart–a belief that Jesus was not only popular, but brought a message and a lifestyle which was essential for Planet Earth.

Matthew was returning to his life–but this time as a believer.

Arriving at the airport, the pilot loaded his bags into the plane, and as he was about to climb up the steps and leave Paradise forever, he heard a voice.

“What’s your hurry?”

He turned around. It was Jo-Jay.

“You didn’t think you were gonna leave without me, did you? I want to tell you, Matthew. This place is so good it makes me feel bad.”

Matthew laughed and gave her a big hug.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Am I sure what?” inquired Jo-Jay.

“Are you sure about going back?”

“Well,” said Jo-Jay, “when I was coming here to the airport, thinking I was going to leave by myself, I felt pretty good about it. But now that I know I’m leaving with you–well–I still feel pretty good about it.”

She burst into laughter. He joined her.

They climbed into the airplane, and taxied down the runway, taking one final look at the Eden of the Hills.

“Maybe we’ll visit sometime,” said Matthew, looking over at Jo-Jay.

Jo-Jay chuckled. “Hell, Matthew. There’s no maybes in our world.”

The two leaned their heads back, feeling completely at peace.

It was time for them to go into the world and live the Gospel.

THE END

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Catchy (Sitting 65) Just As I Am… September 9th, 2018

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(3790)

Matthew sat quietly in the rental car he had selected at the airport, having arrived early for a meeting with Milton Crenshaw–one he promised Jubal he would cover.

As he sat on the narrow thoroughfare winding through the trailer park leading to Crenshaw’s mobile home, he watched with great curiosity as a mama duck led her four babies across the road. She was so damn organized.

He suddenly felt very stupid because he envied her. She was just a duck–but she had a family. Matthew had no “honey” and no “sonny.” Just himself and a nice rental car. Oh–and of course, there was that little thing of being saved by his old friend, Michael Hinston and being given a second chance via a liver transplant.

Matthew knew he was an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch, but that didn’t make him any more thankful. When Soos called him that morning and told him it had been a hundred days since anyone had heard from Jo-Jay, he was concerned–but not engaged.

Likewise, it had been seven days since anyone had heard from Carlin Canaby. Matthew investigated, and discovered that Carlin had turned in all his rental properties and checked out of his suite at the Las Vegas casino. He was nowhere to be found.

Jubal felt that he should take over some of Carlin’s duties, so he asked Matthew to take the weekly meeting with Milton.

Matthew had been very reluctant. There was no real reason for it. Well, he didn’t like trailer parks. Or old men. And he wasn’t particularly fond of fat people–especially if they were “preachers of the Gospel.”

Overall, he just felt ill-suited for the task. However, the ducks completed their journey across the road, so Matthew decided it was time to go meet Mr. Crenshaw. Like a boy called to the dinner table on broccoli night, he took his time, dragging his feet. He trudged to the door, knocked, and a voice from inside bellowed, “Come on in. It’s open.”

Matthew stepped through the door. Sitting in a wheelchair was a big fat man with a grin. The fellow reached out a hand and Matthew took it. He then offered Matthew a seat. Matthew sat down and declined coffee, breakfast and water–he wasn’t staying long.

Milton waited for a moment and then realized that Matthew had no intention of starting the conversation. So he launched. “You’re a talkative one, aren’t you?”

“No disrespect, sir,” answered Matthew, “but you’re a stranger to me and I’ve never been particularly fond of strangers…”

Milton interrupted. “Especially big fat ones that preach the Gospel, right?”

Matthew was taken aback by the bluntness, but managed to reply, “Oh, no. Nothing like that…”

“So are you tired?” asked Milton.

“My flight wasn’t that long,” began Matthew.

Milton interrupted again. “I’m not talkin’ about your damn flight. I’m just wondering if you’re tired of dodging and trying to escape the obvious.”

“What is obvious?” asked Matthew.

“What is obvious?” mulled Milton. “Well, how about this? We’ve tried for several hundred years to live in a world where everyone is allowed to believe anything they want to, do anything they want to, and even form governments around that thinking, without any objection.”

