The Fear of God

Father Ignatius waited until the congregation sat down and then he started his sermon.

“We often read in the Bible about people fearing God, and the fear of God. And that’s an issue which I would like to address today.

“What is meant by the fear of God?

“Do we fear that unless we obey Him and do as He commands He’ll send thunder and lightning from heaven and destroy us and our cities? Like in Sodom and Gomorrah?

“Or perhaps He would allow illness and terrible things to happen to us because we failed Him in some way or other?”

The priest stopped for a few seconds to gauge the mood of the congregation; and then continued.

“There are, of course, many kinds of fear. If a tiger were to suddenly enter this church we would all fear for our lives and we’d run out from every available exit. Most of us would even forget to genuflect as we rushed out of the building.”

The congregation laughed.

“But that is not the fear I speak of …

“If we believe that our God is a loving, caring fatherly God, whose only wish is that some day we all join Him in Heaven; then what is there to fear?

“Our fear is not, and should not be, a fear borne of the possibility of punishment and retribution. A fear that, unless we do as He says, we’ll end up in hell and eternal damnation.

“That is not the fear that God wishes for us. After all, He gave us the choice to love Him or not.

“Sadly, many do not either love Him or fear Him. And they seem to be thriving all right! He has not punished them or turned them into pillars of salt! In His loving nature, He has allowed them the luxury to choose as they wish.

“So … what fear is there for us then, who proclaim to believe in Him and to love Him?

“It is the fear of hurting Him.

“I repeat … the fear of hurting Him. Just as when we have a loving father or mother who do the utmost for us; and they set their standards and values to teach us how to grow up as decent, kind human beings. We, their children, follow their rules, through gritted teeth perhaps, just because we love them and do not want to hurt them.

“That’s the kind of fear we owe our God, our Creator and our loving Father in Heaven. The fear of hurting Him. The fear of disappointing Him by our behavior. A fear borne out of respect for Him; a fear nurtured by true love given to Him freely just as He has loved us.

“Not a fear of what He might do to us. But a fear of hurting someone who loves us.

“Remember … even the devil fears God. But he fears Him in a different way. He fears Him because he knows Him very well. The devil certainly knows God better than any of us does; because he has met Him face to face.

“And yet, having been close to God and experienced His love, the devil chose to disobey and strike out independently on his own. He thought he could do better than love and follow his Creator.

“And God’s loving nature let him go. He did not punish him and destroy him once and for all. He just allowed him to walk away free out of Paradise.

“It is that very act of rebellion by the devil which resulted in death for all of us. We were not destined to die, but to share Paradise for eternity with God. But the devil in his destructive, impudent rebellious nature has upset what was meant to be and his sin resulted in us undergoing death.

“God our Creator favors life. He created life.  In order to redeem us and save us from death, He loved us so much that He sent us His only Son, Jesus, so that we may have life, and have it to the full.

“All we have to do to receive this eternal life is to accept Jesus as God’s only Son, our Savior, and to fear the possibility of ever hurting Him again by our behavior.

“God will never send us to hell. It is we who choose to go there by our way of life; and by choosing the devil instead.”

Testing ... Testing ...

In my last post "At the Doctor's" I mentioned that I went to the doctor's to test my sense of humor.

This is how Vicky imagined it happened.

Thank you Vicky for your great sense of humor and your outstanding exceptional talents as a cartoonist.

At the doctor’s

I went to see the doctor today. He was checking whether my sense of humour was still intact.

Ours is a big medical practice with several doctors and nurses. It has a large waiting room with a speaker system which plays soft music and every so often it calls patients to their appointed doctor.

“Would Mr Herbert Pixon please go to Dr Smythe’s room please?” said the speaker as a weedy tall middle-aged man got up and left the waiting room.

Now Dr Smythe may well be the best doctor in the world, but he is certainly not that good at technical matters; because he inadvertently left the microphone open in his room, and this is what we all heard.

“Do sit down Mr Pixon. What seems to be the problem?”

A lady in the waiting room suddenly got up to advise the receptionist that the mike was switched on.

“It is rather very embarrassing!” interrupted Mr Pixon.

