Who is Jesus?

 

Imagine you’re a person of authority in a Court of Law. 

The judge, the final arbiter, whatever you say happens. 

And they bring to you a man. He is fairly ordinary looking and they accuse Him of saying He is the Son of God. And this is blasphemy according to the Law and He should be put to death. 

Before you make such a momentous decision on the man’s life, you decide to do some investigations. 

You check and you find that this man has been around for about three years or so. He has been travelling up and down the land, and He has indeed said several times that He is the Son of God. He preaches to people and He tells them to repent from their sins and to follow the Way of the Lord. 

So you wonder about this and you think “Well, maybe if I can prove that this man is mad, I could let Him off. I could tell the people that He is insane, and they should let Him go, and I could warn Him not to repeat what He says because it would get Him into deep trouble”. 

So you check on the man’s sanity and you find that indeed He is not mad at all. Many people can testify to the fact that he has preached in the temples, and He has debated with religious elders, and shows no sign of being mentally insane whatsoever. Indeed, He is very wise. 

And you also find that this man seems to have some supernatural powers because He has healed many people up and down the country. The blind can see, the deaf can hear, the dumb can talk and the lame can walk. And there’s plenty of evidence for what He has done. There’s even a Roman Officer who can testify that He has healed. What better evidence do you want? 

And also, you understand, that apparently He has raised people from the dead. Now that’s very strange. No one has ever done that before. But again there’s plenty of evidence of that. There’s the family of a man called Lazarus who apparently had died and had been entombed for a few days yet Jesus raised him from the dead and raised other people from the dead. 

And when He preaches He says to people “Your Faith has saved you” whatever that means. And He heals them. 

He doesn’t charge at all for what He is doing. He just wants people to repent and follow the Lord. 

So you wonder whether He’s some sort of trickster, some sort of charlatan. So you order your soldiers to beat Him up and to rough Him a bit to see whether He admits to being a liar, a cheat. 

Your soldiers torture Him, beat Him up, they put a crown of thorns on His head because He claims to being a King of some sort. But after all that the man still does not say anything in His defence. 

So you give up. You think, “Well, He is one of their people. He is not one of us. So what’s it to do with me if they want to kill Him.” 

So you give orders for Him to be put to death. 

Your soldiers put a Cross on His back and ask Him to carry it all the way to the place where He is nailed to that Cross and left there to die. 

And just before He dies He asks God in Heaven, to forgive these people, because they don’t know what they are doing. 

What’s more strange is that three days later this very man is Himself raised from the dead.  And a lot of people see Him and can testify to his Resurrection. 

Now I wonder. Is this enough evidence that this man is really the Son of God? 

Because it is for me.

The long trip of coffee

 

It was a few years ago when my work colleague Jennifer and I drove to the city for an important meeting with some clients. We'd decided beforehand that she'd drive her own car, giving me the opportunity to read a financial report I needed for the meeting.

On the way back home Jennifer decided we stop at a cafe for some refreshments. She knew that this place served every kind of coffee you could wish for, and of course, she was right.

It was mid-afternoon when we set off again on the way home, Jennifer in the driving seat, and I sitting beside her making notes about the meeting and every so often seeking her advice and opinions on financial matters. She was a keen accountant equal to no one, so her views were invaluable.

An hour into the journey home we met a delay on the highway. All three lanes were full of cars as we slowed down to a snail's pace. Pretty soon we stopped in what turned out to be the longest car park I'd ever seen. Ahead of us, for as far as we could see, there were stopped cars in all three lanes. Behind us, within minutes, a longer queue of parked cars developed into eternity.

Every so often, we moved forward a few yards and stopped again. There'd probably been an accident ahead, or perhaps road works. There was no way of knowing. We were travelling at about 5 miles an hour if not slower.

And that's when the coffee came into play!

I felt I needed to go to the men's room; but unfortunately Jennifer's car did not have such a facility. At first I put up with the slight discomfort which, with every passing minute, grew into ... a more pronounced pain.

"Why are you fidgeting in your seat?" she asked me.

Embarrassingly, I told her. She sympathised by hoping we'd soon be out of this slow traffic.

Fifteen minutes later I became desperate. We'd been at a standstill for quite a while with cars parked all around us.

