PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … March 28th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3625)

Can We Talk

I don’t want to die on a cross

Who would?

Are you crazy?

Wanting to die is insane

Giving up is anti-human

And I am human

Do you know that?

I am the Son of Man

Just like you

Do you want to die?

Even if it provided solution?

Ridiculous

Why would you believe in a God,

Who fostered human sacrifice?

Isn’t that sick?

Don’t the prophets tell you

That God hated all sacrifice

Even animals?

Why would He suddenly choose His Son’s blood?

A human being?

Preposterous

I love life

It is so unpredictable

So gloriously tenuous

I love people, if they will permit

I don’t want to leave

So much beauty

So much growth

Sinners becoming winners

The messed, blessed

Sad made glad

And the dead–born again

Leave me alone

If you don’t believe just ignore me

Keep your nails to yourself

Keep your whip off my back

I have things I want to do

I came to show the Father

Do you want to kill Him also?

Does everything have to end in bloodiness?

I asked my Father to give me a break

But…

He is honoring your free will

You want me dead

So…

I will die

I will bleed like no one has ever bled before

If you want my blood

I will pour it all out on the ground

But be careful

It came from me

I am a healer

My blood just might save you

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … May 10th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(3302)

Mother

There truly is no other

Quite like your earthly mother

She struggles with her life

Lover, healer, giver, wife

Pushing past the pain

The temptation to go insane

She refuses to abandon and roam

But clings to heart and home

Yet there is a human sacrifice

Spilling sugar and sprinkling spice

Life is never what it may seem

Crushed feelings dishonor the dream

But she makes a casserole from the pieces

Her sense of purpose never ceases

She believes in you–no question or doubt

But takes the time to challenge the pout

Year after year a repeating sequel

Working harder but never an equal

For sometimes she feels very sad

When good mingles too much with the bad

But then in a gasp of humanity

She triumphs without vanity

She loves you–yes, you silly one

She tries to make a rainy day fun

So once a year you honor this dear

And ponder amazing things

In awe of the spread of her wings

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Dear Man/Dear Woman: A Noteworthy Conversation … May 7th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(2927)

Dear Man Dear Woman

 

Dear Woman: Happy Mother’s Day!

 

Dear Man: Well I’m not a mother…

 

Dear Woman: I know. But maybe someday you will be. I think ahead.

 

Dear Man: I suppose.

 

Dear Woman: You seem miffed. Does Mother’s Day bother you?

 

Dear Man: Yeah, but not for the reason you think. I’m not jealous because I don’t have children. Mother’s Day is just an example of another title…without entitlement. What I mean is that men hide their chauvinism and their dislike for women behind granting them certain space while forbidding them total equality. If you’re a woman you can be a mother. You can be in charge of the women’s ministry at the church. You make a great secretary. How about fund-raising? Can you take care of the food bank? “You’re so pretty.” All of these are titles but they fail to grant the entitlement of being treated as an equal and dealt with in justice.

 

Dear Woman: Wow. Am I ever sorry I said “Happy Mother’s Day.” But just to play devil’s advocate, is it possible that some of these stereotypes–titles, as you call them–exist because there’s truth to them?

 

Dear Man: Do you really want to start a fight?

 

Dear Woman: No. As I said, I’m playing devil’s advocate.

 

Dear Man: No. It’s the loaf of bread syndrome. Once we realize there’s one loaf of bread, we start thinking about how we can get the whole loaf instead of giving a needful half to someone else. To do this we have to rationalize and make sure it seems like we’re not being selfish, just practical. Men and women share so much in common that it’s ridiculous to separate them using the jargon of ignorance and the culture of male supremacy. So we pretend. We pretend women are smarter, even as we refuse to promote them. We pretend women are more thrifty, but we never make her the Secretary of Treasury. And of course, we insist that women are better with the children so men have a way of playing with the kids when they want to, and walking away when something else diverts their attention.

 

Dear Woman: I see your point. But are there enough differences that some sort of division of duties is warranted?

 

Dear Man: Let me give you an example. You’re a Christian, right?

 

Dear Woman: Yes. Right. What’s that got to do with anything?

 

Dear Man: Relax. I wasn’t trying to throw you to the lions. There’s a story about Jesus which is not talked about very often, because it separates him from all other philosophers, religious leaders and cultural icons of all time. Sitting at the house of Mary and Martha, two of his friends and the sisters of Lazarus, who rose from the dead, Martha interrupts Jesus’ teaching to complain about her sister, Mary. Martha’s complaint seemed very legitimate to her–and probably to most people in the room. Mary was sitting in, listening to Jesus teach instead of helping put the food together, which would be served after the lesson. First of all, realize that it was against Jewish law for men and women to be taught together. So Jesus was already making a statement, which he did throughout his ministry. Men and women traveled Co-ed–same space, same responsibilities. So when Martha brings up Mary helping her in the kitchen, there was no disciple who thought Martha was wrong. After all, Mary was a woman. She was supposed to be involved in the kitchen, the children, the day-to-day household activities and the general welfare of the home. Martha thought she was on safe ground. Damn, she thought she was quoting the Word of God. But Jesus rebuffs her. He tells Martha that she worries about too many things, and that Mary had picked the better part by sitting and listening to the teaching. So you see, this story contradicts the practices, doctrines and limitations that most Christian denominations place on women. That’s why you don’t hear it taught very often. But the truth is, after they got done with the teaching, the men and the women could have gone into the kitchen, put together the snacks, and had great fun doing it. Here’s a powerful thought–if you don’t break stupidity you never find wisdom. So I think it’s ridiculous to think that only women are mothers. Every man has to mother children, too. If a little boy falls down and skins his knee, the dad doesn’t wait for the wife to get home to take care of it. If he’s a good parent, he suddenly becomes the healer–the mother.