“That’s what they call freedom,” inserted Matthew.

Milton laughed. “‘Freedom’s just another word, for nothin’ left to lose.’ That’s from Bobby McGee.” He peered at Matthew and added, “I’m sure thqt was before your time.”

Matthew sat up in his chair and stated, “Well, if it’s conversation you want, and you want it to be honest, I would just love to receive this report I’m supposed to collect and get the hell out of here.”

Milton smiled. “Well, I see you have some backbone. That’s good. So you want my report? Here’s my report. I’m sitting in a room with a man who has been blessed–who is so ignorant that he feels he has the God-given right to question the logic of the universe. How’s that for a report?”

“I don’t like you, Mr. Crenshaw,” said Matthew. “And it’s not because you preach the Gospel or because you are heavy-set.”

“You mean fat?” Milton interrupted.

“Your word,” countered Matthew. “It’s not because of that. It’s because you’ve eye-balled me ever since I walked in, as a potential conquest for your ego-stroking evangelical need to save the world, one damnable sinner at a time.”

Milton lurched back in fake horror. “Oh, my God! I don’t want you to get saved! Then you’d be my brother in Jesus and we might have to work together! I’m just pointing out that you find yourself to be so intelligent and erudite–yet the obvious continues to escape you.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What is the obvious?” asked Matthew.

“I didn’t say I’d tell you,” replied Milton. “I don’t usually waste my time sharing valuable information with those who are determined to be ignorant.”

Matthew stood to his feet. “And I’m not accustomed to hanging around to be insulted. I’ve had enough of this. I’ll just tell Jubal that it was great and you were super-fine. How’s that?”

“Sit down,” demanded Milton. Matthew didn’t move.

“Please,” added Milton with some tenderness. Against his better judgment, Matthew sat back down.

Milton paused. His demeanor changed.

“My dear friend,” he began gently, “if the human race does not find a common cause, a common kindness and a common appreciation, we’re just gonna fuckin’ kill each other. I hope you don’t mind me using that word. I don’t very often, but sometimes it’s the only one that grants correct emphasis on the desperation and futility of a situation.”

Matthew jumped in. “My problem with you is not that you say ‘fuck.’ My problem with you is that you’re a big, fat fuck.”

Milton laughed. He roared. He slapped his chubby thigh and he rolled his wheelchair closer to Matthew.

“That I am,” he said. “Do you know why?”

Matthew shook his head.

“It’s because while you deliberate two inches of rope to determine its strength, the world is hanging itself by the remaining length. Please understand–I don’t follow Jesus because I’m a religious man. Hell, I had a porn addiction at one time in my life. I had to fight it off like crazy. I’m not a good man; I’m not a pure man. Morality is not my primary concern. It’s common sense. You see, the reason they killed Jesus of Nazareth is because he was sensible. And the reason the church today does not preach Jesus is because it’s afraid their people will not tolerate the simplicity of ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’ It’s much easier to play the organ, the guitar, preach the sermon and feign worshipping the heavens with candles and eucharist. But meanwhile, the world keeps dividing into smaller and smaller groups. And the smaller the groups are, the more dangerous they become. Organization becomes easier. You see, it would take China months–maybe years–to get agreement to destroy the world from all its various leaders. But sixteen fanatics in a garage in Syria, with a dirty bomb, could pull off tragedy before the weekend.”

“If we don’t come up with a common message–a common goal, a common sense–we will kill each other. And you see, Moses won’t do it–he believed in killing. As did Mohammed, Buddha and all the religionists throughout history. Jesus never killed anyone. He never recommended it. He said God is your Father, nature is your Mother, I am your brother, and the whole world are your cousins.”

“If that message doesn’t permeate our society in the next twenty years, we will have diminishing results, which will end up in a foolish decision to prove some asinine point.”

Matthew was stunned, but didn’t want to act like it. “What gives you the right, Mr. Crenshaw, to make decisions for everyone in the world?”

