Author: Dr. Michael Johnson

I have a great wife. However, she makes a lousy Jesus. As a matter of fact of all of the favorite people, in my life, there is none that can do for me what Jesus can do. I have even tried to substitute my family, career, job, material gain, my own reputation, goals, and yes even my church attendance with generous giving. Not a single thing fits the bill. All of these people, thoughts, hopes, dreams, visions, things and desires make a lousy Jesus, even when added together, put in a pile and inventoried for net dollar value or sweet memories evoked. All of this makes a lousy Jesus.

There is no God like our God. There is no Savior like our Savior. There is only one who can satisfy the deep yearning of my heart and soul. Everything, anything and anybody else…, all make for a lousy Jesus.

Deuteronomy 5:7 declares “Thou shalt have no other Gods before me”

That is not only a command, but a statement of fact. Anything, person, place, ideal, idea, material or otherwise will be brought down as Philippians 2:10 “Every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord.”

There is only one name given under heaven and earth by which we must be saved. Keep life simple. Keep Jesus the Christ first, foremost and final in your life. All else makes a lousy Jesus.

Acts 4:12 Neither is salvation under any other, for there is none other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.

“Can I sleep with him? We really do love each other very much.”

That was the sweet and seemingly innocent question of this 15 year old girl to her pastor.

He scratched his gray head. It was not an easy thing to answer in a way that would satisfy her own desires for affection and pleasure and at the same time meet what he knew to be God’s demand and expectation for holiness.

“Do you really love him?” He was stalling now. It was a tactic that worked when bargaining for a car, or negotiating the cost of home renovations and repairs. However, she was not carrying clipboard or wearing overalls with a hammer. The likelihood that she would give in to a rational, reasonable answer was slim.

“Of course I love him! And he loves me too. We are committed to one another. Why do you think I want to sleep with him?”

She had the obvious appeal of emotion which can never be second guessed. After all, who was he to say they were not in love?

The pastor yielded. “Yes then, I suggest you go ahead and sleep with him. When are the two of you going to get together?”

“Oh pastor, I am so glad you said yes. We plan to go out together tonight to a party and afterwards to his apartment. He has his own place and we can sleep together until just before midnight. I told my parents I would be home late. I really do appreciate your advice on this.”

“Hold on, he held up his hands. Not quite so fast yet please. I just want to ask you that when you have intercourse with this love of your life, that means you are totally committed to him is that right?”

“Why yes of course. I told you we were in love.” She gave him the expression of ‘Well Duh!”

He went on. “I only ask because I want to know in the event that you are injured on your way home, something like a car accident or some other event, and you cannot have sexual intercourse anymore, would you both remain committed to one another?. If you can answer yes to this and know it in your heart of hearts, then by all means, do as you please. But if not, know that you are heading for a tragic relationship built on the momentary pleasure of sex, and not a commitment that honors God built on sanctification. Your body is to be holy and acceptable to God in all the ways you use it.”

She stood still. She was angry. The Solomon like answer had left her without the justification for her actions she had hoped.

She left the office, so he told me, and never discussed the topic with him again. She sought a source who would be willing to advise her in keeping with her desires.

How many times have I sought advice to justify my own course of action, knowing full well that I had no desire to please God, only myself.

Sleep with him if you would like, but know for sure if it does not honor God…, it will not be good for you.

Romans 12:1 I beseech you brothers by the mercies of God to present your bodies a living sacrifice holy and acceptable unto God which is your reasonable service

When my kids would get car sick, I would stop the car like any good dad is supposed to do. I would pull over, open the door and wash them off, being careful not to get their stomach contents on me. I would thank God it was not diarrhea. Why should we both be smelly and dirty? Of course then I hug them.

God does not treat me this way. He gives the hug first. He accepts me with my smelly vomitus, or whatever comes out the other end. He hugs, then cleans. He hugs me when I am dirty, then He proceeds to clean me up.

What a Father!!

Don’t get clean. Get the hug. He does the cleaning.

Romans 5:8 While we were yet sinners…,, Christ died for us

If you really trust God for the journey, the destination doesn’t really matter. Enjoy the ride

Are we there yet? Why is it taking so long? I gotta go to the bathroom. He hit me first. I’m bored! I don’t feel good. Are we there yet?

I remember those wonderful days of trying to sedate the kids with antihistamines, anti-nausea, decongestants and even tempted to slip them a ‘mickey’ just to get 10 hours of uninterrupted driving. Why don’t they get it? We are moving along at a good speed and if they will just ‘shut-up’ (I dare not let them hear me say those forbidden words), the trip would at least seem shorter.