Jennifer said she had an idea. She got out of the car, opened the boot, and came back holding a small potty in her hand.

"We always keep this in the car for my young son," she said, "perhaps you could use it and then discreetly empty it on the road."

"What?" I asked in a panic, "I couldn't possibly ... besides, it's too small."

"I'm not asking you to place it on the ground and stand on the seat aiming at it!" she said irritably, "just do it sitting down."

"With you here beside me watching me? It's too embarrassing ... " I replied crossing my legs together.

"Forget it ..." she said with gritted teeth as she drove forward a few yards and put the brakes on suddenly turning my pronounced pain into extreme agony.

"What I meant ..." I said soothingly, "the potty is too small for me to use fully ..."

"Do it in stages ..." she replied increasing her level of irritability.

"I can't just turn it on and off like a faucet," I pleaded sheepishly.

And that's when I realised the reason for her uncharacteristic bad temper.

"And I can't exactly lift my dress up, pull down my underpants, and sit on the potty inside the car, can I?" she hissed under her breath, "or would you prefer me to sit on the potty in full view in the middle of the road? Besides ... what exactly have you got to hide? It's tiny size?"

She was obviously in the same coffee predicament as myself.

We drove silently for about twenty minutes when we eventually reached an exit on the highway. As soon as we left the highway I asked her to stop by some woodland and I ran behind a tree and some bushes to commune with nature.

Jennifer, on the other hand, was much more of a lady than I ever was, or will be. She got out of the car and asked me to drive.

I sped to the nearest diner a mile or so ahead where we welcomed a much earned comfort break; and then we sat down and enjoyed their variety of coffees.

Excerpt from my memoirs "AS I QUOTE MYSELF" 

CLICK HERE 

Frère Jacques Frère Jacques

 

It was a very hot summer and we were travelling in France on holiday in one of those big motor homes type vehicle. You know the one I mean? A large vehicle that includes a small bedroom, kitchenette and toilet facility. We had hired it as soon as we got to France and we intended to tour the countryside for a week or so in La Belle France!!! Olé.... sorry, we may have taken a wrong turning into Spain.

Anyway ... after our short diversion due to my wife reading the map upside down, and the GPS satellite lady telling me to go a different way, we were back into France and we stopped by the roadside in the middle of nowhere to consult the map properly. Isn't it awful driving with one woman telling you to go one way and the other the exact opposite?

I massaged my side due to a sharp elbow in my ribs from you know who whilst I was driving. 

We'd been stopped for a few minutes when there was a knock at the door of the motor home. I opened the door and standing there was a monk eating potato chips.

Not a chipmunk ... you've miss heard me ... I said a monk. One of those religious people who live in a monastery and grow their own vegetables and make wine and things for tourists to buy. You could tell he was a monk because he was wearing one of those dark brown Saint Francis of Assisi habits or uniform.

He must have been taken aback to hear me speak English. He stammered and said, "Excusez-moi ... eh ... veree soree ... Moi no speakee ze English good ... ere in ze car, (pointing to the car behind him, an old dusty Citroen), zere iz Père Martin ... e iz veree old and e wantz to do ze wee wee veree quicklee ... OK if e go in your toilette s'il vous plaît?"

Being a very charitable person I quickly replied, "Sorry mate ... the toilet is broken ... la toilette ... eet iz ze broken ..." 

I thought if I talked to him in a French accent he will understand and go away. 

It was then that I received yet another sharp elbow in the ribs. My wife, being more charitable said from behind me, "Oui ... oui ... monsieur ..." and opened the door widely to invite Père Martin to wee wee in our toilet.

Out of the car came Père Martin, followed by a nun called Sœur Celeste, (Sister Celeste), and Mère Supérieure Anna, (Mother Superior Anna). The original monk introduced himself as Frère Joseph. 

Would you believe it? They all wanted to use the toilet!!!

I have read about being charitable in the Bible, but there is nothing there about sharing your motor home toilet with complete strangers. 

What if they were not monks and nuns at all? What if they were gangsters running away from a crime they just committed and dressed like religious people? What if they wanted to steal our motor home? 