Milton leaned forward and said, “What gives you the right, young man, to deny that the decision has already been made, the price has already been paid–and all that remains is for each one of us is just to walk into the wisdom of loving one another and being kind and tender-hearted?”

Matthew laughed. “And you think you’re kind and tender-hearted? You think the way you treated me this morning is the spirit of love? If your attitude is Jesus, then you can stick the motherfucker right back up on the cross as far as I’m concerned.”

“Very dramatic,” said Milton. “I can see why they asked you to take on this mission. You have the power of your convictions even when they’re wrong. You started out your life–you wanted to be funny. You are funny. You wanted to have your own business. You do. You wanted to be successful. You are. You wanted money. God knows you got that. You wanted people to look up to you. Accomplished. Yet you sat in your casino suite and nearly drank yourself to death. How gentle do you think I should be with such arrogance?”

All at once Matthew broke. It really wasn’t anything Milton had said. It wasn’t a conviction from the challenge. But tears filled Matthew’s eyes. Not the usual weeping, where he conjured self-pity over some perceived injustice to his character. These tears were coming from another place, out of his control, streaming down his face, though he willed them to cease.

Matthew wept. Then he sobbed. And then he cried out, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

Milton backed up his wheelchair and turned away to give Matthew a private moment.

Matthew was moved–but angry at the same time. He didn’t want to be some common, everyday sinner, repenting and weeping over evil actions. He hated himself for being weak.

But none of that stopped the tears.

Quietly, Milton spoke–nearly under his breath. “Just as I am, and waiting not, to rid my soul of one dark blot. Just as I am, without one plea, but that thy blood was shed for me.”

Through a gushing of tears, Matthew squalled, “Why did they kill him?”

Milton paused and turned slowly to Matthew. “Because they foolishly thought it would stop him.”

This brought an even greater torrent of mourning. Milton eased his wheelchair over and put his arms around Matthew, who laid his head on the old man’s chest and cried like he had lost everything.

No one hurried the moment. No one spoke again. Neither Milton nor Matthew knew exactly what it all meant.

Yet something was different.

 

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Jesonian … September 4th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3885)

The religious system: a baffling, befuddled, faulted and failing attempt to turn the beauty of faith into a well-funded organization.

It contains two erroneous, if not evil, ideas:

1. Material that was written four thousand years ago doesn’t require any updating in the Spirit whatsoever.

2. The Spirit of God and the lives of believers can be capsulized into a corporate worship experience.

It is restrictive.

It is selfish.

It denies individuality in favor of blind compliance.

It turns Jesus into the sacrificial lamb instead of extolling his true measure as a Good Shepherd.

It wants its children to become advocates for printed material which comes out of old-fashioned boardrooms, ushered forth by spiritually vacant suits.

They envision their young children having a conversation similar to this:

 

Yet truthfully, children were never meant to contemplate the actions of impotent, aged patriarchs. They were intended to have life and it more abundantly. So actually, Sunday morning in America more resembles the following:

Although it would be impossible to limit the message of Jesus of Nazareth to one strain of thought or one stream of consciousness, it is undoubtedly true that he was the champion of children and the Great Equalizer when it came to women.

Because his message was visual and filled with stories, the children flocked to him. And because he refused to teach a Gospel that was just for men, the ladies came his way, bringing their money to support his work. That’s what it says in the gospel of Luke.

How will we know that we’ve escaped the religious system and have begun to be a household of faith once again?

When the children eagerly gather and the women are given their full rights as human beings.

*****

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Jesonian … August 28th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3878)

It was a nasty insult, compounded by the fact that it was delivered in front of an audience instead of offered privately behind the scenes.

It came from a friend–actually a relative–who had once made it clear that he was a supporter, a believer and prepared to do whatever was necessary to see the cause advanced.

Yet because he had recently been arrested for disagreeing with a king, he had lost some of his fervor, and had become jaded, lying in the moldy hay of solitude.

So the prisoner sent his followers off to his cousin with a little piece of fussiness.

“Are you the one we’re really looking for, or is there another one coming?”

