I Knew Jesus Before He Was a Christian … October 4th, 2020

Our jaws dropped.

That was the frequent reaction from those of us who loved and listened to Jonathan Richard Cring. He said things we might have thought. Or said things we felt but had not put into words. Or said things that were too controversial to be said.

The funny thing was, when asked about that particular quality, he would pause, and then say, “Yeah, but when I think about the things Jesus said, I’m just a chicken-heart.”

This passage, taken from his 2007 book, Jesonian, illustrates the point. Both points, in fact.


Sometimes a word just gets worn out.

It has been squeezed into so many diverse jobs that it ceases to have any practical definition or application.

Such a word is “Christian.” I am a firm believer in the life, times and all the philosophies and claims of Jesus. But I have just come to the conclusion that Jesus would make a lousy Christian.

He was uncomfortable with ritual.

He hated judgmentalism.

Hypocrisy made him so mad that he became violent and whipped people.

He found it impossible to be dogmatic, saying, “Those that are not against us are for us.”

Let us think rationally. Christianity has committed too many atrocities and applauded too many fools to be taken seriously as either a word or a movement. Maybe when they first used the word in Antioch so many centuries ago, it was clever and pointed. Now, it is miserable and ambiguous.

Jesus dealt with an identical dilemma during his ministry—so many cults of Judaism existed that the only way he could separate himself from the platitudes of the day was to talk about the Kingdom of God. It was not only thematic; it became the headline banner for his ministry.

His philosophy was, “Call me a Nazarene. Call me a Galilean. Call me a healer. Call me a Kingdom teacher. Call me a wine-bibber, a glutton, a friend of sinners. Anything but a Jew.” And as atrocious as the word “Christian” has become, the phrase, “Judeo-Christian” incorporates an even greater, more insulting insipidity.

There is nothing wrong with being a Jew—unless you are supposed to be a Christian. And there is nothing wrong with being a Christian, except it has lost all its external meaning.

I can no longer look at the actions—or perhaps I should say inactions—of a stumbling religious system that parades itself as Christian and jump on the bandwagon. The term will never be pure again.

Facts are, we have abandoned many words in our society:

Prohibition

Nigger

Bull Moose

League of Nations

Segregation

Manifest Destiny

Indian

Slave

Midget

And “little woman”

Others that are soon to be abandoned in this humble author’s opinion:

The weaker sex

Time-out for kids

African-American

Asian-American

Or anything before American

Redneck

Pro-life and pro-choice

And “ideal body weight”

Jesus said, “By your words you are justified and by your words you are condemned.”

I do not feel justified anymore when I call myself a Christian. I feel condemned, cast into a pit with all the hackneyed representations of religious fervor or denominational deaths that wreak from the pit of meaninglessness.

There is a higher calling. I want to be spiritual enough to be a practical man. Do I need a name for that? I don’t know, but it sure isn’t “Christian”—and it is not Baptist, Lutheran, Methodist, Catholic or any one of 350 other names. I do not want to become a demagogue on this issue—but the word just must go.

I knew Jesus before he was a Christian. What am I supposed to do with that information? Just look at the evolution the name of Jesus underwent in the history of Christian theology:

First, he was Jesus of Nazareth. Then the Son of Man. Then he was Jesus Christ. Then he was Jesus Christ Our Lord. A few more years pass and they add Savior to his title. Then, after Savior came King of Kings, followed by the Lamb of God, culminating in The Coming King.

Now, I may believe all those things about him, but they are not his name. His name is Jesus. He liked being Jesus, and throughout all my travels, I do believe that his name is still marketable. But the word “Christian” can evoke anything from apathy to rage.

Jesus doesn’t want to be a Christian. Dogmatic? I don’t know. But since he is not here right now, I thought someone should speak up for him.

Jesus does not want to hate homosexuals even if the majority of presumably moral people feel that way.

Jesus would not condone blacks and whites worshipping separately just because “they do it different.”

Jesus did not believe that women were supposed to be subject unto men.

Jesus did not believe in Children’s Church—he was constantly surrounded by the little tots at all times.

Jesus did not begin a praise and worship team—the egos would have destroyed his ministry.

