GOING DOWN

This essay is going to be a little short of words compared to most on The Pontificator.  Brevity will relieve friends who might read my essays to be polite or feign interest. I wish I had more readers like them, but most who read I will never meet. I don’t know what they love or hate.

I know this. If the GOP retains its lockdown on all branches of the government after Tuesday’s “election”, the Confederates will have won their Civil War. It took 150 years, but they will have won. Donald Trump is a modern Jefferson Davis — the first president of the new Confederacy.

Trump is bigger than Jefferson Davis. Like Davis, the president works for a coalition of revolutionaries who despise democracy. They support a modern version of slavery, on which they pin the heroic title of Capitalism, right?

They are eager to kill to protect it. It’s why they are rabid Second Amendment advocates; it’s why they harass and threaten liberals on-line, on the phone, in the press, in the churches, and inside state legislatures.

It’s a system where everyone works for the wealthy to manipulate and exploit ignorant people who actually believe they are going to be rich and powerful oligarchs themselves, someday. All that is required is to work hard and prepare, prepare, prepare.

Sure, that works. Ask any brick layer or steel worker. Ask an auto worker. Ask a teacher or a nurse or a restaurant busboy. It isn’t going to happen.

Get real.

The only chance working people will ever have to earn high incomes is if rich people share the wealth by paying fair wages and taxes, which is the opposite of what they decided to do when they rushed through the recent “tax cuts.”

About 90% of the cuts went to the one-percent, right? Of course, the poor can buy lottery tickets. Lottery tickets sometimes work, don’t they? Doesn’t everyone in the USA have someone in their family who has won millions in the lottery? The lottery has been going strong since the early 1970s — almost fifty years. It must be working, because more people play the lottery than ever before.

Divide hard-working folks — who after long days at work don’t have the time or energy to think things through — with any number of issues that make no sense. The classic issue is abortion, of course. It always is.

Any woman can secure an abortion. It only takes two inexpensive pills or a boyfriend who has watched a couple how-to videos on the dark web. The only political question is whether abortions are going to be legal and safe or illegal  and risky.

Legality or Constitutionality makes no difference to desperate women, but it might mean that a few unfortunates will spend time in prison away from their families should they get caught. Fear of prison increases anxiety, but it won’t stop a female impregnated by a man she hates. She will abort.

It’s been this way since the beginning of history. Before the process of abortion was known, women took their unwanted babies into the mountains to be eaten by wolves and crows.

The president has promised to punish women who have abortions. Judge Kavanaugh, the drunk sex addict and party animal who terrorized Dr. Ford during an alcoholic rut, promised Senator Susan Collins that he won’t overturn Roe v. Wade. He made the promise to secure her vote.

As the president likes to say, “We’ll see what happens.”

There are so many other fabricated issues; so many “scary” people — immigrant rapists, immigrant invaders, gays and their spouses, black political candidates, Mexicans who vote, socialist doctors, Obama and his ACA, Muslim terrorists, Muslims who aren’t terrorists, native Americans who don’t live in houses or apartments who want to vote, unindicted Hillary and her co-conspirators, lying reporters, homeless people, immigrant children who must be separated from parents and confined in cages, angry mobs of Democrats, and on and so on….  The list of  imagined “terrible people” who everyone must fear is as long as America itself.



It’s a white supremacist’s wet-dream — burning crosses with any number of “horrible” people duck-taped to the raging firewood.  Ethnic and cultural cleansing of “evil” Americans seems to give supremacists a certain cathartic release. It’s what lynching and castrating were all about decades ago.

Read Trump supporter twitter feeds, anyone who doesn’t believe it. They will terrify the uninitiated.  It’s always pics of automatic weapons, Confederate and American flags, photos of prominent progressives with target-crosses on their faces, and a little blurb about how much the tweeter hates liberals and loves Jesus and President Trump. Often a Bible verse is added for righteous measure.

People who hate gravitate toward demagogues. The USA has enough haters to elect Nazis to every office in the land. On Tuesday, those of us who have a different opinion of right and wrong are going to find out who is right and who is wrong.

Are we going down like lemmings off a cliff into the maelstrom below? Will Americans drink the Kool-Aid of a Jim Jones sociopath?

We will soon know the truth about our country — if the Russians (or the Republicans who own the voting machines) don’t manipulate the results, as some in our intelligence agencies say they have already. In Texas early voters report that some machines are flipping votes for certain candidates. It’s a bad sign of problems to come on voting day.


Reality Winner is the incarcerated NSA worker who exposed voter fraud in the 2016 presidential election. She is serving a five year sentence. 

