Category Archives: Faith

“No way! Jesus doesn’t have a sense of humor. He’s always serious about matters that are important to Him, like salvation, Israel and abortion,” he said.

I was shocked. “What?” I blurted, not thinking of a more clever comeback than that.

“You heard me,” he said with his arms folded in a defiant mood.

I shook myself. “So, who created humor – the devil?” No longer tongue tied, I took aim at his ignorance.

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said without a smile. “But I do know that Jesus has no sense of humor.” He turned and walked away.

The best I could offer was a loud sigh. So there!

This conversation took place with another Christian, a committed one. He actually believed that his point of view was accurate. Yipes! But who knows, maybe, you agree with him. And maybe, you want me to prove that Jesus has a sense of humor from scriptures, right?

Try this on for size:

At the beginning of Mark 7, Jesus puts down the Pharisees’ and Jews’ tradition of washing their hands and utensils to make sure that no uncleanliness defiles their bodies. The Lord proclaims that it is not the outward stuff that defiles a person, but the inner sins that causes problems.

Now flip to the end of Mark 7, what does Jesus do? He heals a deaf person with a speech impediment. How does He do it? He puts His fingers in His ears and spits on the man’s tongue. The man is healed.

Talk about something from the outside defiling a person. Dirty yucky spit. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!  It was as if the Teacher wanted to underline His message with a great big, “Gotcha” and a wink.

Want another example?

Look at the wedding in John 2, check out how much wine Jesus created for the party. It works out to something like two or three gallons per person. I’d guess that there was a lot of laughing, dancing and giggling at this party late into the night, right?

There are many other examples throughout scripture.  And guess what? It’s fun searching for them.

Swimming Upstream appears at this blog site on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It’s  a little of this and a little of that, all written  to encourage and exhort believers in their Christian jouneys.

The noted Baptist preacher, Charles H. Spurgeon, was once asked, “If you had a choice, where would you locate your church?”

“Just ouside the gates of Hell,” replied Spurgeon, “so that every sinner would have at least one last chance before he entered the eternal fires of Hell.”

The Pharisees had a far different point of view. They believed that God danced and rejoiced on the coffin of a dead sinner, heading to Hell.  No last chances for sinners in their theology.

As a young Christian, I sort of agreed with the Pharisees. You know, “Get right with Jesus or go to Hell. No skin off my nose!”

Then, the Lord gave me a vision of people laughing and skipping their way into Hell. Each acted like a young first grader on a class outing, full of energy and excitement. Thousands and thousands of them were on the path, each following the person in front of them.

At the front of the line, a man dressed in  a religious outfit led the whole group. Everyone trusted him. He knew the right direction. And yet, the path ended in a dark hole. The people paid no attention to the ominous cave-like entrance and  gladly skipped through it, into the eternal abyss of Hell.

I didn’t see the inside of Hell, but I heard the cries and screams of its occupants. There was no hope for them. Just pain, agony and screaming for all of eternity.

Since the vision, I can think of no one that I would want to see ending up in Hell for eternity. No one.

Maybe you think,”What about Saddam Hussein? Don’t you think that he deserved an eternity in Hell?”

Of course, Hussein deserved to go to Hell, but so did I! My sin of unbelief was every bit as wrong as his. And yet,  by the Lord’s grace, there was a church located just outside the gates of Hell that stopped me from entering its hopeless abyss.

The church’s name: Bill. He was a businessman. (See testimony.)

Swimming Upstream appears at this blog site on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It will contain a little of this and a little of that to encourage believers in their Christian jouneys.

Okay, okay, I admit it. I don’t read my Bible and Christian books 24/7. And …and … instead, I read mysteries. Not just a few mystery novels, but heaps of them. I’m hooked – must have my daily mystery fix.

Let me start at the beginning. Before my salvation, I was an avid reader of novels and a few biographies. Steinbeck. Hemmingway. Smith.  Ludlum. LeClare. Fitzgerald. Wouk. Etc.

And at the time of my salvation, I was reading Yeager, an autobiography by Chuck Yeager, the  test pilot. But after my salvation, I could not finish the book. I’d open it up and fall asleep. This happened quite a few times before it hit me: I don’t read non-Christian books anymore.