Jesus did not preach against anything except the hypocrites who preached against everything.

Jesus would not steal money from widows to support his television ministry.

Jesus would not start a university to foster parochial thinking and provincial scruples.

Jesus would not advertise his upcoming crusade in the newspaper—where he would be walking on water.

Jesus did not bore his audience to tears with little anecdotes and meaningless homilies, leading to no change in people’s lives.

Jesus would not own a stained glass anything.

Jesus would not allow himself to be sucked up in the political fray.

Jesus would not condone a war as being “for the good of the people.”

Jesus would not allow women and children to be categorized as lesser citizens and objects for manipulation and control.

Jesus would not be comfortable just listening to organ music.

Jesus would suggest that choirs cease to sing if they must do it in a drone.

Jesus would not tolerate prejudice in the guise of racial pride.

Jesus would not be able to stomach theological discussion that did not lead to the relief of human conflict.

Jesus would refuse all titles extoling his goodness, just like he did with the young ruler.

Jesus would deflect all praise and bring focus on the faith of the people.

Jesus would chop up all the pulpits and make firewood to warm the homeless.

Jesus would ask us to give more of ourselves and our hearts, and less of our money and bonds.

Jesus…would refuse to be a Christian.

Sensitize … September 15th, 2020

SENSITIZE 108

You really have a wonderful family

An elder step-brother can be very helpful

Every morning, Mr. Cring takes a personal moment with his friends

1 Thing You Need to Know About Perfect People … July 20th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4469)

No One Likes Them

Years ago in my Junior High Sunday School class, I remember telling the church deacon, who was teaching us young ones, that I believed Jesus was not perfect.

My statement sucked the air out of the room.

I continued. “Jesus disobeyed his parents when he was twelve, yelled at a whole lot of people, whipped some folks in the Temple, and broke all sorts of Jewish Sabbath rules. But because he hung around and worked on his life instead of getting angry and defensive, he grew in wisdom and stature and favor with God and man.”

My teacher was at a loss for words. So like most people who find themselves wordless, he insisted that the last thing he said was absolutely right.

“Jesus was perfect,” he bellowed, “and in our church we declare him to be.”

To this day, I do not know why we want Jesus to be perfect.

He lived a human life.

The Good Book says he was tempted like we are, touched with our infirmities, and he was a “son of man.”

In other words, just one of us.

What I clearly need to know is, what did Jesus do when he looked at his life and felt the need to change?

The Gospels teach me that he went off by himself in the wilderness to work out his temptations.

He also chose to be baptized, like everyone else. (Please don’t tell me that he was baptized as a mere symbol, or for a pretense. Isn’t that just annoying, if not sacrilegious?)

Jesus knew that to be human he had to repent like we do, and perfect his life instead of insisting he was already perfect.

Now, that’s a dude I can follow.

Perfect people are almost always brats.

It’s mainly because they think they’re perfect.

And we know, for a fact, that they are not.

Sensitize … July 19th, 2020

SENSITIZE 51

Every morning, Mr. Cring takes a personal moment with his friends.

Today: Right person, wrong message. Cring explains how to get the message right.

Click the picture below to see the video

Sit Down Comedy … February 14th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sit Down Comedy

 

Donald John Trump is our President.

It is a position we are compelled to honor due to the tenacity of our struggle as a nation and the grace extended to us as a people.

In the fury of opinions and the peril of hurling insults, it is good every once in a while, to stop and acknowledge what is true and what is honest.

This gentleman won the election to be our leader in 2016.

With this in mind, and my heart full of compassion and dutiful propriety, let me offer the following observations:

Mr. President:

1. Dictators have no redeeming values.

To focus on their might pilfers our great arsenal of what is right.

2. They that live by the military shall die by the military.

Every nation, kingdom and territory over the centuries that tried to maintain its integrity through the use of force has eventually been cruelly overtaken.

3. The measure you measure out to others will be measured back to you.

There are some souls who have learned the value of being gracious, and other human beings who are barely out of the jungle—with blood in their teeth. It is good for each of us to remember that we increase our possibilities for survival and mercy by offering them first.