NSA employee Reality Winner is in prison with no access to media, reporters, phones, or computers for a reason, right? Once people lose confidence in the integrity of the electoral process, the alternative is Civil War. We did that once. The war turned into a bloody mess that destroyed a generation of Americans. It’s a war that continues to be fought.

What if a miracle happens? What if the election is fair?

What happens if suppressed voters manage to get to the polls to cast provisional ballots when necessary?

What if all votes are counted; no one tampers with the computers nor the voting machines; everyone stays in line and votes until midnight if necessary in those states where the GOP disrupts minority voting to make it as difficult as humanly possible?

What then?

What if the GOP is thrown out and the Democrats take control of the Senate and the House of Representatives? It seems like a hopeless pipe-dream, but stranger things have happened.

The president will question the accuracy of the count, of course, and a countdown to revolution will begin by alt-right fanatics who are itching for a fight. They’ve already killed a dozen Jewish people inside a Temple in Pittsburg; they’ve threatened the lives of the most influential Democrats in the country — including two presidents. Right?

Does anyone think that white supremacists are going to end their bloody rampage short of total victory or defeat? Winning is going to be as problematic as losing, unfortunately.

An added burden is that everyone who has an ounce of political sense knows that the president is working with Russian and Israeli mafias to lockdown the country. We are going to become Russia with our own Vladimir Putin if certain oligarchs get their way.

Anyone who isn’t afraid has a false confidence reminiscent of passengers on the Titanic or the Jews who waited eagerly for the Nazis to cleanse them with warm showers.

Are Americans out of their minds?  This election shouldn’t be close.

How can evangelicals support the GOP? A victory by Democrats ensures that Mike Pence, a sincere Christian by all accounts, will replace a president who had no history of association with any church or group of believers until he made his convenient Faustian covenant with Jerry Falwell, Jr. and Franklin Graham.


NOTE BY EDITORIAL BOARD: On August 25, 2020 Jerry Falwell accepted a $10.5 million severance package from Liberty University to step down. Like Adam in the Garden of Eden, he blamed his wife for the sex scandals that followed him pretty much everywhere during his tenure. 


We can impeach and remove our demented president. Some Democrats say Mike Pence will be worse. But sensible people must know that his hand on the nuclear button will be a safer hand, because he isn’t completely crazy like the Donald. Who can’t see it?

Is this lunacy what Americans want? Is this insanity what our brothers and sisters in arms fought and died for in all the wars we’ve won to keep freedom alive?

I don’t think so.

We’ll find out soon enough.

This election is a litmus test. Pray that all of us on both sides can survive and endure the results, which are sure to change America for good or ill.

Billy Lee

WHAT WOULD JESUS, JOHN, AND PAUL DO?

I guess I should start by saying, sorry.  Forgive me for enraging self-righteous Christians who might stumble over this essay and actually read it.

God help me if I nudge anyone to suicide by confronting them with certain sins, which they are simply unable to overcome.

Some Christians point to themselves to show the unfaithful — even those who don’t ask — that Christ Jesus forgives them. He might not forgive other people, sure, because some sins are too grave; unforgivable. But their own sins, well, Jesus forgives them. 

I watched a church-congregation change denominations because their members thought its leaders didn’t sufficiently punish a pastor who married his daughter to the woman she loved.

A leader of this congregation published a piece in a widely read magazine to claim that homosexuality was one of the worst sins anyone could commit. The leader got into it, into the details; it was scary to read. 

The article scared me, at least. Let’s put it that way.

I don’t want to frighten anyone. My purpose is to challenge modern folks, who claim they are trying to imitate Christ, to soberly examine themselves and make winsome changes.

Why?

Well, I’m a sinner, church friends will tell you — I have a lot to work on, they say. I have a history of showing anger and being judgmental — unsuitable for anyone who claims to walk with Christ, right?

It’s comforting to know that Saint Peter got angry as did John the Baptist and other Bible heroes. Jesus is working on me; my temper seems to diminish as aging overtakes me.  

Decades depending on Christ to keep my head above water has taught me that everyone seems to find themselves up-to-their-eyeballs in sin most every day. It takes a tremendous level of self-deception to even breathe sometimes.

Other Christians seem to believe they have overcome many of their basest sins and are serving Christ effectively. I don’t remember ever feeling that way; sometimes I wonder if I’m heaven-material. 

Christ has strengthened me against youthful propensity for sexual-sin and temper-tantrums, true. Some might say I back-slide, but it’s been a while. Jesus has somehow made me better than I was, I think. 

It’s true. 

Some victories might be the result of aging and lowered levels of testosterone.

Who knows?

Am I deluded?

Has the Holy Spirit worked miracles in me?

It doesn’t exactly seem so. It feels like loss of whatever it was that once made me feel like a man. Maybe it’s medicines. Older folks like me, some anyway, take meds each day just to keep going. 

