Tag Archives: bitch

Jesonian … October 28th, 2017

 

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It’s called a non-sequitur.

Jesus was downright a master at it.

It’s when folks are talking about a particular subject, and you come along and insert a completely different idea, which takes the conversation in an unexpected direction.

Once, when confronted with a cynical young man named Nathaniel, who had pompously posed the nasty question, “Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?” Jesus popped off with a non-sequitur. “Behold, an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”

Was it true? Was it an accurate representation of Nathaniel? Who knows? It was a non-sequitur. The boy thought he was going to say something stinky, and Jesus freshened it to something different.

Just like the woman at the well, who thought she was going to get into an argument with a Jew about how they treated Samaritans, and Jesus replied, “I can give you living water.”

You see, it wasn’t on point. But it chased away the stink.

Likewise, when he was conversing with a Pharisee named Nicodemus, who wanted to exchange compliments about being teachers of God, Jesus commented, “You must be born again.”

And he did it again with a bunch of people lamenting a tower falling on innocent people and killing them. Jesus’ non-sequitur was, “If you don’t repent, you will likewise perish.”

He frustrated his critics by refusing to allow them to control the topic.

A bunch of angry religionists brought a woman caught in adultery, quoting scripture about how she was to be killed. Jesus inserted a non-sequitur. “Well, I guess the person who throws the first stone should be without sin–otherwise, it wouldn’t be proper.”

The use of the non-sequitur peppers the ministry of Jesus, allowing him to spice the hot topics.

It is his way to chase away the stink.

Rather than talking about how crappy people act, or how negative the thinking may be, simply having the ability to steer the conversation in a meaningful motion by using a non-sequitur, without making apologies for diverting the subject, is truly an act of brilliance.

If you want to be Jesonian, you’re going to learn how to use the non-sequitur.

What non-sequitor would you use when somebody wants to talk about the end of the world and nuclear annihilation?

How about a non-sequitur when someone wants to grump, complain, or even brag about President Trump and Washington, D. C.?

Can you come up with something to chase away the stink of those who insist they hate change while living in a world that does nothing but evolve?

Jesus did not come to bitch about the bad attitudes that surrounded him. He ignored them by enlightening the mindset, using the non-sequitur, and in the process, chasing the stink away.

Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 25) Go Help Someone Else … October 16th, 2016

Reverend Meningsbee

Meningsbee had always found it much easier to memorize the Beatitudes than to adhere to them.

Along with his “wayward wishings on the Web,” he seemed to have an inability to express consideration to other Earthlings. He didn’t feel animosity, just found that fellowshipping was better performed, in his mind, by reading a fine book.

When he woke up on Wednesday, it struck him that he had not interacted with Matrisse and little Hapsy for some time.

Guilt settled in.

Like many mortals, Meningsbee pretended to despise guilt, but often welcomed it as a warm comforter for a chilled thought. So the first thing he did was incriminate himself for failing to be in contact, and treating Matrisse like she was a drop-off center for abandoned children.

He fussed over that for a season, nearly sprouting a tear, and then was able to don appropriate pastoral garb and head off to her house. The activity did lift his spirits, and he began to feel like a preacher again. After all, when you stand behind the holy desk and thunder everlasting truths, it is good to give a damn about souls.

He arrived at the house, took a deep breath, and exited his car. As he walked up the steps to offer solace and comfort to Matrisse, the door flung open in front of him and there she was–squared off, staring at him as if some monster had invaded her porch.

“What do you want?” she challenged.

Stunned, he tried to respond. “I just came over…”

She interrupted. “You came over here because you’re a parson–and think you should interfere in people’s lives when they haven’t asked for your help.”

He paused, surprised, because she had pretty much nailed the situation. That’s exactly what he thought.

She continued. “Listen, Reverend, I’m not like other people. It’s not as if I despise them for being weak, but my thought is, I go to church to take the Word, to answer my questions, to create the sentences for me to go out and make a statement. I don’t cry a lot, but I also don’t bitch. I don’t fuss with other people, especially if they decide to learn their lesson and not fuss with me. And I don’t judge a young girl who had a baby because she forgot how to close her legs, who right now would rather be just a lost child herself. Hapsy seems happy. I feed her. I love her. She laughs. She thinks I have a big belly. So I pretend my stomach can talk, using my belly button as a mouth. She thinks that’s hilarious. I am not looking for help and most certainly–dear God–I’m not looking for pity or the wise words of some seminarian who spent too much time at the library. Let me take the message you preach on Sunday and act it out–so this little girl has a chance to be something other than a stripper, or a nervous sermon-maker.”