4. And speaking of mercy, the grace that we all often need to survive the tribulation and chaos of Planet Earth is only granted to the humble.

The whole system of Mother Nature is geared to resist the proud.

5. Not everyone who cries “Lord, Lord” shall enter the Kingdom.

With the profession of being a Christian comes the responsibility of following the lifestyle of the Master—Jesus himself.

6. Pussies don’t like to be grabbed.

If an invitation is not extended, it is an assault.

7. “Suffer the children to come unto me.”

This does not mean to make the children suffer, as they are separated.

 8. Alienating nations, races and people of the Earth is rejecting their Creator’s craftsmanship.

Building walls creates nothing more than anger—and saying that there are “no good Samaritans” may leave you by the side of the road, without aid.

9. It is truth that makes us free.

Therefore it stands to reason that lying steals our freedom.

10. It is out of the abundance of the heart that the mouth speaks.

And when the mouth speaks, the hearts that receive the words begin to accumulate an abundance.

Thank you, President Trump. Thank you for listening to these observations.

You are our President. We offer you place.

Not Long Tales … December 24th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4468)

20.

The Wysies

On July 19th, the project received the green light for filming—seven days commencing on the 2nd of December—to be aired for five straight nights, beginning December 19th through December 24th, Christmas Eve.

Expectations were high.

The network was always thrilled when any new angle on the holiday season could be unearthed in an attempt to capture a large market share during the December festivities.

This year was particularly exciting, because along with the entertaining new concept was the introduction of Zandy Carlisle to direct. She was an Asian gay woman with a disability—carpel tunnel syndrome. A promotional trifecta.

The premise of the show was simple. A twist and turn on the phrase “Wise Men” had become “Wysies.”

This was not the original title. At first it was spelled W-I-S-S-I-E-S. But after conducting a survey of potential audience, it was determined that the name was too close to “Wussies,” which made everybody laugh—but for the wrong reason.

So it was quickly changed to W-I-Z-Z-I-E-S. But this tested worse, since the inclusion of the prefix “wiz” brought forth images of urination as far as the eye could see. It was Zandy who suggested that using a Y took care of the pronunciation, and striking the extra S eliminated the “Wussie” or the “Wizzie.”

Actually, choosing the name was much more difficult than coming up with the blueprint of the show.

Basically it was a broadcast about five couples, all in their twenties, sent on a mission. Each couple would begin in Temecula, California, dressed in shorts and a shirt, barefoot and with fifty dollars. They would be instructed to walk all the way to the Burbank, California studios as their final destination.

The ninety-four miles between Temecula and Burbank were almost identical to the ninety-seven point six miles that the first Christmas couple, M & J, trekked from Nazareth to Bethlehem.

The rules were easy to understand. There were four things that needed to be accomplished:

  1. Each couple was to stay on foot with no motorized transportation, be it public or private.
  2. They must garner all food and drink from the kindness of strangers.
  3. They would also have to perform one huge, provable good deed.
  4. And finally, to keep everything lively, they should arrive at the finish line in Burbank with a donkey.

Each journey would be filmed, and on the final night, there would be a vote cast by the audience to proclaim the winner.

A rather extensive search took place for the right participants. Of course, in respect to the times, one needed to be gay, one was interracial—black and Asian. An additional couple was a prison romance which blossomed into freedom, with a great backstory. One selected pair was a very religious married team. And finally, there was one couple that was white bread enough to make peanut butter sandwiches for all of summer camp. Their names were Curtis and Morena—a pair of actors who had come to Southern California seeking fame and fortune, but willing to settle for either.

Curtis had been in the hunt for notoriety for about a year-and-a-half, and so far, had only procured a job as a stand-in for a talking jalapeno in a Mr. Mexico taco commercial. Morena had a bit more success—playing the notorious “Queen of Dirt” in a kitchen cleanser TV ad.

Long before the time for filming arrived, sessions were planned to discuss what was expected, beneficial, preferred and helpful for each couple. It was made clear that it was absolutely fine to mention God—but no more than once per episode, so as not to scare away the “uncertain” crowd or the “God is dead” demographic. At no time was Jesus to be included. There were just too many Jews, Muslims and Buddhists for the show to present itself as a billboard for Christianity.