His name was John and he baptized–matter of fact, he baptized the person he was questioning. So when these faithful couriers delivered his stinging words, the first reaction from Jesus was probably anger and resentment.

Jesus’ response to the disciples of John was, “Come along and follow me today, and see what I do.”

At sunset, he presented, “Go back and tell John what you’ve seen–how lepers are cleansed, souls are healed and the Gospel is preached to the poor.”

But before they could take off to deliver the message, Jesus turned to the crowd–the very same crowd who heard John doubt him–and he praised his old friend.

He said, “When you went out to see John, you didn’t go out to see somebody blown by the wind, wearing fancy clothes. You saw a prophet–and more than a prophet. John is probably greater than anyone born of a woman. But you folks need to keep in mind–in God’s eye, even the least of you is just as important as John.”

The crowd understood.

The crowd marveled.

The crowd was waiting for Jesus to kick John’s ass.

He didn’t.

Jesus found a way to praise the man for what he had done, while still pointing out that he needed to be more resilient.

So you see, President Trump, if you want to follow the Master, you must learn his ways.

And if you want to lead a country, you have to discover a pathway to praise your “John” for what he is due, while still wishing there had been more agreement.

*****

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*******

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Catchy (Sitting 63) Milton and Liver with a Side of Onions… August 26th, 2018

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(3776)

Jubal hated the beach–even one as beautiful as the stretch of sand in Miami.

He had no interest in tanning any further, and ocean water gave him the creeps because of all the unknown creatures bumping up against his legs.

For sixteen days he had been in south Florida, trying to set up a meeting with Milton Crenshaw, his mission person, who had written a book called “Jesonian.”

He had been able to acquire an autographed copy of the volume from the Internet for $2.99, so most days he sat in his room reading. Every time he called Milton’s house he encountered a personable, but crusty older woman named Cully. She was a long-time friend and business partner with Mr. Crenshaw, and she made it clear to Jubal that Milton didn’t like interviews, didn’t take interviews, and basically didn’t trust interviewers.

Even though Jubal tried to explain that his intentions were pure, Cully cut him off at the pass, leading to this extended vigil of an unwarranted and unwanted stay in “Beach City.”

Jubal didn’t even favor Cuban food. He joked with one of the waiters that Cuban food was “Mexican food without a soul.” Getting some nasty glances from nearby patrons, he decided he should stop his comedy routine.

Yet on the morning of the sixteenth day the phone rang as he was sitting down, getting ready to enjoy his five-egg-white omelet and wheat toast. It was Cully.

She explained that she’d been able to convince Milton to see Jubal that afternoon for two hours. Jubal was overjoyed. He took the directions, as Cully explained that they lived in a trailer park–a simple life–surrounded by a multitude of neighbors of all cultures.

Finding himself on the doorstep of the small mobile home of Milton Crenshaw, Jubal knocked on the door. Opening up to him was a woman–Cully, he assumed–sixtyish, energetic, physically fit and absolutely grounded in courtesy.

She ushered him through the door and there he was. Sitting in a wheelchair was a big man–about 325-plus pounds–with a bald head and a huge smile. He stuck his hand out.

“Milton Crenshaw. Sorry you’re not going to get to meet my wife. She’s off working one of her assignments at a local department store.”

Jubal nodded. Cully offered something to drink and Jubal opted for an iced tea.

She brought the tea and Jubal sat down in a chair next to Milton. Crenshaw noticed that Jubal was looking at Cully, so he piped in. “I don’t do much of anything without Cully in the room, so I hope you don’t mind. If your matters are personal, and you would rather she not hear, I’ll make an exception, but other than that, let us enjoy her presence.”

Jubal glanced at both of them and once again, nodded his head.

“So what is it you want to know, young man?”

“I’ve been reading your book,” Jubal began. Milton interrupted.

“Cully,” he said, “that makes six readers…”

He laughed and so did Jubal, who realized that Milton had no intention of pretending he was something he wasn’t, nor did he expect Jubal to fudge on the truth.

Milton continued. “And I’ve been keeping up with your work, young man. You certainly have captured the fire of the Gospel in your rallies.”