I found my old school Catechism in our luggage and I wanted to test their religiousness by asking them some questions. But yet another sharp elbow to the ribs put paid to that strategy.

"Oh ... c'est merveilleux," said Joseph the monk, "vous avez un ... eh ... ah au vin!"

I had heard of coq au vin, a French delicacy of cooking chicken with wine, so I thought he was asking me for some wine.

"No ... no ... I have no wine," I said, "no vin ... oui beer ... beer ... glug glug ... good English beer, not like the watery French stuff you have over here ... beer?"

"Au vin ... au vin ..." he repeated pointing to our kitchenette. 

"Ah ... oven? Yes this is an oven," I said having understood what he was on about.

"Voulez-vous des saucisses?" asked Mother Superior, "saucisses de venaison?"

"Venaison?" I repeated, "yes ... France is a great Nation ... so is Britain mind you. Have you ever been to Britain? You know ... God save our gracious Queen ..."

Mother Superior ignored me and opened the boot of the Citroen and brought out a large packet of dry sausages like salami or chorizos 

"Saucisses de venaison ..." she said, "c'est vraiment délicieux ..."

As she offered me her venison sausages the other nun brought out a huge panier type basket full of food ... French baguette bread, a variety of French cheeses, a couple of bottles of wine, and a lot of other goodies fit for a party. The two monks brought out a foldable table and chairs and they sat down ready for a picnic to which we were invited.

They stayed there for about an hour or so, speaking with us in broken English and French and enjoying their food and wine and our beer ... although they were not that keen on our black pudding, haggis and faggots which we had in the fridge.

As we were enjoying this lovely French picnic a police car drew up and two gendarmes came out. At first I thought perhaps we were parked in the wrong place, and no picnics were allowed where we were.

The two policemen conversed with the nuns and monks in their local language. They spoke quickly and I could not understand a word they said.

"They probably are criminals after all," I whispered to my wife, "we'd better move away!"

Then, without asking for permission or anything, the two policemen entered our motor home. I tried, as best I could, to speak to the monks about it. It transpired that the policemen thought the motor home belonged to the monks and they needed to use the toilet too!

After the policemen left, and we finished the picnic, the monks and nuns thanked us and left on their way.

Moments later I saw a big bull from a nearby field approach us slowly. We got in the motor home quickly and left, just in case he too wanted to use the toilet. 

The following day we took a deliberate detour and visited the monks' monastery some twenty miles away and spent the day there visiting.

Oh ... and to return the favour, we used their toilets. I went more than once to make up for the four of them using ours!

 

Two Stories Wide

 

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Come out of the darkness
Don't hide in the night
Come out in the sunshine
And we'll be alright

 

Life's too long to worry
And it's too short to cry
And it's too deep to measure
And it's two stories wide

 

There's your side and my side
Which side do you need?
Both sides make you lonely
And make your heart bleed

 

Life's too long to worry
And it's too short to cry
And it's too deep to measure
And it's two stories wide

 

Life's too long to worry
And its too short to cry
And its too deep to measure
And its two stories wide

 

Life's too long to worry
And its too short to cry
And its too deep to measure
And its two stories wide

 

Willie Nelson

Waylon Jennings

Johnny Cash

Kris Kristofferson

 

The Highwaymen

Drum

 

I really like to beat the drum. The very big drum you carry with you when marching in a band. Great banging sound!

I sang Christmas Carols with the church choir last year. They didn’t like my rendition of “Silent Night” on the big drum.

I also find the big drum helps me tell the time.

When I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t find my watch I just open the window and bang on my big drum.

Someone is sure to shout “Who’s the idiot banging a drum at three in the morning?” 

Here's a recording of me practicing playing the drum.

Jesus wept

 

Jesus wept. John 11:35

It is said this is the shortest verse in the Bible. It records a moment of great sadness for Jesus that He showed His human emotion.

To put it into context. This happened when His friend Lazarus had died.  John 11:3-7, 17, 20-27, 33-45

Lazarus' sisters had sent word to Jesus that their brother was very ill. Jesus waited for two more days before He went to where Lazarus lived. By the time He arrived, Lazarus was dead.

His sisters were distraught and in their grief they reprimanded Jesus for not arriving earlier. "Had you been here he would not have died!" they said. The crowd gathered by the tomb and was also grieving.

