Intelligent, caring, thoughtful people outgrow religion. Many are blessed to discover faith.

In today’s podcast, Cring talks about the “Moving Out Day.”

TRANSCRIPT

Moving Out Day

I couldn’t stand him.

He couldn’t stand me.

I don’t know which came first. Did he hate me, so therefore I hated him, or did he think I despised him, so he tried to protect himself by being mean?

Oh, and he was mean. No doubt about it. He was an elder at our church–an older, fat fellow.

Huh. Maybe that’s why he didn’t like me. Maybe I was a young fat fellow, and I reminded him… I don’t know. Reminded him of something.

I always felt he was watching me.

He was so damn conservative. I’m not talking about conservative, like being a Republican. I mean, every chance he had to inject fear, apprehension, nervous energy or communicate to you that God was displeased, he jumped on it like a little kid jumps on the monkey bars.

I certainly hated him. What a great thing to do. Go to church so you can meet people you hate.

Love your enemies? Hell, I don’t have to look any further than the pew next to me.

One particular day, he yelled at me in front of a whole classroom of my friends. You see, this is what happened. My mother was supposed to teach a Sunday School class. (She thought she was sick. I think she just didn’t want to do it.) So she asked me if I would do it. I jumped at the chance.

What’s wrong with that? Do all the children of the church have to be shy, hiding behind Mama’s skirts out of fear of talking to strangers? I was aggressive–I wanted to do things. I wanted to be smart. I wanted to talk.

So I showed up at the Sunday School class and started teaching. It was going great–at least I thought so. Suddenly the monster appeared at the door. Mr. Blubber-Faith.

He yelled at me in front of the other students and said it was improper for me to be teaching them since I was just a little punk myself. My eyes were stinging with tears, but I refused to cry.

I looked around for someone to speak up for me, but they were all so terrified of the intruder that they sat, speechless, trying to tuck their hands under their asses. My biggest decision was whether to simply sit down–or push past him and leave the room.

Really? Should that be my biggest decision?

I pushed past him, and he tried to grab my arm, but I shook him off.

I ran home, which I never did. (Run, that is.) I hated all of it. Mr. Elder. The class. My friends. And any God who would have come up with such a stupid idea.

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At no time in our history did we repent. We fought. We argued. We narrowly passed bills to confirm what we had already stated in the Declaration of Independence to be true—that all m

About three years after my incident with my enemy at the church, I was sitting, listening to a sermon. I was sixteen years old and the preacher was talking about Abraham.

This is the thought that came to my mind: why do I give a fuck about Abraham?

I was always told the stories were important because we would learn lessons. But Abraham was a liar–a Neanderthal who knew nothing about medicine, logic or personal hygiene.

Abraham tried to kill his kid because that’s what he thought God wanted.

Who cares that he had faith to leave one place and go to another because “God told him to.”

Somebody thinking he hears from God is usually the beginning of a great novel about a serial killer.

So right in the middle of that church service I stood to my feet and walked to the back of the auditorium. I’m sure everybody thought I was going to go take a piss, but instead I walked out the door…pissed.

The following Monday at school they held auditions for a play called “Up the Down Staircase.” It was a contemporary play at the time, but nobody knows about it nowadays.

It had a character named Joe Ferrone. Joe was an urban gangsta’ type from the Italian community who was so messed up that he tried to rape his teacher. I took the role. The script had the word “damn” in it. Our teachers must have talked for three weeks about whether to keep the word “damn” in or take it out for our little community.

I didn’t care what they were going to decide. “Damn” fit the script, so “damn” it was going to be when I performed it.

I loved the experience.

I loved the freedom of being somebody else.

And on opening night, there were three people from the church who came backstage afterwards to beg me to return.

God, it felt good to be wanted.

It was this damn apple cobbler. If you don’t know what apple cobbler is, basically it’s just apple pie without the crust going around the outside.

I was eating an apple cobbler one day that my aunt made, which was so tart it made my mouth pucker. I pulled out this really big piece of cooked apple, and I looked at it.

It was so freaking weird–what came to my mind was, did that apple think it was going to end up being a cobbler?

Think of the life of an apple. There are better places to be than stuck in some goo, about to be eaten by a fat boy.

Hanging from a tree.

Shining in the sun.

And then, suddenly you fall to the ground, to be gathered up–and you’re dessert.

The moment was so absolutely bizarre. Finally, my aunt asked me, “What are you thinking about?”

I laughed and said, “The feelings of the apple.”

She dismissed me as immature. Or was it insane? Whatever grownups think about teenagers.

Half the world defends God and the other half of the world thinks He’s a son of a bitch.

Which side are you on? Or do you float? Does your curiosity cause you to be a dead cat, or a cool cat?

I am never constantly faithful. If that is what is necessary to be a good person, a good Christian, or a God-fearing man, then I’m in big trouble.

There are times that heaven seems a great source of comfort. And there are other times that I think to myself, what in the hell are we talking about here?

I can only have one yardstick. (They don’t use yardsticks anymore.) One measuring tool.

Since I am a child of Earth does this faith we speak of make me more enjoined to Earth, or cause me to be more of an alien?

I hate the old hymns that say, “This world is not my home. I’m just passin’ through.”

Really? So what’s the game? Are we just so damn heavenly that we have no Earthly value? Or are we so damn Earthly that heaven is offended?

I am constantly questioning. Without the questioning, I become defensive of a faith that needs to be questioned. It requires challenges.

It has within its Holy Book disparaging, lying, misleading and even inaccurate information about life on Earth, health and well-being. Fortunately, it corrects much of it. But way too many people support the Bible as a whole instead of studying it as a work in progress.

INSERT FROM WITHIN

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At no time in our history did we repent. We fought. We argued. We narrowly passed bills to confirm what we had already stated in the Declaration of Independence to be true—that all m

The good news is, you are a person who believes that your greatest benefit and mission is to turn invention into fruitful endeavor.

The better news is, when you are fruitful, it can be appreciated by those who have not yet been touched by the glory of it all.

About Author

Jonathan Cring

Our story is told from where we begin. For Jonathan Richard Cring, this was music. First he sang songs, played songs and then one day it occurred to him that he might like to write one. He actually wrote two that morning and rather enjoyed it. This opened the door to people recording his music, ending up in Nashville, Tennessee, with a contract. Having read a book, he had an itch to write one. The first one was small. It was called "The Gospel According to Common Sense." But fourteen books later, he has accumulated a considerable journal of his journey and heart. In the process, he had four sons and was godfather to three others. One of these young men wanted to be a filmmaker. Scripts were required, so Papa Cring wrote thirteen screenplays which ended up being produced into independent feature-length films which won awards at twenty-eight film festivals. While perusing websites for his movie career, Jonathan discovered blogs. He decided to write one and called it Jonathots Daily Blog. That was in 2008. Thousands and thousands of entries, which extended to additional blog categories--one called Jonathots, Jr.--pictures with euphemisms, and Words from Dic(tionary)--taking the Webster classic in its alphabetical order, and writing mostly comical essays on each word. Sitting around the table at Christmas time, his children encouraged him to begin a podcast. In 2018, he began one called Good News and Better News. It is a content-filled tongue-in-cheek look at American culture with the contention that life really doesn't suck. Bouncing off what has been done while discovering what is available has created the arc of the career for Jonathan Richard Cring.
Comments (1)

  1. Hairstyles

    September 3, 2020 at 2:20 am

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