 

Dear Woman: That’s amazing. Why don’t they talk about that more?

 

Dear Man: Because they would have to give women their entitlement instead of just a title.

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G-39: Plan B … August 29, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2336)

bigger crosses

An avid teacher. A lover of humanity. A son of man. A soul of good cheer. A practical philosopher. A lifestyle coach. A marveller of faith.

Yet a healer by demand. A reluctant debater with cynical adversaries. A frustrated cleanser of the temple.

A trusting friend, now betrayed by a companion.

And…a very beleaguered savior.

“Let this cup pass from me.”

“Please believe me for my words.”

“If not, accept me for the healings.”

“Receive me as a shepherd.”

But please, don’t murder me to sanctify your religion.

Still, of love, free will and mission, mission lands a distant third. Love will be needed to survive the free-will choice of destroying our best God-opportunity ever.

Is it payback for banishment from Eden? Revenge for the Flood? Or is it just years of stone ignorance, crushing all new possibility?

“Your will be done.” But it’s not really Your will. It is Your will to grant free will.

They are going to kill me. I must have a plan. Salvation by my life’s blood. Cross that when I get to it.

Since it is going to happen … I might as well save the world.

 

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5:02 A.M. … August 15, 2012

  • Loser — Part 2
    (1,608)

Death stinks–the smell of dried blood, perspiration and urine, scents that rattle the consciousness to a new awareness of mortality.

Fifty-seven minutes to complete the job. For after all, if we’re going to be good little Jewish boys and girls, we must get this body off the cross, wrap it up and place it in the tomb before six o’clock or somebody will be mad. It seems that the religious system is not satisfied to merely, try, convict, condemn and execute. They also want to make sure there’s not enough time for a decent burial.

A decent burial–what does that mean?

He’s dead. How? Why does the healer lose to the executioner?

It took us thirty minutes to get the nails out of his hands and feet. Even though he was stone cold, respect for his body made us do the labor gingerly, so as to not further tear the flesh. So broken. Nearly drained of blood, yet still his legs are purple and bruised. Wrapped in a cloth, to be thrown in a tomb for future consideration.

I just don’t understand. Why didn’t “love your neighbor” work? Why did it all come down to the masses, who benefited so much from his love, and the disciples, who were so enriched by his life, standing up for him instead of proclaiming openly that “they didn’t know him?”

Sitting here thinking about “blessed are the meek” when it is so obvious that the strong, willful and arrogant have won the day. He warned us not to judge others, yet he, himself, was judged and killed. He proclaimed that he was Lord of the Sabbath. Now he is “lorded over” by the approaching Sabbath, crowding out any moments for reflection and dignity.

Is it wrong of me to say I didn’t want to lose? Can I tell you that I’m disappointed? That I thought I had backed a winner? And now here I am, covered in his blood.

But I have no place to go. I have nothing to believe in. You see, what I have is a God who appears to be without love. I have a religion without mercy, a country without a leader and I am a follower … without a friend.

I try to remember better times in Galilee. I think about the conversations we had while fishing. It was so rich with humanity and tenderness, and now it’s relegated to a thirty-minute race to drop the body off in a cave and head back home–supposedly to honor Jehovah.

But I do remember he told us that a prophet “has no honor in his own country and amongst his own kindred.” Just last night he told us he was going “to prepare a place for us.” And even though our ears were not tuned to the message, on many occasions he warned that he would be delivered into the hands of evil men, but on the third day…

The third day. When would that be? Was he counting today? Or does it begin with the morning? What did he say would happen on the third day?

He would rise again. A quick glance down at the corpse removes any inkling of that possibility.

So who am I without him? Are we all losers? Is losing inevitable? Can I afford to give three more days to find out what his message might have meant?

Interesting. Maybe I could use the time wisely.

So what is this loser from Capernaum supposed to do when his best friend, Jesus,  is brutally murdered and jeered at–as a loser?

I guess, on Day One, I should just sit and heal. What does that mean? Healing is always when we cease to consider our pain and we start to believe in our restitution.

Day Two. Maybe I could just take time to rediscover my vision. If Jesus is dead forever and I am still alive, what can I take of Jesus into my life? Do I just want to go back to fishing? Or am I curious enough to find out what he meant by me becoming a “fisher of men?”

And on Day Three, it will either be disappointment or perhaps … resurrection. Why do they spend so much time in life instructing us on how to win when most of the time we need to know what to do with a losing situation–to turn it around to better ends?  Am I prepared to go to Day Three if it holds disappointment instead of resurrection?

Yes. Because even having the blessing of believing for two days that there might be more to come is well worth surviving the disappointment.

When did we become losers? For a brief time it seemed like we were going to rule the world. And now we don’t even have enough control to bury the dead.

Loser. I never associated that word with my friend. But maybe if he didn’t make himself vulnerable enough to be cast away from success, he would never have truly been one of us.

  • I will heal.
  • I will restore my vision.
  • And I will prepare for resurrection.

My name is John. And I have decided–believing is always preferable to self-pity.

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