Jesus asked "Where have you laid him?" "Come and see, Lord," they replied.

Jesus wept. John 11:35  

I guess many people over the years have assumed that Jesus wept because His friend Lazarus had died. But is this really so?

Remember ... when Jesus was first told of Lazarus' illness He said, "this illness will not lead to death." He waited for a couple of days to go to Lazarus' home to make sure that he was really dead and not as some would assume that he was asleep or in a coma. 

Jesus knew that He was going to resurrect Lazarus from the dead. So why did He weep?

It was not because of His friend's death.

It was because of the incredulity of his sisters and of the crowd there. Despite all they had heard and seen Jesus perform whilst with them; they still doubted Him and His power.

That's why He wept.

Do we have cause to make Him weep today?

Oh Fortuna

BEFORE YOU PLAY 

VOLUME LOUD

PLAY TWICE

ONCE LOOKING AT VIDEO

ONCE READING LATIN LYRICS 

"O Fortuna" part of the collection known as the Carmina Burana.
(Lyrics from Wikipedia).

O Fortuna velut luna statu variabilis, semper crescis aut decrescis; vita detestabilis nunc obdurat et tunc curat ludo mentis aciem, egestatem, potestatem dissolvit ut glaciem. Sors immanis et inanis, rota tu volubilis, status malus, vana salus semper dissolubilis, obumbrata et velata michi quoque niteris; nunc per ludum dorsum nudum fero tui sceleris. Sors salutis et virtutis michi nunc contraria, est affectus et defectus semper in angaria. Hac in hora sine mora corde pulsum tangite; quod per sortem sternit fortem, mecum omnes plangite!

O Fortune, just like the moon thou art variable, always dost thou wax and wane. Detestable life, first dost thou mistreat us, and then, whimsically, thou heedest our desires. As the sun melts the ice, so dost thou dissolve both poverty and power. Monstrous and empty fate, thou, turning wheel, art mean, voiding good health at thy will. Veiled in obscurity, thou dost attack me also. To thy cruel pleasure I bare my back. Thou dost withdraw my health and virtue; thou dost threaten my emotion and weakness with torture. At this hour, therefore, let us pluck the strings without delay. Let us mourn together, for fate crushes the brave.

The Christian Lounge - GRAPHIC

 

Greetings everyone,

As you know, we have recently launched a new website called The Christian Lounge where you are all invited to visit and also contribute articles by writing to [email protected]

Our friend and contributor Myra Guca (Mevely) suggested that perhaps we should have a graphic we can put on the side-bar of our Blogs advertising and promoting The Christian Lounge.

What a great idea, Mevely. Thank you. The Christian Lounge can have branches everywhere and attract more visitors.

My "techie" got on to it. The graphic/image is shown above. You can download it and save it on your computer

Now - how to put it on your Blog if you wish to? Here are his instructions:  

When you are logged into Blogger click on Design at the top right of your screen.

Then click on Layout from the list on your left. 

Then click on add a gadget.

Click on Image from the list you are offered.

On the Title entry write: The Christian Lounge

On the Caption entry: leave blank 

On the Link entry: Copy/paste this:  https://thechristianlounge4u.blogspot.com/

 Scroll down to: Upload image from your computer.

Click on Browse and put the photo from your computer on to Blogger.

Click the slide on shrink to fit to the right.

Click SAVE.  

Click again the SAVE icon (looks like a floppy disc) at the bottom right of the screen.

Now go to your Blog and the graphic should be on your side-line bar.

Any problem please write to my "techie" at [email protected] 

Thank you and God bless.

Refused Communion

 

Someone wrote to my office ([email protected]) saying that they attended a Catholic wedding recently and just before Communion the priest said that non-Catholics should not take Communion but can have a blessing instead. That person was hurt by this and wrote to me about it.

Let me explain.

Catholics believe that when we take Holy Communion it is actually the body and blood of Jesus that we take. It is the real presence of Christ in the Communion that we take. Some Catholics have difficulty in believing this; but let us park this aside for a while.

Catholics take their teaching from the Gospel of John Chapter 6 where Jesus says that unless we eat His flesh and drink His blood we will not have eternal life. (John 6:51-58).

