I have been really busy with a variety of things, some of which are not important enough to continue doing. I hope to very shortly incorporate the 501(C)3, so that the project that really matters most can get rolling. While we waste time in many things that ultimately mean little, the starving continue to die. Each of us is able to do something meaningful to bring an end to starvation, the one ongoing tragedy that could be eradicated, if we only really wanted to do it. We cannot say that about diseases, wars, crime, or other causes of human suffering, at least not in the same sense. So I will budget my time more wisely, and you do the same.
Fools and idiots abound
And lots of liars are around
Many of who fail to see
Of Jesus the reality
But teach about what they don’t know
And fulfill in doing so
The prophecies that said they’d come
With evil fruit and conscience numb.
Those wolves that often dress like sheep
Mislead the flock, but soon will reap
A cup filled with the wrath divine
For those who’d come to undermine
His holy purpose, where He forgave
All those whom He came to save.
God, have mercy on the dumb
But deal with all the lying scum
Who without conscience do defame
Those persisting in your name
To follow Christ and do as you
In righteousness would have us do.
Fools and idiots can be
Filled with wisdom and come to see
But prophets false who love to lie
And don’t repent will have to die
Not once but twice, and face the flame
For failing to respect his name.
God, have mercy on fools like me
And teach me your reality.
Life is good, but what is life?
Struggling with daily strife
While hanging on the tree of woe?
Oh, no, I really don’t think so.
Sometimes grief is in the heart
But we can choose the better part
Simply by remembering
That He will give us everything.
If we would see better days
We really must amend our ways
And do as He’d have us to do
Until our days on Earth are through.
The life we live we live to God
Until we’re placed beneath the sod
Later called to rise again
Rejoicing with obedient men
Rewarded with felicity
In life as it was meant to be.
But some prefer a punishment
Together with the arrogant
Who having no humility
Toss aside felicity
To hang upon the tree of woe
Just because they wouldn’t go
And enter by the narrow gate
Delaying till it is too late
Repentance from a life of sin
Which long they chose to remain in.
Any person could be saved
Despite how they might have behaved
If they have humbly walked with God
Before they’re placed beneath the sod.
Your body, you must realize
Before too long will fertilize
After you have lain in state
So wisely do not hesitate.
This very day you should repent
So you will not have to be sent
To where you gnash your teeth and weep
But rather where you get to keep
The blessings of joy, peace, and love
As promised by the Lord above.
The choice you make is up to you.
Choose life, before your life is through.
By David L. Rosenthal
Stan couldn’t stand not having someone to torture, taunt or incite. So he got up and irritably began to plan a night of diversion. He did not bother to shave, change his underwear, or brush his teeth, as this night he was in a mood to blow dirty breath from an unkempt face at whoever he might meet and make uncomfortable. He did not have far to go.
Stan Deman was certainly not your typical piece of work, a very sly, witty, and deeply intelligent bugger from a perfectly stable background, having come from the best of families, with a loving, attentive father who displayed all the finest qualities, and brothers who naturally adopted them. But not Stan. Stan was…special.
The seedy, squalid hotel room in a Downtown brick low-rise in desperate need of pointing, lacking none of the trappings of filth and poverty that only the privileged enjoy, was not home, but merely his base of operations for these recreational outings that gave his existence meaning. He pulled the tattered, nicotine-impregnated drapes wide to gaze down from the third storey window, almost immediately finding what must become his first victim of the night. And his mood improved at once.
From his smiling lips emerged a cheery “Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight!” And away he went, not bothering to close the door behind him, almost skipping down the stinking hallway with its drab threadbare carpet and its walls decorated with suggestive limericks hastily scrawled by some modern urban, Shakespearean tweeker. So joyful had he become that he carefully stomped forcefully on each step as he descended the noisy stairway, waking other residents who had become accustomed to this nightly signal that sadism once again had taken flight.
The stale, fetid air of the inner city was customarily suffocatingly hot and dank, just as Stan preferred it for his favorite avocational outings, as it set the proper tone, assisting to predispose potential victims to misery even before he could target them. And since the place appeared a bit too orderly for his taste, Stan overturned a few public waste receptacles, strewing the contents hither and thither, giving a final artistic touch to the setting. The night seemed just about perfect and he was just getting warmed up.
From the window of his sordid headquarters, Stan had seen his unsuspecting victim shuffle into the neighborhood greasy spoon, and knew that he’d delay there for at least long enough to swallow some of its finest bitter brew, complete with grinds, and who knew what else, let to spill carelessly into the grimy, chipped cup. (The nocturnal rats that prowled there, foraging for whatever remained of the day’s droppings, never failed to avoid whatever puddles of coffee remained unswabbed, recalling the ill effects it had previously visited on them.)
Shuffling toward that illustrious establishment in his best imitation of the feckless wretch on whom he had focused his merciless whim, Stan murmured softly to himself, “This one is truly lost in Yonkers.” And he glanced upward with a feigned look of winsomeness, lips slightly pursed, brows half frowned, and mock worry in his eyes, gently shaking his head. Then he sighed with exaggerated exhalation and strode energetically through the decrepit front door of what perhaps a century earlier might have been a decent family eatery.
