G-Poppers … December 15th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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• G-Pop mused the statement.

  “A moral victory.”

  The phrase was uttered by a news commentator who was characterizing the nature of the defeat of Judge Roy Moore in the Alabama Senatorial race.

  “A moral victory” is what Judge Moore normally would have applauded, touting it as a shout of glory for the conservative Christian movement. But in this case he found himself in the middle of Pharisees who were bound and determined to stone the sinner.

  G-Pop wants to make something very clear. If all men aged 32 were to be considered pedophiles by ogling a teenage girl, we would have to turn the state of Alaska into a prison farm. Sins of the flesh are something we humans certainly understand, though we cannot condone.

  What is difficult to comprehend are sins of the heart–those iniquities that come off our tongues as we try to defend ourselves instead of facing the music.

  Yes, Judge Roy Moore followed what a myriad of politicians have done, going all the way back to Franklin Roosevelt: When confronted about the nature of your business, deny.

  Of course, Judge Moore would have to admit this is not a Christian concept–rather, a secular one that seems to work because people become exhausted with all the tawdry details. Eventually the public walks away in disgust.

  Judge Moore is a great advocate for the Ten Commandments. But like a lot of us, he may have forgotten that Jesus broke the ten down to two:

  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength and your neighbor as yourself.”

  Jesus prefaced the second commandment by saying it was “like unto the first.” In other words, it’s impossible to love God without loving people, or to love people without tipping your hat to the Creator.

  When dealing with the stories coming from his accusers, Judge Moore became vehement, claimed he did not remember and insisted they were lying.

  Now, G-Pop is not about to say he knows what Judge Moore should have done in this situation. G-Pop is just explaining that what Judge Moore did had nothing to do with being a Christian. He became a cornered animal, growling at his surroundings, hoping to scare the intruders away.

  Nobody got scared.

  But what happened to our dear friend in Alabama can happen to us also if we allow our ignorance to mingle with our arrogance in an attempt to create dominance.

  Every sinner saved by grace needs to remember the grace–or they soon forget they were ever sinners.

  That’s what G-Pop thinks happened in this particular case.

  G-Pop’s suggestion for Judge Roy Moore? Wisdom would declare that we have less of “Moore,” and that he refrain in totality from “judging.”

  Maybe just work on being Roy.

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Egging Me On… March 30, 2013

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I was eleven years of age, living in a household where my four-and-a-half-year-old younger brother was sucking all the life, appreciation, attention and love from the room, as I wandered about like some sort of unexplained pudgy blob, bumping into furniture and constantly being reminded by my meticulous mother that my hands were filthy. Meanwhile, my younger brother smelled like a diaper pail and had dried oatmeal on his face leftover from two days previously, and he was adorable. Go figure.

It was Easter time and I knew that my mother and father were probably going to purchase me an Easter basket, along with the one they would select for the divine child of promise. So I stepped in early on and told them that I was too old for plastic grass and funny stuffed animals, and that I would prefer to have two dozen chocolate–marshmallow eggs. I loved them. Of course, what’s not to love? But I seriously had an abiding, deep, everlasting affection for these treats.

To my great surprise, on Easter morning, my little brother received his Easter basket, which more resembled the Horn of Plenty, and I got a box with two dozen chocolate-marshmallow eggs, carefully placed in the slots, looking not only well-organized, but ready for consumption. I immediately was informed, though, that I was allowed to have three of these wonder units right now, and that the box would be kept in the bottom of my dad’s closet, so that I wouldn’t overeat on the sweets. I would have to ask permission to have one.

I’m sorry–this was unacceptable.

I knew better than to argue with them, so instead, fell back on my preferred profile–plotting. I came up with an ingenious plan. For you see, in our little town was an establishment called Hills Drug Store (that was back in the time before places like that went to college and became pharmacies). Mr. Hill was what my parents referred to as a “goof.” He was so nice that people thought he might be crazy. I think parents in this day and age might actually be suspicious of him, fearing he might be a pedophile because of his gentleness toward children.

Mr. Hill had a practice of buying a ton of Easter candy, which no one in town ever purchased, because they were partial to driving over to the big city of Westerville to procure their holiday treats. So every year, the day after Easter, he would take this abundance of confections and put them on sale–huge mark-downs. So I knew that I would be able to acquire many of these chocolate-marshmallow eggs, which I could use as a means of re-stocking the box in my dad’s closet as I diminished the number of little ovals by overeating them. That way my parents would never know how many I was absorbing, and I could stuff my face with chocolate-marshmallow and still once a day, ask them for my portion, without fear.