Jesus says this several times, so much so that some of His listeners decided not to follow Him any more and they left. Jesus did not stop them. He did not call them back and tried to explain saying it was all a figure of speech or symbolism. In fact, He also asked the twelve Disciples, "And you - would you also like to leave?"

Also, at the Last Supper, Jesus repeats His claim that Communion is His body and blood.

So, was the priest wrong to ask non-Catholics not to take Communion?

As already mentioned, Catholics believe that the total substance of bread and wine are changed into the substance of the body and blood of Christ at the moment of Consecration during Mass. That is to say, the bread and wine taken at Communion are no longer such but they are the body and blood of Christ. 

Before giving Communion the priest says "The Body of Christ ... The Blood of Christ"; and the individual responds "Amen" - meaning I agree.

It would be wrong, therefore, for a non-Catholic to say "Amen" when in their heart they do not agree and believe it is all symbolism. How would God view that individual? In a way, the priest is "protecting" that individual from being un-truthful to the Lord. By denying Communion the Catholic Church is not excluding an individual for not being Catholic, but it is aiming to re-affirm their true belief in the eyes of God.

What about me? What do I believe? 

Here's what I think. 

That event was important enough for John to record it in details. He underlines the fact that Jesus repeated His claim more than once; and John also points out that some people could not accept what Jesus said and left.

Had I been there that day, would I too have left or would I have accepted Christ's Word for what it is? I honestly do not know what I would have done.

But what about today; so many years later? I honestly accept what Jesus said for what it is. I do not understand it but I believe it because it is recorded that He said it. Call me a coward if you wish. Believing just as an insurance policy. I guess when I meet Jesus one day I'll say, "I tried to believe as best as I could within the limitations of my intellect".

THE CHRISTIAN LOUNGE LINK 

Nobody's child

“Father we’ve got Tom home at last …” said the voice at the end of the phone, “we’d be ever so pleased if you could come and meet him some time today … we could also discuss the Baptism arrangements …”

Father Ignatius put the phone back on its cradle and praised the Lord for answering long standing desperate prayers.

The call was from Gerry Hedge. He and his wife had been planning to start a family for many years. They’d been for several medical tests both at the local hospital and at a specialist hospital in London and had seen several consultants and various doctors over the years. They had even traveled abroad for special medical treatment and tests but finally they had to accept that they could not have children.

After the heartache and hurt slowly died down they decided to adopt instead. But even that was an event fraught with many difficulties. The Authorities made them jump through many bureaucratic hoops and checked and double-checked every aspect of their lives, relations and friends. They checked their annual income, future prospects, suitability for adoption, housing standards and so on and so forth for an interminable period of time.

Father Ignatius was asked to act as a character referee for the couple and he was interviewed in no fewer than three separate occasions.

And at last … at long last … they had managed to legally adopt little Tom and they had now brought him home.

Their joy was immeasurable and little Tom would indeed be loved as no child has ever been loved before …

Father Ignatius left his office and rushed to the local shops to buy a little present for the new child in the Hedge’s household.

And that evening he was indeed well pleased and honored to visit the happy couple and be the first to meet their new son and to discuss the forthcoming Baptism arrangements.

As he parked his old car next to the sparkling new top of the range model currently driven by Gerry Hedge, Father Ignatius stopped for a while to admire the view.

He’d been to their mansion in the countryside many times, and had indeed enjoyed their lavish hospitality on several occasions, but surely never had he visited them for such a joyous and happy event as this time.

He walked slowly up the graveled path towards the front door and rang the bell. Moments later the door was opened by Stuart the butler who led him to the main living room.

Lana and Gerry Hedge greeted him warmly as he sat down in his usual armchair.

Little Tom was sitting on the floor facing the TV and listening intently. He was about one year old with light blond hair and the most beautiful face you could imagine.

Father Ignatius leaned a little forward in his armchair and handed Tom a little package containing his present, “Hello Tom … look what I got for you …” he said in his gentle soothing voice.

The little boy did not react whatsoever and continued staring at the TV set.

“He can’t see you Father …” said Lana calmly.