So, for the next eighteen years or so, I read hundreds of Christian books and my Bible. There was one exception: There Are No Children Here by Alex Kotlowitz. This book told about two African-American boys growing up in the Cabrini-Green complex on the Southside of Chicago. Sobering book!

But then, in 2002, I started writing prophetic fiction. I finished my first story and handed it to Honey. She read it and said, “Good story line. Lousy writing.”

Yikes! There’s something about truth coming out of your mate’s mouth that makes you grit your teeth. It’s a little like a fingernail going across a blackboard. The hairs on your neck stick up; you arch your back; and you’re ready to unleash your claws.

Yet, the truth was, I was stuck with writing prophetic fiction. So, I needed to read books that had simple formats which I could figure out and learn.

This led me to mystery novels. Quick reads. Simple formats. Heavy dialog. Easy to understand scenes and transportation from one scene to the next. A perfect genre for a simple writer like me.

Whose books do I read? Michael Connelly, James Lee Burke, some Elmore Leonard, Ian Rankin, Peter Robinson, William Tapply, Steve Hamilton, and others.

So, there you have  it. The truth is out of the closet.

The Lord looked down on earth, His garden. His eyes scanned back and forth. Then, He pointed and said, “There. That one is ready.”

“Lord,” said the angel, “that’s parched dirt. Nothing much has grown there for years. Maybe, You should check out the Midwestern spuds. Plenty of water there. ”

“No,” said the Lord,” this is the spud of my eye. When I planted him, I poured some great spiritual genetics into the little tater. And now,  he’s ready.”

The angel shrugged and took off. Within nano-seconds, he landed next to the vine which the Lord had pointed out and dug with his hands into the dry soil. He pulled out a medium-sized potato and held it up. It was not much to look out, sort of scrawny and dirty.

“Well, little potato, this is your day,” said the angel. The potato, being all eyes, did not say anything. He just listened.

Then, the angel took the potato through a cleansing process. He was washed and scrubbed. Damaged parts and bad eyes were clipped off. When it was over, the potato said, “The Lord loves me and I love Him. I am the spud of His eye. I am so happy.”

Next, the hand of the Lord lifted the potato up and shoved him into an oven. The heat was turned up to 350 degrees.

The little potato was afraid; it was dark and hot  in there. Very hot. “Lord, what are you doing to me?” cried the potato.

“Trust Me,” said the Lord in a gentle voice. Then He added, “You are the spud of My eye.”

The potato rolled over to the door and banged against it. “Lord, Lord,” screamed the potato, “I am dying in here. Let me out.”

The Lord smiled. “Yes, I know you’re dying. That’s My plan for you.” Then again, He added, “Your are the spud of My eye.”

After a while, the potato quit  banging on the door and crying out. He resigned himself to the process. His resignation did not make the experience any less painless, but it allowed him to focus better.

The door finally opened. A hand reached in, lifted the potato out and set him on a kitchen table. What a relief, thought the potato. Now, I’m ready to be what I’ve always been called to be.

Zzzt! A knife slit the potato and removed his flesh from the skins. The particles  fell into a white mixing bowl.

Grrrr! A electric mixer mashed the potato flesh inside the mixing bowl.

“Lord, why are You doing this to me? Don’t You love me?”

“Yes, I love you. I do this to every potato who loves me with all his heart like you do. Your flesh is just being smoothed out a little,” said the Lord. Then, He added, “You are the spud of My eye.”

What next, wondered the potato.

Milk , butter and seasonings were added. Then, more mixing. A lot more mixing.

The mixer stopped. The Lord inspected the little potato. “He’s ready.”

The potato sighed. “It’s over. The process is over,” whispered the potato. “It was bad, really bad, but somehow, I survived. Now, it’s time for me to be what I have been called to be. Yea!”

Thwop! Thwop! The potato’s flesh was spooned back into his skins and shoved into the oven. The heat was turned up.

This time the little potato kept quiet. He knew that it was useless to complain. Everything was out of his control and in the hands of the Lord. How long it took before he was ready, he did not know nor did he care. After all, he was the spud of the Lord’s eye. That was enough for him.

Twice baked potato, sort of reminds a person of how an apostle is readied for his ministry, right?