For some strange perhaps misguided reason (sour-grapes?), I started asking questions with enthusiasm of clear conscience about activities of celebrity-style Christians. I asked: would Christian heroes of the Bible do things Christians do who live today inside the United States?


Jesus of Nazerth as a boy
Jesus portrayed as a child in the 1977 television mini-series, Jesus of Nazareth.

Here is a list of questions:

1 – Would John the Baptist play the stock market?

2 – Would Saint Stephen buy lottery tickets?

3- Would Saint Paul take children to the firing-range?

4- Would Saint Peter live in a gated community?

5 – Would Jesus drive a Cadillac or Tesla? Or take Uber? 

6 – Would the disciples self-medicate with tranquilizers and anti-depressants?

7 – Would John, brother of Jesus, defend the Second Amendment, repeal Obama Care, build border walls, lower taxes on billionaires, or maybe defend politicians and preachers?

Readers might think of some other behaviors unique to the modern world. Are there really any good reasons to argue whether the seven peculiar behaviors in my list are sins? Isn’t it true that sin is not always easily described though it does seem pervasive; without help, humans fall, right? 

Many who commit sin rationalize to keep themselves sane.  Why not respect their process? Why not provide space for folks to grow spiritually and love Christ? No church does tolerance well — at least none I know. Mistakes get made. Some get hurt. Others feel betrayed. 

Jesus patches things up, right? He finds ways to forgive, teach, love, and bind wounds. He makes holiness possible. 

Jesus said he was the way, the truth, and life itself.   

Does anyone have hope apart from the love of Christ crucified and unharmed?

Hope for what, exactly? 

Billy Lee

YEAR ONE

[A New Year’s Message to our readers from the Editorial Board]

January 17, 2015 marks the first anniversary of the Billy Lee Pontificator. During the past year we published more than fifty posts on over thirty topics of interest to Billy Lee — like economics, history, humor, politics, religion, gay rights, literature, race, music, culture, technology, science and many others.


Billy Lee celebrates his blog’s one-year anniversary.

WordPress, our blog-site administrator, reported in year-end statistical summaries that readers clicked on Billy Lee’s Pontifications 7,000 times.

Although some people might consider the number small compared to the tens-of-thousands of hits received each day by commercial web-sites, Billy Lee prefers to compare his numbers to what he might expect were his articles posted on the front of his refrigerator with little door-magnets.

It’s unlikely that more than a handful of visitors to his kitchen would take the time to read even a few of his posts during the year. Measured this way, it is clear to the Editorial Board that the Billy Lee Pontificator has been a spectacular success.

Billy Lee sometimes tells people he started his blog to entertain and inform readers. Not true. We know him. We work with him. He created his blog, because he needed a reservoir for his crazy ideas.

Billy intends to leave behind a public anthology of utter nonsense to his loved ones. He is convinced that the heart-palpitations he experiences every time he writes will kill him someday, probably prematurely. He doesn’t want to leave an empty legacy of a wasted life.

But let us face some harsh realities. Writing a blog is agonizing, thankless work. A famous person once said: no one who blogs is ever happy (or famous). Bloggers can sometimes suffer criticism, but more often than not, people ignore them. And it hurts.

The public seems not to care about bloggers and the useless self-indulgent crap they write. Blogsters who believe in what they do (and that includes Billy Lee) writhe beneath the stab-wounds of rejection every time they push the publish-button and sit glued to their computers to wait anxiously for their site-stats to dribble-in.

Most of the time the numbers confirm their worst fears — they really do suck at what they do. They bleed. They suffer. And everyone knows they self-inflict their own self-righteous agonies.

No one does it better than Billy Lee. Only when a blogger stops blogging, does the bleeding stop. Billy Lee has suffered and bled for twelve months now. Yes, he bleeds, but no, he’s never bled-out.  

It seems that more and more blogsters are abandoning their sites and moving on to other meaningless projects. We hope Billy Lee never does. As boring and irrelevant as he is, we still want our paychecks!  Stand up, Billy Lee. Keep on blogging!

Sincerest Regards,

The Editorial Board

P.S.  One more thing. Some readers may have heard the news by now. Security guards arrested Billy Lee during his speech last night at the “New Year’s Eve Homage to Year One” Gala and Ball. The Board hosted the plaid T-shirt affair at the exclusive Rubber Chicken Dinner Club in Metamora.

Billy Lee has apologized.  

Guess what?

We don’t care! 

A transcript of his remarks is reproduced below.


 

happy new year smiley face year oneHelloooo, everybody!  Happy New Year!

(burps loudly, spills drink)

(audience applause)

I’m Billy Lee, the Pontificator, and I’m drunk as a skunk!