“What do you mean by the fire of the Gospel?” Jubal asked.

“Well, my son,” Milton explained kindly, “the Gospel is not just the good news. It’s the explanation of why everything is here. You see, Jesus did not come to complete the Old Testament stories, linking Moses with the Christ. Jesus came to link the Creator with Earth–so his teachings are full of science, references to nature, personal awareness and an understanding that the kingdom of God is inside each of us. So what I mean is that you bring the enthusiasm, but much of what you share fails to bring the heart and the mind and the soul of Jesus of Nazareth. Yous is the strength.”

Jubal crinkled his brow. Milton continued.

“You see, I can tell by your face that you’ve fallen into the errant thinking that because you’re doing something successful, it must be complete. Nothing could be further from the truth. What you’ve done is, you’ve struck up the band and made people aware that faith should have the works of joy. But Jesus had a heart. And oh…Jesus had a soul. And of course, we’re all in pursuit of the mind of Christ.”

Jubal’s heart melted. The room was so quiet, the tea was so cold, the smile on Cully’s face was so sincere, and Milton’s voice was so soothing that as he sat there, he experienced a sensation of healing in his own soul.

For two solid hours they talked.

Milton explained that the whole message of the Gospel was simply, Your will be done on Earth as it is in heaven.

“In other words,” Milton shared, “Everything that works on heaven works on Earth. It’s just a matter of linking things up instead of acting like there’s some spiritual war between good and evil.”

It didn’t take Jubal long to realize why he was there. The Soulsbury Movement had passion but no direction. No way for people to carry the groceries of faith and hope to their homes to make real meals.

“So,” Jubal asked, “what is Jesonian?”

Milton lifted his head up and spoke. “It is the realization that Christianity has failed simply because it’s trying to follow a book instead of the Spirit. Jesonian is the Spirit of Jesus, brought into practicality in the lives of human beings living on the Earth right now. I think it’s a rallying cry.”

When Jubal heard those words–‘rallying cry’–a chill went down his spine and he nearly dropped his glass of tea.

That was it: the world needed a word to explain the yearning.

They needed a word to represent their hearts.

And they needed a word that had not been tainted by crusades, killings, bickering and molestations.

Jubal started to cry.

Milton sat quietly, looking off in the distance, giving his brother a private moment. Cully rose to her feet, offering the visitor some Kleenex. There was a juncture of sweet silence for about five minutes, as all the people in the room took time to consider good things. It probably would have continued, except Jubal’s phone buzzed with a message.

It read, “Matthew in hospital. Emergency.”

Even though Jubal knew he needed to leave, he wanted to cap his conversation with Milton with a sense of appreciation. He stood, walked over and hugged the man in the wheelchair.

He leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Listen, my brother. I want you to come and speak in front of a huge crowd of people, and tell them what you told me today.”

Milton pulled back and laughed. “It is my understanding that to ‘go into all the world’ requires a pair of legs, and knees that are not busted up–and a body that is not quite so plump.”

Milton reached up and put his hand behind Jubal’s head, pulling him close to his face. “You are my legs, brother. Just come down here every once in a while, and we’ll talk Gospel.”

Jubal wept again.

He hugged Milton and Cully, and was on his way to the airport–to fly to Las Vegas to see what was happening with his friend, Matthew.

*****

Meanwhile, one week earlier, Michael Hinston, with the aid of Jo-Jay, had discovered through blood tests that his liver was a match for Matthew. So when they received the notice that Matthew had been rushed to the hospital, Michael made immediate plans to fly to Vegas and surprise Matthew with the good news that he was a donor.

The morning of his departure, Jo-Jay discovered that the CLO was making moves to bring an indictment against Michael Hinston from the American people, for malfeasance and the misuse of campaign funds. Michael was scheduled to be picked up for questioning that very morning.

Jo-Jay kept the information from him and drove him to the airport to catch the plane. Michael had no idea that he was about to face new persecution.

Michael sat on the plane and cried, knowing that he had the blessed position of being able to offer life.