The lady sat down again to the relief of everyone in the waiting room.

“There’s no need for embarrassment,” soothed the doctor, “we’re here to help and I’m sure whatever is the matter, we’ve dealt with it before.”

 “Well … I’ve met this young lady …” Pixon hesitated.

An elderly lady in the waiting room reading her book suddenly took off her spectacles and started listening with the rest of us.

“I met her on an Internet website …” continued the hapless man, “she came to my apartment yesterday evening … for a romantic encounter …”

A man in the waiting room started tapping his hearing-aid violently to make sure it works all right.

“I understand,” said the doctor, “you want to discuss precautions …”

“Well … not just that,” muttered Pixon, “it’s that something actually happened … I feel awful about it!”

At this point the receptionist entered the waiting room. Everyone pretended they were reading a book or newspaper and not paying attention to the loudspeaker on the wall. She looked at us suspiciously for a moment or two, and then she stood on a chair and increased the volume on the speaker, and sat down with us to listen.

“The young lady arrived at 7:35 …” said Pixon, “this put me off a little because she was five minutes late.

“I took off her coat and she was wearing a nice pink blouse and a short blue skirt.

“I offered her a cup of nettles tea. She took one sip and said she didn’t like it. I offered her dandelion tea and she turned it down too. She wanted a gin and tonic but I didn’t have any tonic. And I didn’t have any gin either …”

“I understand,” interrupted the doctor gently, “what exactly happened which made you come to see me?”

“I’m getting to that …” answered Pixon, “we sat down for something to eat. We had tofu and nettles salad for starters, and quinoa with broad beans for our main. She didn’t like either and asked for some meat; but I didn’t have any. She just nibbled at a multi-grain bread roll.

“I got up to put some romantic music on. Insect sounds of the forest. Have you got that record?”

“Mr Pixon, please get to the point,” suggested the doctor, “I have other patients to see …”

“Don’t rush me!” said an upset Pixon, “you’re like my mother. She always says Herbert get to the point.

“Well the point is that when I put the music on, the young lady started running her finger through my quinoa. She had her own plate full, but she ran her finger provocatively in an enticing and beguiling manner through my quinoa moving it around in circles all over the plate. I had difficulty eating from around her fingers because I did not wish to stab her accidentally with my fork.

“Wherever I ate, she followed my fork with her finger.

“I didn’t know what to say … I asked her ‘Would you like some of my quinoa?’ and she said rather abruptly ‘No … I’ve dropped my contact lens in your plate!”

The whole waiting room chuckled and then realized that this was not appropriate in case they missed part of the conversation.

The doctor encouraged Pixon once again, rather sternly but politely, to get to the point.

“After the meal I showed her my organ pedal collection,” continued Herbert whilst the waiting room filled up with more patients and nurses.

“I don’t actually play the organ, but I collect the pedals from old ones which have been decommissioned. I have some that date back to Napoleonic times. And some from the reign of Queen Victoria, King George, and even as far back as Henry the Eighth. And of course there are pedals from modern electronic organs too …

“I brought all the pedals which I keep in separate boxes, all properly labeled. Both the boxes as well as the pedals so that each pedal goes back in its proper box. I write carefully in my best hand-writing which organ the pedal appertained to, the date of manufacture of the organ, as well as the date of decommissioning, the price I paid for the pedal when I acquired it, although mostly I got them for free, and the date and place of such acquirement.

“I have six hundred and seventy two pedals. Some are wooden and some are brass or other metallic substance such as cast iron or steel.

“I took each pedal out of the box carefully and explained their history to the young lady.

“I had reached number two hundred and ten when it happened … the embarrassing thing I came to see you about doctor … I noticed the young lady had fallen asleep. She had her face in her plate full of quinoa and she was snoring loudly.

“Doctor … are you OK? Doctor … why is your head down on the desk? Are you feeling a little tired? Have you not been listening to me?” 

A B Duck Ted!!!

I often write about humorous situations which happened to me which I suspect amuse you no end at my expense.

This time however it is different. This is a very serious and true story.