(Audience laughter, applause)

What’s my New Year’s Resolution for 2015?  Who wants to know?  Yeah?  Oh yeah? You’re all a bunch of gnarly swamp rabbits…That’s what I think!  I’ll pickle ur… Whoaaa!  Easy big fella.  Not you. Not you.

(Scattered laughter.  Room quiets)

Ok, Ok… it’s an easy one, my comrades.  Hold on.  I’ll tell ya.  I’ll tell ya.  

(Stares wildly into the room)

I resolve… I resolve… in two-thousand one five… to be sexy all the time!  Two – oh – one – five!  I be sexy all de time. Yeah!  

(hiccups, burps, takes a drink)  

(gasps from audience, a few catcalls)

I resolve to be of good cheer, most of the year, and for god sakes don’t tell ’em I’m qu…

(stumbles, grabs podium)

Don’t tell ’em I’m qu…

(twirls a 360 and throws drink glass, shattering it)

Don’t tell ’em I’m qu…

(falls into microphone setting off loud reverb)

Don’t tell ’em I’m qu…

(sprawls onto stage floor, face down, butt in the air)

don’t tell ’em… don’t tell ’em…

(scattered screams, folks covering their ears, expressions of outrage in audience)

Note to our readers Let’s just say, things escalated.  Billy Lee decided to belt out a slurred and soggy rendition of Take Me to Church. He demanded that male volunteers come up on stage to kiss him on the lips.

Some in the audience rioted. People began throwing things, including chairs and salt shakers. Finally, marshals stormed in to escort Billy Lee out of the building. He was hand-cuffed and dragged. He began bawling like a baby. Some say he mouthed the words, worship like a dog! worship like a dog! as the marshals threw him into the paddy-wagon.

An hour or so later, members of the Editorial Board — they shall remain unnamed — posted Billy Lee’s bond, and all of us, together, asked that he submit his formal remarks — in writing — today. We demanded that he include an apology.

Billy Lee complied. We have attached his written “homage” (an e-mail) below.  The Editorial Board.


January 1, 2015

To: the Billy Lee Pontificator Editorial Board

May I offer my profoundest apologies to anyone I offended last night by my outrageous behavior, inappropriate comments, and lewd singing? I am so sorry.

I am so ashamed.

I know it’s the tradition for people to drink small amounts of alcohol on New Year’s Eve, but last night I clearly exceeded the reasonable and customary limits of insobriety.

Under the influence of what some said was “excessive” consumption of liquor, it seems I offended both the gay community and those Christians in the audience who prefer to drive gays to suicide. For this, I am truly sorry. I said and sang stuff I didn’t mean.

My question to the board members is this: Can you forgive me? Or will you use my weakness as your excuse to torment, humiliate, scandalize, censor, and shun me?

Your silence seems to speak for itself. You forgive me. And you torment, humiliate, scandalize, censor, and shun me. Thank you so very much.

Let me reassure you. I am not myself gay, nor have I ever been. Do you believe me? Again, your silence speaks for itself.

You don’t believe me. I feel it.

And you shun me. I feel that, too. Ok, then. Now that it’s settled, can we move on?

And again, may I prodigiously apologize for playing the fool and making you hate me?

I am grateful for each of you: for each member of our illustrious Editorial Board and the over-weighted bureaucracy that supports you and makes up the backbone of the Pontificator team.

Thank you to the staff of sycophants, apple polishers, and suck-ups who inspire all of us to do our best work.

And thanks also to our black janitor and the two sluts who hang out in the parking-lot before work every morning. Thank you to everyone.

It is now my pleasure to present my homage to our first year and to discuss many of the articles I wrote that might have enriched all our lives had you taken the time to read them.

It’s no secret to me that you didn’t read my articles. Yet you call yourselves the “Editorial Board” !!! The only thing you edit is your paychecks. I’ve caught more than one of you erasing “ones” and “twos” and writing in “eights” and “nines”. It’s not right, people. Can’t you see that?

Well, enough apologies. I’m admonished and chastised. I get it. And no. I’m not dropping my pants, so you can spank me. It’s enough, already, Editorial Board!  Let’s move on to my Homage to Year One! 

I’ve included the following written transcript of the remarks I would have made last night had I not been drunk. And I made some changes to more accurately express my feelings after your reaction to last night’s sorry debacle and my role in it.  

By the way, I’m thrilled to reveal the five most read Pontificator articles for 2014. Can you guess?  They are… (May we have the envelope, please?  Drum roll…)

1 – Sensing the Universe

2 – The Church and the Gay People

3 – Is Something Wrong with America?

