The B. S. M. G. Report

Jonathots Daily Blog

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It is much too easy to establish the will

To take a life and learn to kill

BAD

Yes, it’s bad.

He’s dead.

I didn’t know anything about him. Other people did. They were convinced he was so evil that he needed to be destroyed.

His name was Qasem Soleimani.

He was sixty-two years of age.

And now every small city in America has an anchor person who has to learn how to pronounce his name.

He was like a big general who spent all of his time thinking up ways to scare the world around him so the philosophy and lifestyle he held dear could achieve primal consideration.

SAD

So it is. It’s sad.

It’s absolutely sad that we felt the need to blow up this fellow because of what he’s done, and of course, what he might do.

And see—here’s where it gets me.

A killer kills. That’s bad.

But a killer is killed. That’s sad.

Because one of us—who are supposed to be the good guys—has to do the killing. And no matter how righteous we may think our cause is, there were people before us who thought they were just as righteous, who killed and ended up losing what they had because of it.

I’m not going to wave my flag so hard that I start believing that killing is all right. It is not.

That’s what makes me…

MAD

We’ve become killers.

We have gone into another country and killed one of its high officials and said we had the right to do it because the work he was doing for his country was wrong. Or at least, we considered it wrong.

Yet if I spent five minutes in that country, and they explained to me that we sent thousands of troops to their land—to kill and maim—would I be in danger of being convinced that their cause was just as plausible, if not noble?

When a killer kills, and a killer is killed, we become killers.

We can talk about it, debate it…

GLAD

…but here’s the weird thing.

I’m glad we killed him.

I’m not proud. I don’t want to dance on his grave.

But if my choices are BAD, SAD, MAD and GLAD—well, I’m more glad.

But if I could make one request:

Let’s just stop for a while.

Killing, that is.

 

 

 

G-Poppers… June 17th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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G-Pop received an email from one of his children.

“Dear G-Pop: Why is there so much killing going on?”

He sat for a moment, thinking. Then he sent back this note:

We are in a struggle with anti-matter.

There are human beings who have decided that nothing matters. Once they come to that conclusion, they believe life is insignificant.

You can walk around the fringe of the problem by trying to remove guns, increase background checks and ask law enforcement to be more enforcing. But until you address the heart of the “matter,” these frustrated killers will slip through the safety net.

It is up to each one of us to take care of the “crazies” who surround us and make sure we do our part to prevent the next massacre.

Learn what to listen for.

1. “I don’t matter.”

Whenever you hear anyone state these words, stop what you’re doing and get involved. Listen to them. Take them someplace positive. Give them a reason to exist. Work with them shoulder to shoulder and see if it doesn’t improve the outlook.

2. “You don’t matter.”

Yes, there are folks who will decide for you exactly what your value is and limit the scope of your power. When you run across these people, take them into your home. Let them walk through some of your journey with you. Show them how your faith has feet.

3. “God doesn’t matter.”

Even though many of these murderers use the name of God to justify their mission, they obviously have given up on a Divine Being because they contend He’s given up on all of us. For example, it’s impossible to kill a deer if you think it has a soul or if it has the capacity to talk to you. To turn into a creature of mayhem, you have to believe that human beings are just ants.

And since Jesus told us that each human life is worth “many sparrows,” those who come to the conclusion that God doesn’t matter become dangerous.

At this point, you should invite two friends in. Don’t lay this on yourself. You’re dealing with a serious issue. You have to counsel with other people about the deteriorating scenario with this troubled soul.

The three of you should gently go and share with this person, to reason with him. Perhaps you can get him or her to once again believe in a loving Father and Creator or seek professional help.

4. “Nothing matters.”

When you hear a friend, relative, acquaintance or co-worker state that nothing matters, it’s time to contact the authorities.

You will certainly be afraid that you’re jumping the gun, but in this case that may very well be true. You may be jumping ahead to avoid the destruction of a gun.

When people begin to believe that nothing matters, they are susceptible to dark and evil suggestions which can lead to lasting tragedy.

With every single vicious, gun-slinging event that happens in this country, there are always at least four people who are fully aware of the pending calamity and decide not to interfere.