Every couple needed to have a story, so questions were asked, and the search began for what approach would draw the public into the private lives of the contestants.

But first, it was made clear that the name “Wysies” was chosen because it gave a quaint, holiday sniff to what was actually a reality game show (“Wysies” being the Wise Men). That was coupled with the length of the journey being tied into the story of Mary and Joseph. It seemed to be just enough to provide a flavor of inspiration.

The back-stories were chosen.

The gay couple was to play out the persecution they had suffered in pursuit of gaining the right to be married in an America which was “the home of the free and the land of the brave.” Or maybe the other way around.

The black man and Asian woman had lived in Mississippi after he had completed a military tour of duty in Iraq. Their feelings had been greatly injured by the citizens of Dixie, who found their joining to be unnatural under God’s Law.

The two prisoners who had found love after jail had a natural set-up. He was in for trafficking drugs, and she had killed her former husband in a fit of rage when she found him sleeping with her younger sister.

The difficulty came when it was time to derive an appealing presentation for Curtis and Morena. After much questioning, it was decided to emphasize that Curtis was an orphan—since his father had died when he was ten, though his mother was still alive and dwelling in Columbia, Missouri. And Morena had been plagued by disease because she had terrible allergies to both hay and ragweed. (It was agreed that as long as they didn’t get too specific, a general mentioning of their circumstances could still stir the sympathies of the viewership.)

Director Zandy made it abundantly clear that a show of this intensity—this rich with human conflict—would have to emphasize forced feeling, forced fighting, forced exposure, and when necessary, forced story lines.

After the first four planning sessions, Curtis and Morena became disillusioned. It was especially disheartening when the religious couple stomped off the set after being informed that any testimony of their salvation or personal relationship with God had to be abandoned in favor of punctuating their own love story—with a strong dose highlighting their sex life.

That left four couples.

Director Zandy said she was thrilled when it came down to four because five stories were more difficult to squeeze into the time constraints. Even though Curtis and Morena became upset about the job, the first-place prize money of fifty thousand dollars would keep them working and striving toward their goal of becoming full-fledged actors—and was certainly worth putting up with some bleeding of the conscience.

After the planning sessions, and with a general understanding of the expectations, the cast members were sent back to their lives to fend for themselves until the filming began. Each week, Zandy sent off an email with little hints and encouragements on how to better access their greatest potential for winning the show.

Especially significant were the ideas on how to do a good deed. Matter of fact, Zandy referred to this as a “sloppy, sappy service.” In other words, something so obviously kind, generous and merciful that the audience at home would be brought to tears, convinced of the overwhelming goodness of the contestant.

Each week, Curtis and Morena read the directive from Zandy, feeling more and more unsure of their footing. Also, Curtis received alarming news about his mother, Catherine McDermott, who was showing the first stages of dementia—or perhaps warning signs of cardiovascular disease and the danger of a stroke. In other words, she was “ailing.” That’s how family and friends in Missouri expressed their fears for the worst.

Curtis didn’t know what to do. The main problems were his financial situation, fear of failure and his lack of passion about his aspiration for acting. He was frightened that if he went home to Missouri, he would never make it back to Hollywood. He was reluctant to share his feelings with Morena, who found his silence about his mother to be disconcerting, and soon was considering leaving him. She probably would have done so if it had not been for the commitment to “Wysies,” plus a nagging, heartfelt affection for the boy.

The next directive arrived the following week. Both Curtis and Morena were shocked.

Now, neither one of them were religious. But when they read Zandy’s message, the little, tiny piece of faith that still abided in them was stunned. The directive read:

“Good morning to you outstanding human beings and contestants for “Wysies!” I wanted to give you a heads up. During one of our planning sessions, it was discovered that some initial press reports have leaked—portraying the show as a religious broadcast about the journey of Mary and Joseph to the manger. The critics are already attacking it as being just another righteous ruse’ to punctuate the differences among the populace, aggravating the debate about the separation of church and normal life.”