4 – Gay Love and Christian Pride

5 – Capitalism and Income Inequality

Since you’re reading this report in your e-mail, Editorial Board, click on the links and read all five, right now!

The best article of 2014 (and far and away my favorite) is Bell’s Inequality. It packs a huge wallop for those who dig science. Not to totally pander to science freaks, but a close second is Conscious Life.  Site stats say few people have read them. I know the Editorial Board didn’t read them.

Read them now!  

Our best (worst) day of the year was May 3rd, when church leaders — alarmed by my famous Gay Love post — swarmed our site and eventually shut it down — for six weeks!

I never suffered emotionally in my life like I did during those weeks — they turned into months!  Details of that unnerving fiasco are described and preserved in Writing Free.

Of course, I can’t expect any of you to read it. It’s 2,000 words. It has paragraphs!

Many people told me the post they liked best was Hearing Loss. It is a true account of real-life exchanges between me and my hill-billy wife, Beverly Mae. It is always good for giddy guffaws and lots of laughs. Next July, when you are all taking your six-week vacations, why not set one week aside to read it, Editorial Board?!

Another funny post, at least to me: Why Do Humans like Music?  I belly-laugh every time I revisit it. It’s that good. You wouldn’t know!!!

I don’t know how many of you Board members know this, but The Billy Lee Pontificator got it’s start, believe it or not, from a desire to showcase an article I wrote titled, Horemheb, Exodus Pharaoh?  I loved that essay. I loved the title. Wow. Horemheb, Exodus Pharaoh? Really? Everybody will read that one!

To my amazement, and through the tears of self-humiliation, I discovered — after I published it on my blog-site — Horemheb needed a re-write. Some family members may remember how much the re-writing of Horemheb dragged-on during its prolonged infancy on Facebook, before I blog-published it. It’s why we hired our Editorial Board team.

Maybe someday some of the Editors might want to read Horemheb to see if I missed something. If it’s not inconvenient or too much trouble, Editorial Board!!!

Anyway, sloppy execution of my article, Horemheb, led to the policy elucidated on our Billy Lee Process Page, best summarized as follows: re-write it ’till it’s right.  People hate the policy, but I like it. In my bad heart, I know it’s right. And since my Editorial Board — yes, that’s you! — won’t spell check my stuff, I have no choice.

To sum-up: I can’t say I enjoyed my first year blogging, but I’m proud of the articles I wrote. I’m glad some people say they read them — even if my Editorial Board refuses. I regret the controversies, but it’s how we stay alive, stay engaged and grow. Does anyone agree?  

And yes!  I’m not gay. 

Billy Lee  

LOSING MY RELIGION

The entertainment industry learned a long time ago that the way to appeal to the most people is to embrace ambiguity.

Ambiguity permits each consumer to put their own meaning on the art they buy; on music, paintings, theater, books, movies, shows, personalities, and stars.

Ambiguity, when combined with strictly enforced copyright laws — like those of the United States — can help establish a large paying audience, huge money, and wide-spread exposure and influence.


No facial expression is more ambiguous or popular than that of Mickey Mouse. It is vigorously protected by copy-right law.

People like to feel they are part of something bigger than themselves. Ambiguity promotes mass participation in cultural processes. This mass participation can alleviate the ennui of alienation for many people.


Elvis presley sweatyElvis Presley created mass hysteria in the USA. Some religious people thought his first name was a scrambled version of the word, Evils.
Elvis Presley created mass hysteria in the USA. Some religious people thought his first name was a scrambled version of the word, Evils.

Elvis Presley sang, you ain’t nothing but a hound dogWhat did he mean by it? No one knows, and everyone knows.

The same is true with Bob Dylan who sang, Hey Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me. In the jingle-jangle morning I’ll come following you.  No one knows what he was singing about. Yet everyone can tell you what he meant.

The ambiguity of these two artists — one from the nineteen-fifties, one from the nineteen-sixties — permitted both to accumulate the largest fan bases ever, until the Beatles.


beatles black and white
John Lennon once said the Beatles were more popular than Jesus.

The Beatles established an ambiguous sexual identity by wearing their hair long — unusual at the time. They deluged their fans with ambiguous lyrics such as, yeah, you’ve got that something, I think you’ll understand, When I’ll say that something, I wanna hold your hand and hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better.  No one knows for sure what they meant, but everyone knows what those lyrics meant to themselves when they first heard them.


jesus-wearing-the-thorn-of-crowns
Robert Powell, actor, Jesus of Nazareth, 1977.

Jesus presents ambiguities about himself which have attracted the largest following of worshippers in world history. The most obvious ambiguity is the concept of the Trinity.  Is Jesus God, or not?  No one knows. Everyone knows.


trinity light show
The Trinity is the central ambiguity of Christianity. God is somehow a combination of person, spirit, and creator.