She took time out to breathe, glaring at Meningsbee, content she had made her point. He thought about explaining his motivations or trying to convey to her the need to let the community of believers share in her struggle, or just allowing him fifteen minutes to come inside and have a cup of her most delicious tea.

But he waited too long, because Matrisse punctuated her soliloquy with one final thought. This one was a little more tender.

“Listen, Richard. Why don’t you…”

She paused, leaning forward, changing over to a whisper.

“Go…find…someone…else…to help.”

Richard–Reverend Meningsbee–the Shepherd of the Garsonville Church–agreed. He smiled, turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

As he climbed in, he thought, if the world had been filled with folks like Matrisse, Jesus could have retired instead of being buried by his critics.

Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 5) Late … May 29th, 2016

Reverend Meningsbee

Sunday morning, and Meningsbee woke up late.

He wanted to blame his alarm clock, but since he was fully aware that he was the master of all of its decisions, he scurried along, skipping two of his pre-shower rituals.

He scooted into his car, started it and zoomed toward the church at what he hoped was a reasonable speed. He was thinking about what he wanted to share.

The Gospel of Mark. Most certainly.

It had been an interesting week.

After the breakthrough, with Betty and Clarice being reconciled, there was a sweet buzz of contentment among those who were present, but simultaneously, there were around twenty-five former members who had begun meeting in the banquet hall of the nearby Holiday Inn Express. They were stirring a flurry of frustration through the town.

Their contention? Meningsbee had “stolen their church.”

He understood their perspective. Yet there was a push in his spirit to continue the experiment–to find the real meaning of gathering together instead of marching in time to the drone of repetitive hymns.

Arriving, he ran to the door of the church, and then paused. He could hear the sounds of conversation. It was not the usual pre-church verbal exchanges, but instead, purposeful–what sounded like meaningful, prayerful tones.

So Meningsbee chose to enter quietly and climb the stairs to the balcony, where he could view the proceedings.

He had noticed coming in that there were a few more cars in the parking lot, and was delighted to see, when he looked down from his perch, that there were four visitors and a few of the original congregation who had returned.

But most enlightening was the fact that the three chairs he had placed in the front on Saturday night were filled with people, surrounded by other folks who were sharing and praying for one another.

On the seventh row was a young family who Deacon Smitters had befriended, and was quietly but feverishly entertaining with one of his stories.

It was a reverent scene, in the sense of the true meaning of reverence–full of humanity, compassion, tenderness and just a bit of the childlike freedom that was so often absent from the normal Sunday morning drill.

Reverend Meningsbee wanted to just hang out in the balcony and watch. He knew that as soon as he entered, the holy spell would be broken and they would turn to him to find order.

Finally he decided that it was not good for him to stay away for the whole time. He climbed down the stairs and came into the church as the gathering fell silent.

He turned slowly and addressed them.

“I overslept. But I have been here for fifteen minutes, just watching all of you. It is so beautiful for you to treat each other so beautifully. I know that’s not a good sentence, but it’s what I feel. Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for loving each other.”

All at once, a hand went up. It was Clarice, from last week’s reconciliation.

“Hello, Pastor. I just wanted to let you know that after Betty and I mended our fences, I got inspired to contact my son in Lincoln, who ran away from home a couple of years ago because he was mad at me for being such a–can I say ‘bitch’ in the church?”

Meningsbee laughed. “You just did.”

Clarice continued. “Anyway, I invited Michael home, we made peace, and I told him to come here with me today to seal the deal.”

The congregation burst into applause without being coaxed. It was spontaneous and it was electrifying.

One after another, there were testimonies about those who came and sat in the chair to receive God’s grace through the kindness of God’s people.

The good Reverend just stood back and shut up. There was a small part of him that felt useless, but most of him felt he had discovered his true use.

Lead the sheep to the green pastures, and then let them eat.

It came time for the end of the service, and Meningsbee wasn’t sure what to do.

Betty stood to her feet and said, “Did you know that Clarice’s son, Michael, plays a mean piano and can really sing?”

Michael feigned a bit of embarrassment, but also exuded a willingness to display his talent. So Meningsbee pointed to the piano, and Michael slowly rose to his feet, walked over, sat down and played and sang “Let It Be” by the Beatles.

It was an inspiring conclusion to the morning.

Meningsbee listened to the song very carefully.

“Let It Be.”

What good advice.