Instead I hear; ‘I’m hungry! Can I get some ice cream at the next stop?’

Oh how I wish they could just sit back and enjoy the ride.

So does my Father in heaven say to me. Sit back Michael. Enjoy the ride. As long as I am driving, the destination doesn’t matter. Enjoy the ride.

If you really trust God for the journey, the destination doesn’t really matter. Enjoy the ride

Jeremiah 29:11
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

Naked, vulnerable and scared was how I felt. The detour taking me around the massive prison walls, made it even worse. Inmates were freely walking near my car along the narrow worn asphalt roadway. They mingled freely with some of the guards, distinguished only by uniforms with DOC (Department of Corrections) written in large letters. Barbed wires, and dogs on patrol made me feel very unsafe. I had not yet entered the gates.

One guard held up his hand; “Stop here” he said. “We need to search your car.”

I slowed to a stop, and put the car in park. “Why do you search?” It seemed an innocent question to me.

He chuckled; “For drugs.”

“Who brings drugs to prison?” I felt stupid as the words left my mouth.

He pretended I was dumb. “You’d be surprised. Let me see your driver’s license please?”
He wrote down the identifying information and then had me sign permission to allow the search.
I thought, what good is it to refuse the search? I would not be allowed inside the prison for my visit. On top of that, my momma taught me years ago, never argue with a man who has a gun, a Taser, a heavy wooden club, pepper spray, handcuffs, a radio to call for backup, a partner at hand and a big dog. Mom would be proud. I learned that much.

“You can go now.”
I parked my car and walked to the front gates of the prison. It was a two minute walk.

Graterford Prison in Pennsylvania is undergoing massive renovation, hence the detours. Currently it houses 4000 inmates, including capital offenders. Also being constructed is a yet-to-be-named smaller transitional facility (with a capacity of 200 inmates) for female inmates who are serving out the tail end of their sentences. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania deems the prison expansion ideal because of the costs incurred by transporting inmates from smaller facilities for court cases. That cost is over $100 million. Imagine the schools you could build with that!

That is enough talk about logistics. I am very late for my visit. I justified my delay in visiting my friend for several, seemingly sensible reasons. I have a limited time off from work. I don’t get much family time. It is an hour and half drive from home and…, if I keep at it, I can come up with several more good reasons.

Most importantly…, there is a lack of a sense of urgency. My friend has languished in prison for 28 years with very few visitors. A few days, weeks, or even months go between visits, so what’s the difference? Where’s the urgency? Besides, I just sent him some money, so that should do.

The urgency was confirmed the night before. Though I had already planned this overdue visit, his letter to my wife made it clear. I dare not back out now. I had cleared the first search. I now sat in the waiting area with dozens of men, women (mostly women) and children all waiting to be called. From here we would go through steel doors, metal detectors, drug sensors, screening for drug residue on our skin, removing shoes, belts and if need be, a thorough pat down. We all want to see friends, and family. I got tired of sitting and waiting to be called. I am concerned about how am I going to spend the rest of my day? Yes indeed, even in the midst of all of the sorrow that confronts me on the other side of the bullet proof glass, cage doors, overhead cameras, I find a way to think about myself.

I put my shoes back on and make my way down the stairs and look into the smiling face of a friend. I feel at home in an otherwise very unwelcoming environment. We sit and talk in a room filled with private families which is really a public forum.

‘My brother died. He was repeatedly kicked and beaten in the head until he was unconscious. They took him to the prison infirmary and a few hours later decided to take him to the hospital. I guess they waited a little too late.’ He smirks.

‘My other brother heard the news and suffered a seizure. He is already prone to seizures from the metal plate in his head, but is usually under control. He fell this time and cut his head very badly. They had to put a lot of stitches in his head.’ He talks as though telling me the time of day.

I am overwhelmed. This visit is tough for me. It has taken so long. He is thinking, it is too short and much too fast.

Naked, vulnerable and scared is a life style for him. It is a morning excursion for me. I pray for those behind bars. Please do likewise…, and then, go visit.

Matthew 25:36 Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

Executions should be by firing squad, federal appeals court judge says

“Using drugs meant for individuals with medical needs to carry out executions is a misguided effort to mask the brutality of executions by making them look serene and beautiful — like something any one of us might experience in our final moments,” U.S. 9th Circuit Court Chief Judge Alex Kozinski wrote in a dissent in the Arizona death penalty case of Joseph Rudolph Wood III.

