1 Thing You Can Achieve

Be Known for Your Love

I’m a writer.

I guess you could say I’m known for that.

I’m a dad.

I have some sons to prove this.

I sing.

All over America, nine times around.

If I were to die this evening, I would certainly be known for these three things.

There are others as well.

Two days ago, waking up in the middle of the night, I pulled out my I-Pad and there was a little YouTube available of three people. They were quietly and simply singing the old campfire chorus, “We Are One in the Spirit.”

It was so beautiful and the surroundings so ideal for emotion that I cried—especially when it came to the line:

“And they’ll know we are Christians by our love.”

I paused.

I asked myself an intriguing question:

Am I known for my love?

I have done loving things.

I have loved full tilt without apology.

But am I known for my love?

Too many times I hear people say someone is an asshole—”but he’s a good musician.”

“She’s hard to get along with but that’s because she’s a genius.”

But in that quiet moment two nights ago, in my room in the dark, I realized that if I’m not known for my love, everything else will pass away.

People only remember how much you love them personally. You can be entertaining, inspiring, uplifting or even beneficial to them—but that won’t last.

What remains for all of us is the sensation of being loved.

Am I known for my love?

The answer came back: No.

It doesn’t mean I’m not loving.

But it does mean that I’ve advertised, propagated and promoted other aspects of myself more than my love.

It was a solemn realization—one I will not soon forget.

So for every book I write, I want to live out ten love stories.

For every time I am called “Dad,” I want the love that is attached to that title to wiggle its way to the top.

And for every song I sing, may the feeling at the conclusion be the enduring proclamation:

“I love you.”

 

1 Thing Every Atheist Should Know

You Won’t

By that I mean you won’t know anything about what you contend until it’s too late to have any benefit from it.

Avoiding the superstition of religion is brilliant.

But eliminating the mercy, grace and equality of a spirited life is foolish.

If human beings are capable through their own motivation to duplicate the kindness they feel when they are energized by something eternal, then agnosticism and atheism might have a point.

But the history of those who are vacuous of a godhead has proven to be a situation in which many have just become vacuous of anything in their heads.

  • Jaded
  • Frustrated
  • Bitter
  • Angry
  • Malicious
  • And overly careful

These attributes have often been the byproduct for those who have clung to the idea that there’s no “one” to cling to.

Let me tell you—to the average ravenous believer, I might appear to be agnostic.

I do not buy into the ritual.

I do not scream and yell about maintaining the purity of a holy book.

I do not attend an organized religious service.

I do not believe in the Old Testament

Truthfully, I’m picky and choosy about the New Testament.

And I’m open to allowing other inspirational ideas to pepper my intelligence gravy.

But candidly, I’m not about to lose out on the chance to either go around on this life again or to be divinely inspired and creatively energized through all time by a presence or power by stubbornly proclaiming it non-existent.

As an atheist, you won’t know anything because you are positive—just like the religious fanatics you so despise—that you must take a hard line on the absence of God, just as they are on stumping for every jot and tittle.

Why don’t you play the odds?

It’s rather unlikely that human beings are merely a part of the animal kingdom.

There is no creature that comes close to our intellect.

Whether you believe it is God, Jesus, aliens or mystical gases in the Fourteenth Universe, you must admit that it would be lovely to keep the beauty of life going into another dimension of existence.

So when asked, “Do you believe in God?” my response is simple:

“I must–because he, she or it certainly seems to believe in me.”

 

Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 4) Needful … May 22nd, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Reverend Meningsbee

The fourth Sunday at the Garsonville Church was marked by the return of Deacon Smitters, who entered the building with very little ceremony, but much pomp over renewing his efforts as Chief Usher.

He immediately became distressed because there was no bulletin to hand out–just a chalk board in the narthex with these words scrawled upon it:

Welcome to Church

1. Our thought will come from Luke the 18th Chapter, Verse 31 through Luke the 19th Chapter, Verse 1

2. Take a moment to think about what you need

In an environment which was experiencing tremendous upheaval, the absence of a reassuring piece of paper to guide the congregants through the minefield of spirituality seemed cruel and unusual.