The concept of the Trinity presents the central ambiguity of Christianity. It has drawn the attention of a spiritually hungry world for two thousand years. It confounds us with a dilemma of logic and meaning which to this day fuels the faith-wars of Christians who, in their quest for certainty, have segregated themselves into over 40,000 denominations.

Every attempt to define the Trinity, to remove its ambiguity and establish certainty, seems to result in a new denomination, a new religion.


white dove with olive branch
The Holy Spirit is sometimes portrayed as a white dove. The olive branch recalls the dove who gave Noah the evidence that the great flood (of judgment) was over.

Of course, many other ambiguities in the Bible have spawned controversies.  Abortion isn’t mentioned in the Bible — and homosexuality is barely mentioned — yet both have divided countless churches.  Gifts of the Holy Spirit — which are discussed at length in the Bible and should be non-controversial to believers — have divided churches. Some denominations discount gifts altogether, in contradiction to Scripture.

In the 21st century, those Christians who detest ambiguity and worship certainty war with one another in a kind of theater of the absurd. 40,000 denominations?

Really?

Instead of embracing a small amount of ambiguity to unify Christians, a few leaders advocate from time to time certainties of thought and Bible interpretation which divide the faithful. Unity is the last thing these modern Christians seem to want. They lust for certainty.


particle debris in cylcotron certainty uncertainty
Certainty is not foundational, according to quantum physics.

Certainty is not biblical, it’s not Christian, it’s not even Jesus. Jesus didn’t stone the woman caught having sex with her married boyfriend, though the logic of the law demanded it. He reasoned with her, encouraged her, and forgave her. He wasn’t logical. He wasn’t dogmatic. He admonished the woman and gave her hope. He acted with all the stupidity and uncertainty of true love, based on a relationship with a messy human being who would never be certain of anything.

The most unambiguous statement Jesus made was this: Here I am!  I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me. 

No one knows for sure what Jesus was talking about when he made this statement. Yet everyone seems to know for sure what he meant. As unambiguous as the statement is, it can’t be literally true today.

No modern person has ever opened their front door and found Jesus standing on the front porch. Not one. Jesus’s meaning is uncertain. To different people, his words mean different things.

For Jesus, his statement had a meaning known to him, but it seems reasonable that his meaning might have nuances depending on the specific person he was talking to. And Jesus was talking to a lot of people, it turned out.


Praying-Defnding-the-Christian-faith-e1349305115650 faith
The amount of faith required to access Heaven is small, but uncertain.

The Bible plainly says that we are saved by faith. But no one has perfect faith.

So how much faith does it take to get into Heaven?

Jesus said the amount of faith required to do anything was on the order of a grain of mustard seed, about the size of the period at the end of this sentence. How many people have this much faith? Not very many, it turns out. It’s not possible for us to be certain about the quantity of faith required to enter heaven. The amount is small, but uncertain.

In their demand for certainty, many churches fight over doctrine. They fight, because they are populated by people. If history is a guide, we can say with certainty that people love to fight.

One of the amazing things Jesus said was this: God is kind to the wicked and the ungrateful.  As someone who has been wicked and ungrateful pretty much everyday of my life (and not proud of it), I love pondering those words. They give me assurance, not certainty, that God will be more gentle with me than I deserve.


galleon boat depart
God protects the boat and the people it leaves behind in the harbor.

Recently, my church friends, God love them, voted to leave our mainstream denomination to join a conservative denomination of the South, born in the Confederacy of the civil war. People unwilling to get on the boat for unchartered waters face the danger of becoming spiritually adrift. They face an uncertainty that might result in the loss of their religion.

I am one of those who have to face the unpleasant decision to get on that boat or face the dangers of remaining on shore. It’s not a good choice for me. My health has suffered under the stress of a change in my old age I didn’t see coming. The good part is this: people who love Jesus are in the departing boat and on the shore. And Jesus is protecting both the boat and the land it leaves behind.


communion
Sharing a meal with Jesus, and being reassured by him that everything will be set right someday, is a central hope of most Christians.

The comfort Christians enjoy is Jesus, himself, in their homes, eating with them and sharing their life. That’s it. Jesus is all there is for those of us who suffer in this life, and he’s enough. Inside our private spaces, Jesus reasons with us, encourages us, forgives us, admonishes us, and gives us hope. He helps us endure and embrace the will of God, which is almost never our own.

Billy Lee

Postscript: On July 1, 2015 Billy Lee resigned his church and aligned himself with a non-denominational congregation.  The Editorial Board.