It was brilliant.

And fortunately for me, that year Mr. Hill outdid himself, offering a box of twelve chocolate-marshmallow eggs for a dime.

Now you must realize, I had only two sources of income. The first one was a chair in our home, where my dad would sit at night, and if he was wearing his loose-fitting corduroys, the change in his pocket would fall out and go into the cushions, and I could come back later and procure treasure. My second source of money was to go down to the local telephone booth near the library and to cross my toes and stick my finger in the change return slot, hoping that someone had forgotten to retrieve their returning money. Also, occasionally near the phone booth, an absent-minded grown-up might just drop the dime they had retrieved on the ground while attempting to put it into a pocket. It was a chancy thing, but about one time out of every five, I was able to acquire the magical coin. Between those two sources, I was funded for this particular project.

It worked beautifully for the first week. I ate so many chocolate-marshmallow eggs that I nearly became sick of them. (I said NEARLY.) I then replenished them with the eggs I bought at Hill’s Drug Store, and my parents were never the wiser.

One day I came home, a bit perturbed because Mr. Hill had just informed me that the last of the chocolate-marshmallow eggs had been purchased by Mrs. Smithers, who for some reason or another thought the kids at the orphanage might “enjoy them.” I was already a little depressed from this slight when I slipped to the closet and discovered that the box was gone. Yes–the entire box.

I panicked. I broke out in a sweat. I was addicted and the only thing I viewed in my future was withdrawal.

I pulled myself together and went out to ask my mother what happened to the box of chocolate-marshmallow eggs. She explained that she had discovered it that morning, saw that it was full, and figured that I had just stopped liking chocolate-marshmallow eggs, so she gave them away to little Jimmy, the boy next door, who had just broken his leg tripping over his cat while taking out the trash.

I was horrified. I wanted to rebuke her for such nonsense, but then I would have to reveal the details of my devious plan. I slipped away in silence, sitting in a corner, moping and dreaming of my old friends, who now lived with Jimmy.

What I learned that day was…

Well, I really didn’t learn anything. I just really missed my eggs.

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Joe-Pa … July 13, 2012

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1998.

I remember it well. It was a much different time in our nation. There was no 9/11. A war in Iraq was not viewed as an extended conflict costing billions of dollars and countless lives, but rather, a skirmish which we won, driving Hussein back to Baghdad.

There was more playfulness in the air–a devil-may-care, if you will. Howard Stern was considered to be a little bit risqué, but was also lauded with praises for his artistic feats.

And in the White House there was a scandal. It was discovered and exposed that the President of the United States was having sexual relations with a twenty-one-year-old intern named Monica Lewinsky. This particular indiscretion was not confessed by President Clinton, but uncovered by a series of news reports, which provided more and more additional, irrefutable details. Many people in the nation felt that the President had defiled the country–especially since the trysts occurred in the Oval Office–and these outraged individuals contended that he had disgraced the office, similar to the caretaker of the orphanage urinating in the daily porridge served to the children who were dying of cancer and had just found out that their surprise trip to Disney World was cancelled.

Still, with all that outcry and a lack of forthcoming information from the President of the United States, William Jefferson Clinton not only survived the scandal, but finished out his term and is now generally regarded as an excellent pundit and arguably an example of American leadership.

At the same time, in 1998, Coach Joe Paterno faced a dilemma. He was America’s straight arrow. He was the symbol of “no-nonsense,” “taking care of business” and “you’d better not mess with me OR the rules.” He looked on his football team as a unit without stars, even insisting that their uniforms be as plain as possible, with no names ever appearing on the jerseys. He was America’s father, who coached a football team, and from behind his thick-lensed, black, horn-rimmed glasses, he demanded purity and devotion.

Penn State Nittany Lions head coach Joe Paterno on the sideline during warmups prior to the 2006 Homecoming game versus the University of Illinois on Friday, October 20, 2006. Taken by me. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

One day a report came into his office that Jerry Sandusky had been caught fondling a young boy in the shower room. Now, you must understand–the coach, fondly referred to as Joe-Pa, knew that his friend, Jerry Sandusky, was a goofball.We all have one. We all know one. Sometimes it’s a family member. Often it’s a friend we met along the way who attached himself to us, and even though we believe him to be less than perfect, we allow him to hang around because we don’t have the heart to send him away.