I was yesterday evening abducted by aliens. It happened just like in all the stories you hear and read about alien abductions. Usually you don’t believe such stories and you suspect they’re all made up. Well. For me reality actually happened. I saw a UFO and I was abducted by its occupants.

I can imagine a few of you sniggering already, but I wish you wouldn’t, because I have not quite recovered from this horrendous and frightening experience.

I was out in our garden at about midnight, having finished viewing a movie on TV, and I was there counting the stars as I usually do whilst the dog does his last business for the night. That’s if it’s not raining of course. It’s difficult counting the stars when it’s raining because water gets in your eyes.

I had counted up to 976 when suddenly; out of nowhere, there was this huge cigar shaped thing up in the sky, about 30 or so feet above me.

It was glowing red at first, then an orangey color, then it turned green, and then after a while it turned red again. It took me a while before I realized it was the reflection of the traffic lights nearby.

The actual cigar shape was darkish gray and obviously made of shiny metallic material of some kind. It made no noise or humming sound or anything like that. It just stayed still some 30 feet above me.

The dog didn’t seem to have seen it and continued sniffing around as he often does.

Then a little white aperture appeared on the underside of the cigar; like some door opening. Then a light from the aperture shone on me, like the spotlight you get in the theatre when it shines on a performer on stage. I was very frightened and I must have cried a little because tears ran down my legs.

Loud music started playing all around me. It was Elvis Presley singing “You’re nothing but a hound dog!”

I felt myself rise up from the ground, as if I was being lifted gently by my whole body. Not like having a belt tied to your waist or a harness on your chest and shoulders; there seemed no upward lifting pressure on my body whatsoever. I was just floating gently upwards to the beat of rock music.

It lasted a few seconds and then I was inside this large room with bright lights everywhere. Just like you see in space movies.

Dark shadows hovered around me and spoke in squeaking high pitched sounds, like mice I suppose.

I was led gently towards a large bed by two humanoid shapes. They must have been females because they looked like wearing earrings and red lipstick and well developed chests.

I moved along, almost gliding, with them and next thing I was tied by these big metal clamps to the bed. Clamps round my arms, wrists, legs, waist, chest and neck. I could not move and a bright light shone above me. Exactly like it happens in abduction stories.

I heard a voice speak in English. “Ah … we’re having duck à l’orange for dinner I see!” 

Then another voice said “No point in changing him into a duck! He’s a poor specimen anyway, no fat whatsoever, all stringy and wiry and tough as the sole of my shoe!”

“Shall we analyze him all the same?” said another voice, “see what we can learn!”

I felt as if a million eyes were watching every bit of me.

Then they started laughing in unison. I can’t imagine why.

The next thing that happened was truly horrible and really humiliating.

One of the aliens stripped off my cowboy hat with feather. They replaced it with a metallic helmet with lights going on and off and a lot of wires and tubes attached to it.

“Let’s test for signs of intelligence” said a voice which sounded knowledgeable and authoritative.

The process took a second or two and then the lights above me went out and the clamps set me free.

Everyone left what must have been an operating theater or lab and I was alone with just one individual.

He said, “Hello, I’m Ted, the Captain of this space ship. We have just studied you and analyzed every biological, physical, mental, emotional, psychological and every other possible detail about you.

“Now would you like a tour of the place?”

I couldn’t refuse such a generous and friendly offer after being invaded so thoroughly.

“This is my bedroom,” he said, showing me into his quarters, “my little kitchenette is over there in case I get a little hungry or I’m entertaining privately. My bathroom with power shower is over there. And this is where I sit and relax reading the works of Shakespeare. We all have similar accommodation.”

He then showed me round the whole spaceship and he introduced me to his crew as we had a pint or two with hamburgers and potato chips in their onboard authentic pub and restaurant.

He then suggested we take some souvenir photos together with him and the crew.

“You’ll be able to show these to your leaders,” he said. “You humans never believe that we exist unless you have well developed photos to prove it. Well this time you’ll have all the proof you need.”

We said our goodbyes and the next thing I was in my garden and the cigar shape had disappeared.

I rushed to the authorities and told them what happened. They did not believe me.

I pulled out the photos out of my pocket. Those clever aliens had magically turned them into square pieces of toilet paper.

