Although not complex, it seems to profoundly stump the consciousness of the human race.
It begins with I.
In other words, me. I will stop putting the focus and the blinding light on the faults of others and center it on my own foolish foibles.
I will remove the sacs filled with venom so that when I become grouchy and bite someone, I don’t have to accidentally poison them.
I will become the “I” that needs to learn what I need to know, and only I need to know, in order to accomplish what I must do.
This will lend itself to becoming a person who can “like” things once again.
I have stopped doing so. In favor of coming across with wit, I have transformed myself into a cynical snoot, thinking that intelligence is better expressed through critique. I have refused to appreciate the little blessings that have come my way.
But since I have taken the time to acknowledge what I am and what I need to do, I can ease up my insecurity and start to like things again.
Which brings me to You.
You have always been one of my problems—perhaps my only calamity—because I view you as competition and resent the hell out of you using up the oxygen in the room that I could be hoarding in reserve.
I am twice as critical of you than I am me.
I am ten times more judgmental of your pratfalls than my huge stumblings.
But if I will take the time to find out who I am and not be afraid of admitting that I am lacking in some areas, then the possibility for liking things will cheer my soul and make me much more pleasant to be around—so I will be able to store up a measure of grace for when I find myself dealing with you.
With Step One in place, I am ready for Stage Two:
I, like you.
Yes, I look for similarities between you and me—your kind and my kind—my race and your race. I want to stop discussing your culture and my culture and see if we can discover the human culture.
And thirdly, I believe I will arrive at a position where I can say—hopefully:
I like you.
Perhaps God was too optimistic to think we could love our neighbor. But maybe we are able, after we’ve taken stock of our own weakness, to like things again, offering more room for one another.
Then negotiation, reasoning, conversation and even arguments could be well-oiled with compassion, commonality and gladness.
There are nearly eight-and-a-half billion people in this world. It would not be necessary to get all of them to follow this three-step process. Even if we had one million people with hearts of good cheer, to pursue:
I. Like. You.
I, like you.
I like you.
Well, if we could just get a million, the light that would shine would be so brilliant that another ten million would want to imitate the success…
Of course, offering their own name for it.
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There is something comforting about finding yourself in the care of a professional who is willing to clarify and make things easier.
It is a beautiful thing.
It takes what would seem to be insurmountable–or even punishing–and transform it into merciful and workable.
Jesus was a pro.
He was a professional savior who was well-geared for ministering to human behavior because he, himself, was human.
But the first difficulty he faced in procuring this acumen was dealing with four “cons:” condemn, confront, control and console.
For generations, religious fervor and political bondage had created a climate of condemning and controlling. Matter of fact, even to this day a large percentage of those who claim to pursue the faith of Jesus Christ do so by condemning what they have determined to be iniquity, teaching their congregations that “God is in control of everything.”
So talk about walking into a hornet’s nest, or better phrased, a gathering of “shewbread conservatives,” Jesus arrived at the pinnacle of this judgmental juggernaut.
For the Jews had a system for condemning people for breaking the least little Sabbath rule, and the Romans had created such fear in the populace that the masses were contained and controlled by perpetual apprehension.
Our “Pro” had to dispel condemning and controlling. Had he not succeeded at that, all he would have accomplished was a new sect of Judaism, which would have no chance whatsoever of gaining attention in the Gentile world.
So the ministry of Jesus consisted of a confronting consolation, or sometimes it was a consoling confrontation.
As in the case of the woman caught in adultery, it was necessary to free her of the condemnation of the Pharisees, while snatching her out of the control of the murderous mob in order to console her and tell her that she was not condemned and confront her–to go and sin no more.
And in the case of the disciples, he confronted them in the Garden of Gethsemane–to stay awake and watch with him one hour, only to return to find them asleep, and relent in consolation: “The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.”
There is a great sense of relief when you’re in the hands of a pro–when you know that the God who made you has become the God who is like you, and has shared a message that does not condemn your ineptness, nor does it control your destiny.
Jesus was a pro.
His philosophy cost him his life. So please honor him by doing the Jesonian thing:
Take the time to confront so that you may console.
Or console those who are already being condemned, so you can gently confront them to newness of life.
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The Sermon on the Mount in music and story. Click the mountain!
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Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling SpiriTed in 2014.
Normally, I was ecstatic to visit my grandpa’s house, because after a brief series of greetings and obligatory, slobbery kisses, I was allowed to go into the nearby living room where there was a large, brown horsehair couch–my favorite perch. I loved to rub my legs against the scratchy surface. It was a delicious brown–caramel, chocolate and orange soda, all “splurged” together.
But on November 12th, 1965, arriving at Grandpa’s home, it was a much different scene.
As always, I was greeted at the door by Queenie, his collie, who was overly zealous and friendly, and always smelled–well, pardon the cliché–like wet dog.
This time there was no greeting from Gramps. Instead, we found him in the living room, kneeling over Irma, whose breathing was laborious, was white as a sheet and had creamy drool dribbling out of the corners of her mouth.
Grandpa was crying.
My mother moved to his side to comfort him, and I stared at the suffering lady. I didn’t know much about Irma–she never talked. I mean literally, I had never heard her speak.
She was passed off by my Grandpa as his houseguest/friend/maid/cook. I heard relatives refer to her as “retarded, evil, a slut and a foreigner.” Absent understanding of what many of these words meant, my interpretation was to just stay away.
Irma seemed to have no problem with our distant relationship, so on this horrible day, when my beautiful, brown horsehair couch was turned into the deathbed of this strange woman, I heard my mother utter these words: “Jonathan, come over and say good-bye to Irma.”
Yes, this was a day and age when people actually died in their homes without heroic measures.
I thought to myself, “Say goodbye? I’ve never said hello.”
I eased over to her side and touched her forehead. It was clammy and cold. I jerked back and then was embarrassed by my revulsion.
“Goodbye, Irma,” I managed, and then shuffled out of the room.
Two weeks after Irma died, my mother went out to console Grandpa and spend the night, and they placed me on the brown couch to sleep. They turned off the light and I was left in the room with the memories of Irma and her demise.
I was so frightened.
Lying there on the couch, I thought I could smell her. It was horrible. Squeezing my pillow tightly, I prayed.
“God, I’m scared. Please take the scare away.”
I don’t remember anything after that. I went to sleep and woke in the morning without any signs of the previous night’s terror.
I was transformed–not just for that occasion. I can mark that night as the time when much of the childish apprehension, insecurity and trepidation departed from me, like a vapor, leaving a boiling pan of water.
I was stronger.
I would never, ever be that afraid again.
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity
Click here to get info on the “Gospel According to Common Sense” Tour
Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling SpiriTed in 2014.
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