Joe Paterno knew that Jerry Sandusky was less than sound. But Joe Paterno also believed in his own reputation. He believed that he was the symbol of integrity and morality in the NCAA. He had no reason to doubt that his decisions, which up to this point had been resoundingly praised, would be equally as appreciated by what he attempted to achieve by maintaining his friendship with his goofball, Jerry.

Joe Paterno took three separate thoughts, which individually might have value, but collectively, ended up being a devastating lie.

1. I am in a position to decide what’s best. Actually, my friends, no one is in that position. Here’s the truth–the best has already been decided and if you don’t know what it is, pick up a history book or any volume containing the rules and regulations of basic human decency. Your amendments, additions and opinions don’t really matter much. The best has been decided. You either honor it or attempt to change it at your own peril.

2. People can’t handle the truth. There is a great fear in all of us that if who we are were revealed, we would not only lose our status, but would be relegated to caves and treated as lepers. Not so. Most of us would be astounded at how little other people care about our internal workings, especially when we are willing to admit our foibles aloud and face the music. Joe-Pa thought he knew Penn State. Joe-Pa thought he knew Pennsylvania. Joe-Pa thought he knew ESPN. Joe-Pa thought he knew America. What Joe-Pa didn’t stop to realize was that the horror and anguish to a young, emerging male being of raped in a locker room continues to scream out at the world all around us for years to come. He didn’t place himself in that shower stall and become that little fellow. Instead, he decided for everyone what they could handle and what they could not.

3. He followed an American tradition–a false one, mind you–that it’s better that a few suffer than many lose out. It’s the same philosophy that a high priest named Caiaphas presented when describing how he thought the death of Jesus of Nazareth would keep the Jewish race from being attacked by the Romans. He was wrong. And Joe-Pa was wrong to think that trying to quietly muffle the cries of the victims of goofball Jerry Sandusky’s insane mental disease was going to be acceptable because it kept the university from being embarrassed and the program he had forged with his own hands from becoming tarnished.

What I want you to understand today is that individually, each and every one of us might come to the same conclusions that Joe Paterno did.

• We might think that we have the right to decide what’s best.
• We might assume that the people around us can’t handle the truth.
• And we might believe it’s more magnanimous to save the rights and privileges of many students by ignoring the pain of the afflicted few.

It might even sound noble to us. It certainly would make us feel that we were being generous of spirit, forward thinking and broad-minded.

Of course, we would be wrong.

There’s only one thing to do when you discover that hell has entered your sanctuary–stop the singing and prayers, and point to the evil. It may ruin the worship service; it may cause the love offering to diminish. You might have to actually take off the holy robes and cease to be the high priest of the occasion. But hell has no business pursuing heavenly ideals.

And even though I believe that very few individuals would have the fortitude to make a stand against the atrocity of child abuse that was perpetuated at the hands of Jerry Sandusky, I do expect a man who received such laud and praise for being ethical and moral to perform such a task.

Joe Paterno will always be known as the great coach … who was a lousy human being.

Even though William Jefferson Clinton never actually came forward to unveil his sin, because the scandal was exposed and popped like a pimple, his life continues today. What Joe-Pa didn’t realize was that the truth will make you free. It may take a year; you may suffer some sanctions. Perhaps your hopes for a national championship will be dashed in 1999. But sooner or later the American public would rise up and say, “Joe Paterno did the right thing–even though it cost him.”

And he would be remembered as the coach who made the tough decision, and as the example of a true American who stood up for what is right.

   

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Dreary’s In … July 8, 2012

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I think I have prepared myself to be considered the proverbial “stick in the mud.”

For in our present social structure, any attempt to question existing forces of power and money does generate grumbling and accusations of provincialism and censorship. By no means do I believe that any government, institution or political influence should censor the freedoms in our country. I’m just a little curious whether we might like to perform a little self-censorship for the “good of the hood.” Because whatever we are currently doing in the realm of entertainment, spirituality, education and corporate advertising–it is doing very little to encourage the populace, but instead, is producing a dreariness among the citizenry.