I have a sneaking suspicion that you don’t believe me either!

Chocolate Sin

Father Ignatius was at the supermarket pushing his trolley slowly from one aisle to the next and reading his shopping list as he went along. He rarely visited the confectionery counters but this time he made a special detour to buy a box of chocolates for Mrs Davenport, his housekeeper, whose birthday was the following day.

Just as he entered the aisle he saw one of his parishioners there standing a few feet away. He was a successful local business man and a regular in church every Sunday and at confession every Saturday morning.

The priest was about to greet him when what he saw next made him suddenly stop in his tracks and freeze on the spot.

The business man took a chocolate bar from the shelf and put it in his pocket. He then moved away nonchalantly as if nothing happened.

Father Ignatius faced a sudden dilemma. Should he confront the man and tell him what he did is wrong. This may well cause a scene at the store as the man may well deny any wrongdoing.

Or should he inform a member of staff about what he had just witnessed and leave the matter to them.

Or should he just do nothing. Look the other way. Condone stealing through his lack of actions.

As the man casually walked out of the store Father Ignatius decided to let matters rest. He walked up the aisle and bought an identical chocolate bar as the man had just stolen.

Two days later Father Ignatius was hearing confessions as he normally does on Saturday mornings.

He sat at his confessional, which was one of those old fashioned wooden cubicles where he sat in the middle, and on either side people would kneel and speak to him through a small aperture covered by a thick curtain so that he would not see who is kneeling there.

He often smiled to himself at the intricacies of these old contraptions.

“What is the point of all this secrecy” he asked himself, “when I can usually tell who is on the other side of the curtain by their voice?”

Father Ignatius had a good memory for faces and voices and more often than not he knew who was confessing their sins to him. He had his regulars turning up Saturday after Saturday seeking absolution and listening to his wise words before leaving with a much lighter heart to pray their penance.

“Even their sins are always the same …” smiled Father Ignatius to himself as he waited for his first parishioner to kneel by his side, “sometimes I could recite their sins for them … but then, they’d think I can read minds …” he chuckled silently.

“Well at least they’re a good lot generally … not terrible sinners most of them …”

About half-an-hour later the business man he saw at the store came for his usual Saturday confession. Father Ignatius listened attentively to him and noted that he had not mentioned the incident at the store.

After the man had finished talking Father Ignatius whispered quietly through the heavy curtain, “for your penance I want you to take this …”

And he handed him the chocolate bar he’d bought from the store through the heavy curtain dividing both men.

The man took the chocolate bar and mumbled quietly, “I don’t understand.”

“It is your favorite chocolate is it not?” asked the priest.

“Er … yes it is.”

“Two days ago I saw you pocket a similar bar in the supermarket … am I right?”

“Yes … Father …” mumbled the man after a short pause.

“You see my son,” continued Father Ignatius, “I wasn’t the only one who saw you steal that chocolate bar … God saw it too … I spoke to Him about it … and He asked me to buy you a similar chocolate bar …”

The man said nothing, feeling both ashamed and totally repentant in his heart.

“For your penance I want you to enjoy this chocolate bar,” continued the priest quietly, “but I also want you to promise that you will never steal anything ever again … is that a deal?”

“Yes Father,” mumbled the man behind the curtain.

“And remember … next time you do something wrong, I may not be there to witness it … and God alone may be the one seeing your wrongdoing …”

“Yes Father!” repeated the repentant man as the priest absolved his sins and sent him in peace to fulfill his penance.

Premiere Painting Exhibition

I have taken up a new hobby and enroled on an evening course to teach me to paint. I'm pleased to show you today my first ever painting. It's a close-up picture of my cat. A VERY close-up picture of my cat.

Tomorrow I'm painting a picture of my dog.

Our instructor said I show promise.

Undress to Impress

Why do people wear T-Shirts with silly slogans?

I saw someone at the supermarket with a shirt saying “Undress to Impress”.

Now, it’s somewhat dubious whether it is in good taste for a woman, however pretty, to wear such a slogan.

But this was a middle aged man, and so ugly that the only thing he’d impress would be the dead mackerel in the frozen food compartment.