“Of course, nothing could be more untrue. But once a rumor like this gets started, it must be stomped out quickly, or pretty soon a forest fire of misunderstanding will be set ablaze. So I am asking each of you to do a couple of interviews on a press junket in order to (a) advertise yourself; (b) be cute and humorous, bringing intrigue about the show; and (c) strongly establish that ‘Wysies’ is not a God thing.”

“I will contact you soon with times, dates and some possible lines you can use to sever this contest from Sunday School lingo.”

The email was signed:

“Your fearless friend and leader, Zandy”

This stimulated a discussion between Curtis and Morena. Neither one of them felt comfortable defending the faith. They were not like the religious couple, who yearned to preach the Gospel, but they also found no contentment in being included among unbelievers and those who were apathetic about a possible Creator in Heaven.

What began as a discussion about the show ended as an argument about their relationship. Morena was just as discouraged about their progress in the cattle calls of the entertainment industry thus far. Playing the “Queen of Dirt” had not garnered much business, and unfortunately, had not become a repetitive character for future commercials. (Matter of fact, those reviewed about the commercial were thrilled when she was sucked down the drain in the last scene.)

But Morena did not want to be the one to give up. If Curtis were going to leave, he needed to make it clear that he was the quitter—and if he wanted her around, he needed to offer a greater commitment than a tender pat on her bare butt after sex.

On the other hand, Curtis did not want to be the villain in the great tale of their lives. So ensued two or three days of continual fighting with perpetual finger-pointing.

“You’re the reason we’re failing!”

“If you just cared more, we might do better!”

In the midst of this, more calls came in from Missouri, expressing, in a quiet way, desperation over Mother Catherine’s well-being.

Curtis began to wonder if he could just abandon his dream and blame it on his mother’s condition. His problem with that plan was that Morena would always know about the little piece of chicken-shit mixed in with his nobility.

He could leave her, but then he would be arriving back in Missouri alone, into an atmosphere of dreary demise.

One night as they sat, heads spinning from the latest bewildering exchange of ideas, Curtis posed a very interesting question.

“Morena, do you think we can win ‘Wysies?’”

Morena was offended, and then surprised that she felt so insulted by a legitimate question. After all, there were three other couples. The gay lovers were certainly cute and flamboyant. The two prisoners had enough tattoos for three people. And the black and Asian couple—well, on top of military service, they had the applause of everyone who hated Mississippi.

Curtis asked again. “Do you think we can win this thing?”

Morena surprised herself. “No.” That was all she said.

Curtis turned to her, alarmed. “Then why are we doing it?”

Morena replied emphatically. “You know why we’re doing it! Exposure! Showing enough of ourselves that this time, you get to play the jalapeno instead of getting coffee for him!”

Even though the comment stung Curtis’ ego, it was still rather funny. He laughed. “And,” he retorted, “you might get the part of Princess of Clean in the next commercial—who gets to survive to sell yet another day.”

“So,” she said, “we’re hanging around here to participate in a contest where we have no chance of winning, and we’re hoping that our failure will draw enough attention to us that someone will want us in some sort of part because we were such dynamic also-rans.”

Curtis smiled. “You left out something,” he said. “All this is true—plus we have to find a donkey and get it to Burbank, California.”

Then something strange happened—odd indeed. Morena did something she had not done since she was a young girl. Matter of fact, she had been nine years old, and her dog was hit by a car and was lying in the middle of the street, twitching.

On that day, she had bowed her head and prayed. “God, heal my dog.”

Her puppy died. And so did her faith.

But now, in this moment of craziness mingled with humor and pathos, she prayed again. “God, would you get us out of here to someplace where we can breathe without being afraid?”

Curtis was shocked. The two of them had never even mentioned the word “God,” or thought about an Everlasting Presence, but without even thinking, when Morena finished her prayer, he said, “Amen.”

There were no phone calls. The sky did not open. There was no chill going down the spine.

They simply looked at each other and they both knew their next trek would not be to Burbank, but instead, across the country as best they could—to the bedside of a hurting woman in Missouri.

When Curtis called Director Zandy and quit, she was infuriated. She briefly tried to get him to change his mind, but when he wouldn’t, she explained that due to the nature of their contract, they would be required to sign a termination agreement, guaranteeing that they would never sue the show or the network. After this, Zandy curtly stated that the show would be “better with three couples anyway.”