The new favorite color seems to be gray. It is shown forth in our mood, our clothing, our attitudes and our indifference towards both God and our fellow-man. How did we get here? How did we get to the point where happiness, joy and a good outlook on life is viewed as infantile? Why is it necessary to define the action of growing up as being permitted entrance to movies where worse and worse atrocities are committed in the name of “realism?”

I’m a bit confused. But still, I have no intention of being dreary? If you are a politician and wish to alarm me with facts about the injustice of the opposing party, I will turn a deaf ear in your direction. If you are a minister who senses that the only way to gain my fervor is by declaring war on the world around you and preparing for Armageddon, I will probably pass on your passages.

I have no intention of being part of a society that not only plans its own demise, but marches towards it, waving a ten-dollar bill for admission. Here is what I feel is creating the dreariness in our society:

1. Using our entertainment, books and even many discussion groups to mingle sex and violence. Sex and violence are not related in any way. Sex is the presence of pleasure; violence is the absence of the same. When you begin to believe that these two can intersect and intercourse, you have created an atmosphere of danger for women and certainly abuse for children. Yes–don’t sit and watch the case of a pedophile being acted out on the television news and pretend to be shocked if you are viewing other so-called entertainment programs which present these same deeds as the fodder for storyline. It is damned hypocritical.

2. Our nation has become dreary because we blur light and dark. The explanation for light is rather simple–light illuminates with the goal to teach something better. Dark blackens, to eliminate learning, absorbing the status quo. It doesn’t matter if you are religious or non-religious. If your material presents a bleak message of doom and gloom, you are completely eradicating the possibility for repentance, which is central to the theme of the gospel. We cannot continue to pretend that the world is dark, insisting that we’re merely portraying “reality,” when light and possibility are still available. You also cannot isolate the underbelly of society, bringing it to the forefront under the guise of producing knowledge, and think that you are performing a service to mankind. Human beings need light. Without it, they become paranoid and depressed.

3. Dreariness is caused by being ignorant of the difference between human and inhuman. In the course of one evening’s offerings on television, paraded before me will be a cavalcade of all sorts of atrocities. I am led to believe that these are a major part of human behavior which must be included as discussable, if not acceptable. No thanks. I understand there are people who are hurt, abused, wounded and mentally ill, who certainly need our time and attention. What they don’t need is a screenplay written about them.

Human is finding God in our image; inhuman is denying God in our possibility. It really is as simple as that.

If at the end of the day, I believe that human beings are more likely to do evil than good, then I have ingested poison into my spirit that will certainly give me indigestion.

4. And finally, our political, entertainment and even educational systems seem incapable and confused about the difference between decent and descent. Decent is any adventure, idea, proclamation, speech or sermon that instructs and encourages people to include others. Descent is an attempt to reverse evolution in our species and return us to a jungle mentality, where we always choose to be selfish. If you are watching entertainment or reading propaganda telling you that hoarding for your own concerns is normal human behavior, then you most certainly will start making choices which fail to recognize the needs of those around you. Racism is not maintained in this country because regions of our nation are promoting the cause. Racism is maintained because there is an undercurrent of selfishness that makes us believe that only our personal families matter, and everyone else needs to be shoved to the back of the bus. Once we accept that “decent” is not necessary, but rather, a high-sounding virtue, and we are given permission to be self-involved, the descent into nastiness and bigotry is the bottom of the slippery slope.

I do not believe you can solve your problems in a cloud of dreariness. I do not think that being mature means walking around with a forced sober-mindedness and frowning countenance. I believe that these things have come upon us because we’ve allowed our society to pummel us with negative images of the human spirit under the banner of creative license and introspection.

• Hurrah to sex! And boo to violence.
• Show me the light, even if there’s some darkness we have to escape to get there.
• Edify me with images of human beings superseding the world around them to find the God within them.
• And please, show me the decency of those who are part of the human family, and have actually reached out to welcome others.

You can continue to be dreary if you want to. You can insist that you do so because you’re more intellectual than I am, and open to “broader ideas.” But Jesus told us the broad path leads to destruction. Sometimes, to find beauty, you have to narrow your vision and look at things that sparkle instead of spit in your eye.

That is my choice. How about you?

Like many other things in the past–such as prejudice, bigotry, fear, anger and selfishness–I am going to choose to pass on the current trend: to be dreary. I am prepared to be accused of being out of step. Because to me, being out of step with this particular army is good … for they seem to be marching toward our destruction.

   

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