Jonathots Daily Blog
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My favorite passage comes from the First Book of Pissed Off, Chapter 13, Verse 1: “Dammit to hell, Amen, what the shit, thank you, Jesus.”
There is no other collection of words that so typifies the balance of my walk in the Spirit. For I can tell you of a certainty:
Faith without frustration is fake
People who think they can cruise along and never want to spit at the heavens nor ever feel the need to praise the same are forgetting how easy it is for us to bounce between “Doctor Saint and Mister Sinner.”
You don’t have to go any further than Jesus of Nazareth to see faith and frustration at work. He constantly marveled at people’s unbelief. He yelled at the disciples, asking them when they were ever going to get some understanding of what he was trying to teach them. He scratched his head and inquired about how they could come up with so much doubt when they had seen so much happen. And on the night he was betrayed he lamented, “The Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,” and noted that he would sure appreciate if this cup of poison could pass from him.
Frustration brings faith
Faith is the only thing that keeps frustration from taking over our whole being.
But faith offers its own banquet of frustration:
- Who is God?
- What is God?
- Where is God?
- When is God?
- And why is God?
The five Great W’s that keep us in a constant quandary in the sixth:
- Wonder
On the other hand, I know that frustration brings out the validity of my faith and makes it easier for people to understand both who I am and why I believe.
Some people are turned off by street language, and others completely repulsed by Biblical words. Yet a careful look at the history of great men and women of the scriptures shows that each of them had a very colorful faith—“faith” in the sense that they believed in something beyond themselves, and colorful because they spoke from their hearts, which included cursing this and sometimes cussing a blue streak.
So stop trying to remove the frustration from your faith or becoming agnostic by refusing faith to allay your frustration.
We will not know all the answers until we no longer need all the answers.
This in itself is enough to create frustration.
But may I say, the possibility that there will be a place to go where answers will be provided is why we require faith.
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G-Poppers … July 20th, 2018
G-Pop was nine years old when Bobby moved into the village and started attending the little elementary school.
At first the parents thought he might be a Negro, since he had skin a couple of shades darker, and curly hair. But on careful inspection and tracking down some details, it was confirmed that he was Italian. This allowed him to be suitable for playtime and interaction.
But Bobby was different.
He wasn’t like all the scared children from our burg who were frightened to death to displease the grownups who held the key to play-time and candy. Bobby didn’t care.
When the teacher came into the room, the rest of the students fell silent–like attending a funeral. But Bobby just kept chattering, glancing up at the teacher and smiling back at all the other terrified third-graders.
He was the same way during recess. He played hard, rough and mean. But at the same time, he was sweet-talking to the girls, so they liked him. In no time at all, he developed a reputation among the teachers, staff and some of the parents of being a brat.
Yes. Bobby the Brat.
What concerned them most of all was that there seemed to be a breakdown of discipline across the board–because other students began to feel the liberty to be curt, selfish and overly aggressive.
There was so much pressure on Bobby that when the time to begin fourth grade rolled around, he was gone. His parents left town.
Bobby the Brat had departed, so things went back to being orderly. Even though we all denounce the blandness of being orderly, disorderly comes with a nastiness which spews out poison which has been deposited in our “mad hole.”
Yes. All God’s children got a mad hole.
It’s a space deep inside where we stuff all of our frustration, misgiving and prejudice, thinking it’s a garbage can–but really, it’s just a container where our bigotries decay.
And then one day, we reach a point of rage when this poison is vomited out of our mouths.
It’s a mad hole.
It’s never cleaned out–ignored.
People try to freshen it–try to put a lid on it, so to speak, but as long as it exists, it will eventually erupt.
G-Pop wants his children to know that the truth is, you can’t get provoked unless you’re already pissed.
Nobody pissed you off. They just provoked you until you finally spilled all the putrid contents of your mad hole.
Often all it takes is for Bobby the Brat to come along and tease us with the notion that we aren’t crazy and we should speak out our stupidities loud and clear, for everyone to hear.
So we do.
Civility dies, kindness is mocked, being nice is deemed weak and the only distinction we have seems to be in the horror of our mad hole.
Mad hole
In my soul
Take it in
Make it sin
First the hate
Of your fate
Rots your brain
With things insane
It’s begun
Load your gun
Me against you
Us against them
Don’t wonder if it’s true
Repeat it again
Mad hole
Leaves a space
For me to despise
The human race
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