Jesonian … May 19th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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With all the focus being placed on Jerusalem, dubbed “the Holy City,” I thought it might be fascinating to take a look at what Jesus felt about this newly-proclaimed capital of Israel.

For instance, his mother and father visited there before his birth, ended up stranded in the suburbs in a little town called Bethlehem, where there was no room for them in the Inn, and there they birthed their first-born in a barn.

When Jesus was twelve he visited the city, asking lots of questions which produced no answers. The fussy religionists basically told him to “go back home, little boy.”

Although he didn’t make many trips to Jerusalem itself, he frequently encountered a stony-headed group of followers of the Law of Moses who were more concerned about his eating habits than his message.

One day, while visiting the Temple with his disciples and realizing that they were enamored by all the gold and architecture, he explained to them that very soon “there would not be one stone left on another.”

Jesus was very upset about how Annas had turned the Temple into an unrighteous trading center, cheating the visiting pilgrims out of their money on goods and exchanges. He took a whip, beat the money changers and drove them out of the Temple.

When he raised Lazarus from the dead, not far from Jerusalem, spies and assassins were hired to plot the death of the resurrected man because it was bringing much notoriety to this upstart Galilean movement.

Eventually the religious leaders found a fellow-Judeean named Judas to betray Jesus. They put Jesus on trial, lied to Pontius Pilate about him, pretended that they were disinterested in having a “King of the Jews” because they were satisfied with Caesar, screaming for the Nazarene to be nailed to a cross.

On his way to his death, women who were weeping for him were rebuked by Jesus, who stated, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me. Weep for your children and yourselves.”

I believe at this point he might have flashed back in his mind to several days earlier, when he looked over the city of Jerusalem, and with tears, lamented, “How often I would have gathered you under my wings, like a hen does its chicks, but you would have none of it. Your house is left to you desolate.”

If you’re curious about the definition of “desolate,” it is “a place deserted of people, with a dismal emptiness.”

Even after they killed him–murdered him on the cross–the Jerusalem leadership was still afraid that the disciples might steal his body, so they placed guards in front of his tomb.

When he rose from the dead and ascended to the Father, Jerusalem continued to persecute the disciples and early church members, killing and scattering them into the world.

So there weren’t many Christians left in 70 A.D., when Jesus’ prophesy about the destruction of Jerusalem came to fruition, with the Roman Legions destroying the Temple and the town.

As you can see, Jesus had no love affair with Jerusalem.

He angered the Jewish people because he told them that he existed “before Abraham,” and that “God had the ability to take stones and make children of Abraham.”

So it is a good idea for us to check out the Jesonian view of Jerusalem instead of joining the pandering that is done in this country under the auspice of “Judeo-Christian.”

I will tell you, certainly Jesus was not anti-Semitic. He loved the whole world.

But I also must tell you, he certainly was not pro-Israel.

 

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Catchy (Sitting 47) Fallen from the Sky… May 6th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3665)

Perhaps a great discussion could have ensued between Carlin and Jubal about the power of ethics and transparency with the public. Think tanks could have weighed in on the historical nature of complete candor as opposed to releasing information gradually, so as to not overwhelm the common man.

Surely many churches, businesses and even politicians could share their rendition of “liary” as opposed to just simply stating the facts.

But on the following Thursday afternoon, in Salisbury, North Carolina, in the town plaza, eight thousand beautiful human beings gathered underneath a hilarious burst of sunshine, to eat North Carolina barbecue and listen to Jubal and the boys crank out the tunes.

Politicians, rock stars and mill workers walked together with tears in their eyes over the tenderness of the fellowship and the simplicity of what could be accomplished with a little food, love and music. In the midst of the jubilation, a private airplane flew overhead trailing a banner which read, “God Bless America.”

The crowd cheered. The plane flew by three more times, banner flapping in the wind. Jubal instructed his bandmates to improv a salsa version of “God Bless America,” which totally revved the audience into a joyous mania.

Then, to complement the banner, three skydivers jumped out of the airplane wearing red, white and blue jumpsuits and sporting American flag parachutes as they tugged on their ropes and floated to Earth.

The cheers were nearly deafening.

The crowd assumed that Jubal planned the beautiful surprise, and he thought it was a courtesy extended by the community. The three sky visitors landed, each one holding a flag, waving them in the wind. The crowd screeched and ran forward as the police edged ahead to protect the gents from being swallowed up.