But everyone made their way into the sanctuary and sat in the first five pews, with Deacon Smitters making sure he was as far back on row five as humanly possible.

Promptly at service time, Reverend Meningsbee walked in and addressed the congregation.

“If we do not know why we gather in this building, we will very soon ask ourselves, why are we gathering? Makes sense, don’t you think?

You don’t have to look very long into the ministry of Jesus to realize that he never preached. He taught his disciples, but when he was in front of the masses, he only offered two possibilities: he was always ready with a healing touch or a great story.

More often than not, it began with a healing.

Even though I look out today and we have a few less than we did last week, what we should be focusing on is what the few of us here really need in our lives.

I just don’t think you need a retelling of the story of Jonah and the whale.

So let’s look at what happened over in Luke the 18th Chapter, verse 35, through Luke 19:1.

Jesus was on his way to Jericho when he was interrupted. He was stalled by a blind man who refused to shut up and observe how the service was supposed to progress. The man kept screaming for mercy.

Jesus asked him what he wanted and he flat-out demanded healing.

So Jesus did.

Then, from the excitement of that encounter, Jesus took his entourage, including the blind man, through Jericho, where he caught the attention of a non-spiritual, cheating, lying tax collector named Zacchaeus.

Do you folks really think Zacchaeus would ever have listened to Jesus if he had not heard the excitement of the crowd, celebrating the healing of the blind man?

Of course not.

It is why the people of Garsonville would much rather stay in their homes, eat waffles and watch television than come here. They don’t feel any excitement coming out of the building when we dismiss.

So from now on, in this church, we will begin our services by listening, praying and believing for those who have a specific need. So it’s the blessing of people that will set the direction for our service.

You can see, there are two chairs up here. Does anybody want to come up and begin the service by sitting down for prayer, to have their needs met, like the blind man, instead of waiting for comfort?”

Reverend Meningsbee took a long moment, pausing to allow someone to make the brave step.

Nobody did.

At length he spoke.

“That’s fine. It’s new to all of us. But understand that every Sunday we will begin this way and flip the service by having our singing at the end, as praise, before our departure.”

Suddenly a hand was raised in the congregation, and a woman, Betty Landers, sheepishly stood to her feet and said, “I don’t really have a need, but I’d like to report on what happened when I left the church last Sunday and went out to be reconciled with my cousin, who I have not spoken to in eight years.”

The pastor nodded, smiling.

Betty continued. “She only lives two miles from me, but we had a fight, and we have succeeded in avoiding each other through all family gatherings and piano recitals for the children.”

The congregation chuckled.

“Well, I went to see her, just like you said, and she wouldn’t let me into the house. It was weird. I just stood at the door and spoke, hoping she was there. I apologized. I told her how crazy it was for the two of us to be angry at each other. I even told her why I had come, based on what my minister had challenged us to do.”

Suddenly, in the midst of Betty’s story, a woman appeared in the rear of the sanctuary, and interrupted.

“I apologize for disturbing your service. I feel real silly. But what Betty is saying is true. My name is Clarice. Betty really did come to my door and talk to it like a crazy woman.”

A big roar of laughter.

Clarice continued. “I’ve spent the week with my heart pricked by her actions. I woke up this morning feeling the need to come here, find her and tell her that I am equally sorry for our silly argument.”

Betty scooted past a couple of people, ran to the back of the auditorium and embraced her cousin, as they wept.

The congregation sat very still, afraid to move. After a few moments of tears, the two women turned awkwardly to the pastor and said, “Now what do we do?”

Reverend Meningsbee said, “Go out and have lunch together. We’re done here.”

The two women left, hugging each other, and Reverend Meningsbee led the congregation in an a cappella version of “We Are One in the Spirit.”

The service was over.

The attendance was dropping.

But the spirits were soaring.

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