Jesus I am confused. Jesus, would you help me choose a good stone please? I am afraid that if I choose one that is too small, it will only distract the guilty, not destroy him. If I choose a stone too big, I can’t pick it up and throw it at him. If I choose a stone too smooth, it won’t bruise or cut, nor inflict pain. If I choose too rough, I might get a laceration on my own skin. Jesus, please pick the stone for me.

We delude ourselves in the debate over capital punishment. We pretend we are Goldilocks choosing something from the variety of too soft, too hard and just right. Capital punishment is no children’s lullaby. It is a nightmare from which we refuse to awaken.

We have convinced ourselves that part of being a solid Christian nation of quiet, sweet, compassion, is making sure we choose the best stones. We try to kill with smooth stones. Americans don’t execute prisoners in barbaric cruel ways. We don’t cut heads off, or hang with ropes, riddle with bullets, or asphyxiate with toxic gases (anymore). We don’t strangle people in public squares lifting them up on a crane, or feeding them to ravenous dogs. We are much kinder when we kill. We are modern, scientific and civilized. We kill like we think Jesus would. Smooth Stones make the best clean kill.

Judge Kozinski continues; “…, executions are, in fact, brutal, savage events, and nothing the state tries to do can mask that reality. Nor should we. If we as a society want to carry out executions, we should be willing to face the fact that the state is committing a horrendous brutality on our behalf.”

I agree with the judge. This is a cruel act, and any attempt to mask that reality is exactly what those who asked Caesar to execute Jesus on their behalf. They did not want to get their hands bloody, so they asked the state to kill Jesus. John 18:31 Then said Pilate unto them, Take ye him, and judge him according to your law. The Jews therefore said unto him, it is not lawful for us to put any man to death.

The most recent botched capital punishments were ‘botched ‘long before the condemned were placed on the gurney. We provided trained medical staff at the ‘bedside’ to assure things went smoothly. A clean needle, an alcohol swab to prevent infection, and taped down nicely, just like they do in the surgical preparation room before your gallbladder or hernia operation. This must be done professionally so as not to have any complication such as…., hmmmm?

If we fail in our attempt to kill, we do have the option of reviving and resuscitating. We have the sensibility and sensitivity of knowing when and how to save a person we are trying to kill. That is why the medical staff is on hand (no need to dial 911).

We are troubled because we are confronted with looking on as someone writhes, groans, sputters, spits, and sometime even speaks before dying. We are forced to watch suffering. We don’t like that.

Despite our vanity, we don’t like looking in mirrors. We don’t like to see the ugliness of the last and final act. We want to believe the convicted person had a gentle falling asleep, sweet snoring not a gurgling gasp. It must be like Goldilocks, who was gently awakened before the end of the story. It would ease our consciences and give us peace if we could kill nicely like putting our child’s favorite feeble, infirmed and suffering dog ‘Snuggles’ to sleep. “There, there my child, everything is going to be alright.”

Instead, this ugly departure signals to us the cruelty we attribute only to the person whom we are killing. We become just like the convicted and the cycle of human cruelty is not ended. We just extend it. We kill without a lullaby. That is not what we want.

The woman deserved to die. She was thrown down in front of Jesus and of course, He knew the law. She must die. Now, pick the right stone and do it quickly. No blood splatter, no broken bones, and no second stone can be allowed. It must be a kind, clean kill, like in America.

John 8:7 So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you let him first cast a stone at her.

The truth is that when I live for myself, when I am alive to my flesh, living after the fleshly desires I am abhorrence to God.

It is only when I die to the flesh that I can become a sweet fragrance to God.

God wants me to smell good. That starts with my dying to myself so that Christ can live in me. God smells the Christ in me.

Dying to myself lets me die to my self righteous anger, my self pity, my unforgiving spirit.

Dying to myself takes away the stench of a prideful spirit, boasting, lying, seeking to be right all of the time and trying to be better than everyone, instead of being the best I can be.

Dying to myself removes the awful odor of uncontrolled lust, greed, jealousy and envy.

Go ahead and die. You will smell a lot better.

Ro 6:11 Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Ro 8:10 And if Christ be in you, the body is dead because of sin; but the Spirit is life because of righteousness.

Php 4:18 But I have all, and abound: I am full, having received of Epaphroditus the things which were sent from you, an odour of a sweet smell, a sacrifice acceptable, well pleasing to God.