BEING HATED

People hate me. People have hated on me my whole life, but never more than now, it seems, in my old age, when I need their love so bad. If they only knew how their hatred weakens me and any hope I have for happiness. Maybe they’d relent and welcome me into their friendly world.

But I don’t think so. If they knew how much I hurt, they’d hate me more, shun and isolate me even further, just to watch me suffer.


Rod Smart was the leading rusher for the Las Vegas Outlaws of the short-lived XFL. His career took him to both the CFL and NFL, where he played in Super Bowl 38 for the Carolina Panthers. On the last play of the game, with the Panthers trailing 32-29 and only 4 seconds left on the clock, Rod Smart received the New England Patriots kick-off. He was unable to score the game-winning touch-down.

As Torrold DeShaun “Rod” Smart, the would-be NFL star, once said: I feel as if everyone hates me, from my mom to my dad and even my brothers and sisters; everyone ”Hates Me.”


Fort Benning
All hope abandon, ye who enter here…

The first time I learned people hate me was at the Army boot-camp for officer-candidates at Fort Benning, Georgia during the summer of 1968. I went there to train after becoming an officer candidate to avoid the military draft during the Vietnam War.

It was a period in our history when the government conscripted hundreds of thousands of young men to fight in Vietnam. Exemptions from the draft (called deferments) had been given to college students for years, but no longer.

Students across the country began competing to get into Army ROTC training programs, because they were the only sure way to stay in school and avoid military service, at least temporarily. At my school, I was one of only eighteen students (out of a pool of several thousand applicants) who qualified for officer training.

I felt lucky, because now I could finish my education. Maybe, by the time of my graduation, the war would be over.


army camp 2
Cadets who enjoyed push-ups (and were good at them) thrived in officer training camp.

At officer boot-camp that summer, in the humid choking heat of Georgia, the training began. The recruits were, like me, the cream of the crop, the best of the best, from some of the finest colleges and universities in the USA and around the world. I’ve not been with smarter, worthier people than those who shared my summer of ’68 at Fort Benning.

We found ourselves trapped in the grasp of some of the most ignorant, mean-spirited drill sergeants I’ve ever encountered. Their mission was to squeeze each recruit through a juice-grinder to see what we were made of and to prove to the military how strong (or how weak) were our minds and bodies.

They cursed us, abused us, deprived us of sleep and dignity, and told us we were over-privileged swamp scum, not worthy of the army. They convinced me they meant every word.


chow line
Drill-sergeants ask a young recruit whether he prefers caramel or strawberry syrup on his French soufflé.

In chow-lines, gnarly swamp-people with missing teeth menaced and taunted us by swearing, shoving and pointing fingers. One officer forced recruits to eat their own cigarettes.

During a month-and-a-half of hell, I watched people go beserk on the firing range, collapse with seizures due to excessive heat and lack of water, quit the program, and go mad.

All I thought about during those forty-two days in Hell was this: it can’t last forever. I can survive, I can hold on, I can sleep again with my sweet girl-friend, Mary-Ann, who loves me.  All this pain, this agony, will fade to an unpleasant memory, nothing more, in good time.


army camp
Studies conducted on young men adept at crawling through mud beneath barbed-wire show that they enjoy the taste of dirt more than cadets who lack this skill.

But, of course, I was naïve.  Every dinner has its dessert, its crème-de-la-crème, its grand-finale, its coup-de-grace. Boot-camp was no different.

Two days before the end of training, the Army announced that each cadet in every forty-three-man platoon would participate in mandatory peer-reviews of their fellows. Drill Instructors — armed with notepads and pencils — ordered every officer-candidate to rank every other officer-candidate, from top to bottom.

Worst of all, the DIs forced each cadet to write an explanatory paragraph about each soldier they placed in the bottom-five. I think I remember trying to say something nice about each one of the five I chose.

As it happened, the evening after the peer-review, one of the cadets broke into the administration building and stole the reviews. Word got around, and soon a few dozen cadets, including me, gathered outside the barracks to rummage through them, their summaries and explanatory comments.

I discovered that my fellow cadets ranked me third from the bottom. I couldn’t grasp it, it seemed so unreal, so I read the comments. Apparently, I lost equipment, stole things, went AWOL, and was generally unprepared and unkempt.

I lacked the intelligence required to lead, lacked problem solving skills, etc. etc., on and on. I kept checking the name to see if it was mine. Nothing written about me was true.


army camp 3
This photo, retrieved from the Army Archive, shows Billy Lee on his last day of boot camp. He is the cadet lying on the stretcher, apparently too drunk to walk the quarter-mile to a waiting bus.

It occurred to me that all of it — all the negativity and cruelty; every last hateful condemning word — was going to be part of my permanent record, my profile, which would follow me forever in the army and beyond.