Jo-Jay stayed behind and made phone calls, setting some plans in motion. Upon arriving in Las Vegas, Michael found a limousine waiting for him at the airport, which zoomed him to the hospital in no time at all.

He stood at the bedside of an old friend–who certainly did look old.

“I have some good news and some bad news,” said Michael, taking Matthew’s hand.

Matthew sighed. In a weak voice, he replied, “Well, I don’t need any more bad news, but you better give me that first.”

“Well, the bad news,” said Michael, “is that this drama you have planned–your death–has to be temporarily postponed.”

Matthew squinted up at Michael, who continued. “Because the good news is that it turns out, my liver is a match for yours. So I’m going to give you a piece of mine. It may be the first time in our lives that we ever agreed on anything.”

Matthew laughed, which was interrupted by his crying–tears of relief and gratitude.

Michael didn’t want to wear him out, so he excused himself and headed off to prepare for the operation.

A couple of hours later the medical staff entered Matthew’s room to prep for surgery.

“Where is Michael?” Matthew asked. “Can I see him? How was his operation?”

Questions poured out of Matthew. The nurses calmed him down, gave him a sedative and he was on his way.

The next thing Matthew knew, he was waking up in recovery, surrounded by friends–Jo-Jay, Soos, Jasper and Jubal. They were all beaming.

It must have gone well, he thought.

He looked at the people in the room and even though his throat was sore, he whispered, “Would you pray for me?”

Jubal looked surprised. “What’s this? A change of heart?”

Matthew coughed and smiled. “A change of liver…” he managed.

They prayed. Exhausted, Matthew dozed off halfway through the supplication.

The four visitors left the room. Soos and Jo-Jay headed to the nurses station to get information on future treatment. Jasper turned to Jubal and asked, “When are you gonna tell him?”

Jubal replied, “I don’t know. I guess when he’s ready.”

Jasper continued. “What happened?”

Jubal shook his head. “I don’t know. All I know is that Michael passed away on the operating table.”

 

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Jesonian … August 11th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3761)

Astonished.

It is the word that Saint Matthew selected, in his Gospel, to describe the reaction of the audience which heard Jesus of Nazareth share the Sermon on the Mount.

Some synonyms for astonished:

  • Shocked
  • Confounded
  • Bewildered
  • Astounded
  • Flabbergasted
  • Startled
  • Stunned
  • Dumbfounded
  • Blow your mind

Astonished is a word that combines impressed and alarmed.

It is the way Matthew perceived the mood of the hearers.

He added that they felt that Jesus had more “authority” than the scribes. As you probably know, the scribes were not the Pharisees. The scribes were the local ministers in charge of writing and reading the Law of Moses.

The style they imparted in sharing those ancient words was: read, said, dead. When the scribes read, they said what was exactly there–as dead as they possibly could, so as not to add too much flavor.

So as you can see, it was not a roaring accolade, to say that Jesus exceeded the knowledge or enthusiasm of the scribes.

The importance to the verse is that the people departing that day were “astonished.” What do people do when they’re astonished?

On the way home, as the afterglow disappears, they begin to pick at the corners of great ideas until they disassemble them, convincing themselves that these principles are implausible.

How do we know this is true?

Most of them do not follow Jesus down the hill, but instead, go to their homes, where they justify their disbelief.

Meanwhile, Jesus, who has just delivered the most radical, truthful and practical message ever heard on Earth, descends the hill, and is greeted by one leper, who asks for healing–who had probably missed the sermon.

After twenty-two years of traveling with my dear friend Janet Clazzy, to thousands of churches, I will tell you this:

It is very possible to stir up a congregation, and even their local shepherd, to the point of astonishment.

You can raise dead spirits that haven’t been alive since Grandma and Grandpa sat in the pews.

You can get people to clap, think, react, smile, and even do their best impersonation of loving one another. But you can’t go home with them.

And home is where they rationalize all their present actions–to avoid the horror of repentance.

*****

If you like the mind of Jesus without religion, buy the book!

                $7.99 plus S&H

*******

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