• Law enforcement will not be able to solve this problem.
• Making guns more difficult to acquire will only have limited effectiveness.

We need human beings who are attentive to the situations that come their way–when “anti-matter” tries to turn friends into demons.

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Cracked 5… November 17th, 2015

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(2755)

Reasons the Internet Gang Are Convinced That Obama Caused the Paris Terrorist Attacks

 

A. Turns out that one of the killers was a fake Syrian refugee. Obama wants to bring 10,000 more here to kill off good Christian Republicans before the election in 2016.

 

B. Obama once uttered “Paris” and “attack” in the same speech, thus signaling the event.

 

C. Every Parisian with a beret did not have a grenade launcher to fight back. Obama gun control. After all, croissants don’t stop bullets.

 

D. Obama is in charge of all things foreign. For years he has wanted to change “Uncle Sam” to Uncle Siam.”

 

E. He, too, is brownish.

 

 

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Rabble and Rubble… March 31, 2013

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Some were killers. Others watched. The rest ran away in terror, except for a tiny handful, which stuck around to stow the mutilated corpse in a tomb.

I didn’t know what to do. I was no killer, didn’t have the stomach to watch, couldn’t run as fast as the cowards and wouldn’t wrap my mind around a “grave” conclusion for my best friend.

So I just walked.

Actually, I’ve been walking for twenty-four hours, now. Of course, I exaggerate, but it sure seems like an endless odyssey of meaningless meandering. I walk and I look.

I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for–I guess some sort of sign of shock, revulsion or horror over the atrocity just committed on that hill so far away. But truthfully, life seems to be going on. Nothing is canceled. No one discusses postponing local events to consider the murder of an innocent man. I even came across a wedding in progress, with the sound of jubilation and music. The Passover is in full swing. The Romans are in control and religion has dressed up for the day.

I feel like I’m about to go insane over the calmness that’s settled in on a world gone mad. Jesus loved the rabble. He embraced those souls the world deemed riff-raff. He met them in their hour of need, saved them, healed them and even raised them from the dead. Yet when he reached his critical moment–when he required the support of these who were benefitted by his mercy–they accepted the wisdom of a Council which they normally mocked, and they screamed in unison for a murderer and robber to be released to their fellowship. They chose the allure of darkness because it was closer to the coloration fo their own souls.

Mostly I’m disgusted with myself. Because the absence of knowing what to do is not the presence of an excuse for not doing anything. It may seem that way in the moment, but it is a lie.

I don’t know where to go. Some of my friends went fishing to take their minds off the dilemma. There are a few hiding out in an upper room–simulating prayer, but really shaking in their sandals over every rustling outside the door, wondering if it is the Romans coming to slice them into pieces.

I just can’t be with any of them. The rabble disgusts me because they denied their own best solution. And the rubble of a once-great “kingdom movement” is so insipid and vacant of ideas that I can’t tolerate sitting in their presence, commiserating.

I feel so alone that I’m taunted by the specter of suicide. Yet I won’t do that. That would require a certain amount of courage which I lack, and an insanity which I refuse entrance.

I walk on.

Has it really come down to the simplicity of the rabble and the rubble? My friend Jesus dedicated his life to protecting the lost and innocent, only to have them choose cowardice in his hour of need. Likewise, he spent hours and hours instructing people like me–his followers–but when he was confronted with evil, he only found frightened little Jewish boys and girls, who had learned much but acquired little.

Now hours have passed. I must have dozed off, although I would have sworn I was incapable of sleep. The Sabbath is over and the first fruits of the light of dawn are creeping into the velvety haze of darkness. It will soon be morning. What will I do?

Even though I used to enjoy the beginning of each day, now the sun mocks me because it shines its light on my indecision. Do I go and resume my life among the rabble–pretending that the little piece of misfortune that happened on Calvary was a thing of the past?

I can’t do that. Too many miracles. Too many blessings. Too many hugs. Too many roads. And too many reasons to remember.

I guess I will head to the tomb. In the long run, it is better to be with the rubble–the remains of a great idea–than with the rabble, lacking any inclination toward solution.

Sunday morning. I will go to the tomb.

After all … it is the last place I saw Jesus.

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