Jubal and the band continued to play, although they had temporarily lost the attention of the audience.

The three newcomers disconnected from their parachutes and tore off their flags, throwing them to the ground.

Then the crowd gasped in horror. What had appeared to be flagpoles in the hands of the skydivers were actually assault rifles.

Because the police had approached the trio first, the paratroopers shot them down in thirty seconds, then raced into the crowd, shooting, maiming and killing as they went.

The scene was so surreal that it took Jubal and the cast a moment to realize what was happening. When Brother Carlos finally understood that they were under attack, he quickly ushered all of his friends into the nearby semi-truck which had carried the equipmnent for the rally.

All the participants jumped into the empty trailer of the semi as others from the crowd tried to make their way in as well. After about thirty seconds, Jubal ordered the door closed, jumped into the driver’s seat, and headed off toward the closest murderer. The man was so busy shooting that he didn’t realize that Jubal was bearing down on him with megatons of truck. Jubal didn’t give it a second thought. He slammed down the gas pedal and rolled over the killer, crushing him beneath the wheels.

The shock of this bought some time for one of the policemen, who was lying wounded, to grab his gun and aim carefully, firing a bullet into the face of a second attacker.

There were two down.

Jubal had to decide whether to go back around, risking the truck being riddled with bullets, or depart the area, with his passengers intact, and then come back after delivering them to safety.

Meanwhile, the third assassin continued to shoot at will. There were bodies everywhere. People were crying for help, others kneeling and praying over their friends.

But the police–an escort of about eighteen officers–lay very still on the ground, near the spot where the perpetrators had landed. Before Jubal could get the truck turned around to chase the third offender, five men from the crowd charged the assailant. Two were shot and a third grabbed the assassin, taking the gun, as the shooter ran into the nearby trees, attempting to escape. Unfortunately, he ran in the direction of about twenty men from the crowd, who were hiding in the woods. They tackled him and they beat him and beat him–until he was dead.

Jubal drove the truck up, careful to not strike any wounded soul on the ground. He climbed down and walked among the dead and wounded.

He fell to his knees. Jubal wept.

By the end of the day, thanks to the kindness of strangers and the excellent work of emergency medical staff, 167 wounded people were transported to hospitals. Seven were paralyzed, four were brain dead–but about 150 were treated, with a prospect of surviving the hellish ordeal.

Unfortunately, five souls died in the hospital, joined by another 83 who lay dead in the plaza.

88 people gone.

Jubal took his staff to the airport and they flew out immediately. Several of them questioned whether it was proper to leave the area without talking to the authorities. Jubal didn’t care.

The whole event was especially stunning to Carlin, who had attended on his first missionary trip with the team, to encounter such a meaningless slaughter. Once in the air, Jubal conducted a prayer meeting for about a half an hour as his team, which had witnessed evil in motion shared hearts and lifted up their concerns to a heavenly Father.

At the end of the prayer session everyone fell silent, waiting to hear what Jubal would have to share.

“We need time for reflection,” said Jubal. “We need to quiet our souls and not flamboyantly be sharing the experience on every talk show with every giddy host who wants to slide us into a slot to fill time. We should go ahead and cancel the rallies for the time being, and let’s see where God takes us.”

There was a general agreement. Except for Carlin.

Carlin patted Jubal on the shoulder and said, “I know this sounds right to you, my friend, but it isn’t. This was done today because there are people who are afraid. I don’t know who they are. But they’re afraid enough that they organized this massacre. They have learned in their dens of iniquity, that if you can scare people, you can control them. Let’s be honest. We are fuckin’ scared. But it’s the last thing in the world we need to be. I think what we should do is to hold one rally two weeks from now, and gather hundreds of thousands of people, to object to the insanity, to reject the blood-shedding, and to stand up for what’s right.”

No one liked Carlin’s idea–but no one could argue with it.

That night it was announced on the news that two different organizations took credit for the “Salisbury Slaughter”–Zion’s Warriors, a renegade, pro-Israel terrorist group, and White Light, a supremacist organization, bound and determined to return America to its Anglo-Saxon roots.

Meanwhile, in Las Vegas, Matthew heard about the tragedy via television. For twenty minutes there was silence in every casino. Everything stopped running. Everybody ceased jabbering.

Matthew took that time to drive to the airport. He needed to be there when the jet arrived. He was certainly not going to be much comfort to them, but perhaps they could bring some solace to his tormented soul.

 

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