Why, I asked myself over and over, would people who I thought were my friends write nasty, untrue, career-ending things about me?  I couldn’t work out the answer.

Officer training camp broke me. I spent the next two days drunk, sobbing silently inside myself. On the last day, while the other cadets scurried to leave, I writhed on the floor by my bunk, unable to pack my things or police my area. Psychological trauma and grief immobilized me. The pain of being hated ruined me. I never recovered.

Billy Lee

Editor’s note: This article has been a fictionalized compilation of actual events, which occurred during two training camps — the first at Fort Benning, Georgia; the second at Fort Riley, Kansas the following summer. The stolen peer-reviews incident occurred at Fort Riley during the summer of 1969.

Incidents in the two camps have been conflated by Billy Lee to make a more comprehensible read. The incidents are true. The order is true. But events happened over consecutive camps — basic training and advanced infantry training the following summer. 

P.S.  Since writing this article, some people have asked me if, over the years, I might not have garnered some insight into why my ROTC compatriots at Fort Riley rejected me. (At Fort Benning, peer reviews weren’t conducted.)

The answer is yes, but these insights weren’t included in the article, so that readers (who might not know me well) could experience the wonder I felt. In truth, (allow me first to lie; the truth is too painful) I was well-connected and proud. People hate arrogance, and that is what I was. I received special treatment from higher-ups. That, and my attitude, didn’t go over well. (Will you permit me to do some preliminary blame-shifting?)


Linton Sinclair Boatwright Gravestone
General Boatwright was two months older than my dad. Like my dad, he was a Warrior who dedicated his life to the defense of the United States of America.

General Boatwright, the base commander at Fort Riley — who knew my dad — gave me an escort on his private plane to camp. I boasted about it.  Later, he flew to our bivouac-site with a half dozen helicopters and called me out of formation (as I remember it, with a bull-horn) to interview me in front of everyone about camp conditions. I remember he asked about the food and how we were treated. I told him everything was great.

The General invited me to what I think I remember was his daughter’s birthday celebration, which meant I had to abandon my buddies to harsh camp conditions, while I partied.

Later, I wrote a thank-you letter to the General, which a drill instructor somehow managed to intercept. He read it aloud at morning reveille to my gathered platoon. In front of everyone, the outraged DI tore up my letter, while he explained so that even a child could understand: cadets don’t write letters to Generals.

None of these incidents helped me get a good peer review. (Listen to me shuck and jive over these irrelevant incidents.  Patience, please.  I’m working my way to truth, but it’s hard)

The most damaging things that happened were self-inflicted. I remember bragging about myself to others. (Here comes partial self-serving approximations of truth.)  I told wildly exaggerated stories to hide the truth about myself from others. The truth was, I hated the choices I made. I bragged about myself, but I bragged about things no one should be proud of — like the details of my sex-life.

I self-destructed. Yes, I hated the Army. Yes, I hated war. Yes, I trapped myself in a place I didn’t want to be. I made it embarrassingly obvious to everyone. I hated myself.


Peace flag
Yes, I hated the Army. Yes, I hated war.

I couldn’t believe the terrible decisions I’d made. I couldn’t believe what a coward I was; how I caved to the powerful idiots who took us into the genocidal killing-field that was Vietnam for no other purpose than to test our newest equipment and evaluate our effectiveness to wage war. (More tangential bullshit is on its way.)

I found myself in a space I didn’t want to be, doing things I didn’t believe, for reasons that made no sense. I was scared to pay the price that came with resisting the evil I saw so clearly once I immersed myself in it. I had abandoned my point of view, my sense of what was right and wrong; my identity; my sense of self; my integrity. (If only any of this were true!)

Why, under the stress of basic training, did I turn on myself? Why did I manipulate others to turn on me? Why did I work so hard to bring the Universe of judgment and condemnation down on my pathetic-loathing-self? I would have to wait until many years later in therapy to learn the answers. (And I can never share them. Why don’t you understand?  It’s killing me.  I’m so afraid.)

I became obnoxious and inauthentic. It must have been obvious to everyone but me. It’s a wonder one of the cadets didn’t shoot me. They turned on me, because to them I was a sick puppy and a phony to boot. I wouldn’t own up. I was a coward. I refused to embrace the truth about myself.

Today, it’s clear to me that way back then in the fevered heat of officer training camp my peers would have ranked me at the very bottom of the pile had it not been for a couple of loving, perceptive souls who shared my pain and placed me, mercifully, carefully, near the very top.

Their act of kindness meant that when the scores were averaged, two other cadets would suffer the excruciating shame of being hated even more than me. Imagine.  Hated more than me!  HaHa!  HaHaHa!  Burp.

Billy Lee