When Curtis and Morena showed up in Burbank to sign their termination agreement, to their surprise they were both issued checks for five hundred dollars. They promised to never say a bad word about the show or do any negative promotion.

Shocked, bewildered, and dare we say, blessed, the two climbed into Morena’s old car—held together with rust and hopes—and headed toward Missouri.

They were in no hurry. It was a five-day journey, and they arrived on the exact day they originally had planned to begin filming “Wysies.”

Mother Catherine was still living in the old homestead. When they got there, she was sitting in the living room, staring out the front window. At first Curtis thought she was anticipating their homecoming—because he had called ahead to let the family know of their intentions. But when they came in, she continued to stare out the window to the undetermined outside.

He made his way to his mother’s side and touched her hand. Barely acknowledging his presence, she reached over and clasped his arm. Unexpectedly, Morena made her way up the stairs to the attic, where, as Curtis had explained, they kept all the Christmas decorations.

She emerged carrying a big box, shut the attic, came downstairs and opened it, beginning to remove the seasonal family treasures. This gained Catherine’s attention. She got up, walked across the room, and began to help Morena.

About five minutes into the experience, Catherine took Morena’s hands, and though she had never met her, she said, “We have done this before, haven’t we?”

Morena saw no reason to argue, so she nodded her head. Immediately, Catherine stood up, walked into the kitchen and took a stance next to the stove, as if considering warming water for tea or beginning a pot of coffee. She stared at the oven intently, as if seeking inspiration.

Concerned, Curtis followed her in. Seeing her stymied at the stove, he came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and then his arms around her neck, embracing her. Suddenly, from behind, he felt Morena’s tender arms squeezing his waist. The three stood there, connected, tightly holding one another, trying to draw strength from within.

That year, when “Wysies” aired, the ratings were so bad that they never actually finished the five days of production, pronouncing a winner.

Curtis and Morena spent the holiday season with Mother Catherine. Although they feared for her health, each day she actually grew stronger, more present and cognizant of the world around her.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, she was reciting memories, singing carols, and fixing the delicious chocolate chip cookies for which she was acclaimed.

Curtis and Morena fell in love—first, with Mother Catherine. Then, with the sweetness and nostalgia of the home. Next, with each other, as they sealed the covenant between them. And finally—and more slowly—they fell in love with God. Even though He had not done much to help Morena’s puppy, this time, on this occasion, and in this Christmas season, He had shown up…and answered their prayers.

Sit Down Comedy … December 20th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

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Sit Down Comedy

Culture Wars

They’re fought among people who know they are pretty much the same as one another but are still kind of pissed off about it.

They arise in this time of Yuletide because nobody can decide if Christmas has earned its wings as being universal, or whether it’s offensive to Jews, Muslims and atheists.

I suppose it makes for good conversation on talk shows, or among the more argumentative.

But for me, it’s never been simpler.

It is so much like God, to have a reverent event promoted through tinsel, red costumes and talking Christmas trees.

How do I know this? Because if you’re God and you made people, you know that folks are much better when they’re given relevant things instead of reverent things.

So I will break it down in my homespun manner:

 

The story of Jesus gives you a manger.

Yet

Santa is the great manager.

 

Jesus provides angels.

But

Santa brings the angles.

 

Jesus embodies the love of God.

Then again

With Santa, you feel the love of God.

 

Oh, come all ye faithful

Yet

Santa reaches the faithless.

 

There were shepherds tending their flocks in the field

But

Elves tending the toys by night.

 

Jesus: “Peace on Earth”

Then again

Santa: “Good will toward men.”

 

Unto us a child was born.

Then

We can be reborn a child.

 

Wise men came bearing gifts.

So

Santa continues the wise tradition.

 

Jesus is our great CEO.

But don’t forget

Santa heads a wham-bang sales force.

 

Joy to the world, the Lord has come,

Let Earth receive her King.

 Jesus and Santa come join the fun

And pray the world can be one.

 

Jesus is the reason for the season

But

Santa brings the dough for the show.

 

 

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