Father Ignatius was taken aback at what he’d just heard and moved backwards in his chair still holding the package and looking at Lana in puzzlement.

“He is blind Father … he’s born blind … something to do with his mother’s addictions …” continued Lana calmly.

“I see …” said the priest, and quickly bit his lip at the inappropriateness of what he’d just said.

“He’s been at the adoption society since he was born … and no one had ever even bothered to consider him …” said Lana.

Gerry Hedge sat in the sofa saying nothing. Lana continued.

“I fell in love with him the moment I saw him …” she said, “even though the staff at the adoption society tried to discourage us … saying that he’ll require a lot of care and attention …”

“We’ll make damn sure he gets all the care and attention he needs …” declared Gerry sitting beside her, “he’ll go short of nothing I assure you Father … we’ll make sure of that … mark my word!”

“I am sure you are right …” said Father Ignatius “and I look forward to having him as one of the Altar servers in due course …”

“Ah … but first we must discuss the Baptism arrangements …” said Gerry standing up, “now what will it be Father … a glass of French Champagne or the best 12 years old single malt whisky to ever leave Scotland?”

 

MORE FATHER IGNATIUS STORIES HERE

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MORE FATHER IGNATIUS STORIES HERE 

The Oven-U-Wear

A friend of mine is quite an inventor and has now developed Oven-U-Wear.^TM

As the name implies, this is an oven which you wear.

Or, to be more precise, it is a jacket or overcoat which acts like an oven. It has many pockets, both on the inside and outside, and through a battery operated system it heats up each pocket individually to the temperature you desire.

For example, you could be on your way to work with a potato in each armpit cooking gently. By lunchtime, hey presto ... baked potatoes!

Or, on your way home after a hard day's work you could be carrying a chicken on your back roasting gently, whilst the vegetables are in your side pocket and a cake up your sleeve! Once you're home you can sit down to a hot meal in seconds!

In the morning you can eat your porridge from your pocket whilst travelling on the bus or train. And have toast popping out of your collar straight into your mouth. Delicious with some honey or jam which you'll keep in your trousers which act as a refrigerator.

The problem with the trousers is that I have now grown icicles where I really don't want them!

And when they defrost I have a rather embarrassing tell-tale patch at the front of my trousers. Not to mention a cold wet bottom when I sit down.

The other problem I found is that with a roasting chicken on my back I am usually followed by a pack of dogs salivating at the mouth. 

In winter I am nice and warm at the top of my body with my oven jacket, and freezing my un-mentionables underneath with a fridge in my pants. Whereas in summer I am over-heating my head whilst my manhood is rather cool.

All in all, whilst this invention is rather cool, (modern slang meaning good, great, fantastic); in reality it needs a few more refinements.

The other day a short circuit sent an electric shock up my backside and my hat flew off !!!

THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM 

"SPEAKING FROM MY SOCK" 

Paperback & Kindle version 

CLICK HERE

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I burnt her frilly underwear

 

There were six of us sharing a large apartment. We were young. We had parties every weekend. We had joy, we had fun.We had seasons in the sun. But the hills that we climbed; were just seasons out of time. Whatever that means.

Anyway, one weekend we played HOT or COLD. I don't know if you're familiar with the game. One person hides something, and the others try to find it. If they get near the item you say warm, luke warm, hot and so on until they find it. If they're away from the item you say cold, colder and so on.

We'd been drinking. We were happy and perhaps light-headed. It was my turn to hide an item. One of the girls thought it would be a great laugh to hide her underpants!

Whilst they all had their eyes closed, I sneaked into the kitchen and put the pants in the oven.

They were useless at finding them. They were miles away. Might as well be in the next country or continent. I kept saying, "Cold ... Colder ... Even more colder ... Coldest ... Freezing ... Polar Regions Freezing Temperature!" But they could not find the girl's undergarment.

Then there was a funny smell from the kitchen. And black smoke. The smoke alarm went on shrieking.

How was I to know that someone had put something in the oven to bake?

I know you're blaming me right now!

I doubt the owner of the pants ever forgave me. They were sheer delicate see-through. She had bought them for her boy friend ... Not for her boy friend to wear ... For her to wear and ...

Oh go on ... blame me as usual.

PLEASE CLICK HERE