The old fellow sat hunched over a bowl of what the menu classified as pottage, which appeared to contain more beans than anything else, a stale hunk of Italian loaf in one hand and a spoon precariously balanced in the other hand that shook noticeably as he brought it toward his puffy lips, as the ceiling fan caused the few wisps of longish, thin, gray hair to dance to and fro across his otherwise bald, freckled pate. Stan stood contemplating his prey with pleasure, repeating the same counterfeit gesture he had just made before entering the dive, though his inner self was licking its lips in anticipation of the gruesome chase about to ensue.
Then placing his bestial hand on the old man’s shoulder, Stan exclaimed in mock concern, “Morris?! Is that you? You look in terrible shape, my friend!”
The spoon fell from his hand into the bowl of bean soup, creating a splash that sent a spray of broth across Morris’ old blue blazer, that had been new when Chuck Berry began his career, and a tie that in no sense resembled anything but a rag. Morris stared in something approaching enervated consternation at the unknown intruder, who had interrupted his main meal of the day and soiled his best suit of clothes to boot.
“Do I know you?”, asked the aged fellow, now attempting somewhat futilely to soak up the spatter from his jacket and tie with a ragged cloth napkin of dubious color.
Stan did not at once reply, but stood shaking his head as though he had just witnessed a tragic event or heard that a friend had died. Then he slowly drawled, “Oh, Morris…I am so sad to see you in this condition,” and almost broke down in tears, lower lip trembling slightly, sniffling audibly, and then grasping the old man by the ears as he crushed him in a tight embrace that left Morris gasping for breath.
“Please let go of me! I don’t know you! Who are you?! Please go away!” stammered the frightened man, pushing back from Stan’s grasping hands, almost falling off the wobbly counter stool. Stan, hardly able to keep from exploding into guffaws, had to force his mouth into a downward frown that must have resembled a clown’s face.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Morris,” he said, gesticulating in apparent dismay, placing one open palm against his cheek. “It has been a long time, my friend…but I never expected to see you so close to death!” Morris’ mouth dropped fully open and his features twisted into an expression of undefined mangled emotion, so that Stan had now to drop his face almost parallel to the floor to hide his glee.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” mumbled Morris almost to himself. Abandoning his half finished supper, he placed a few crinkled dollar bills onto the counter and swiftly shuffled toward the door, with Stan in hot pursuit, almost floating over the old man like a harpie over a deathbed.
“Please, Morris, don’t run off like this! I only want to help you! I have been looking for you for weeks!” Stan followed Morris down the cracked, gray slate pavement, cajoling him to halt his retreat.
Morris’ curiosity got the better of him and so he stopped, against his better judgment, and turning to face Stan, already almost exhausted from the encounter and his attempt to escape it, asked, “Why have you been looking for me for weeks? I do not even know you! You must be insane!”
“Morris! Morris! Please!”, gasped Stan in the most forceful manner he could project. “Don’t tell me that you do not know your own grandchild!” Here Stan displayed perhaps the most artful semblance of horror that any student of Shakespeare ever has. Then supplicating he added, “Morris, please…don’t run off. I can see you are not yourself. Come up to my hotel room, and I will order some supper and explain everything.”
“You are not my grandson. I do not know you,” replied Morris in stiffly defiant undertones, eyes squinting as he stared directly into Stan’s, who hid his own intense delight behind a façade of concern. But once the words were spoken, Morris’ resolve faded with the last vestige of the energy he had summoned to face the madman. He now simply stood there, wondering how to get away, or what to do next. And Stan just savored the moment for a while, seeing victory approaching in the foreground. Life was good, indeed.
“Just come upstairs with me, Grampa,” Stan whispered tenderly. “You can eat and relax. You can have anything you want. It’s OK. I am here now.” Stan finally had to throw himself onto Morris’ shoulder and feign a forceful whimper to hide the outburst of laughter that he could no longer contain. Morris, staring wide-eyed at this bizarre stranger who clung to him with heaving movements of weeping (that unbeknownst to him was hidden laughter), gave up the struggle, telling himself that perhaps a free good meal, and maybe a bath, were worth tolerating this demented man who, after all, did not seem to present any danger. And maybe he could even convince him to send out his clothes to be cleaned. In any case, it did not appear that he had much choice in the matter. So up to the room they went.
As they climbed the dimly lit stairway together, and walked down the depressingly dingy hallway, Morris felt no specific concern, as a good deal of the time he had nowhere to stay, and other times he spent the night in places not as welcoming as this ramshackle hotel. In any case, his flight mechanism had already shut down from fatigue. His tired mind now focused on the promise of good food, good rest, and clean clothes. Maybe this chance encounter had turned out to be nothing less than an impoverished man’s windfall. He almost began to feel at ease.
No sooner did he shut the door to the disheveled habitation than Stan, as though he had read Morris’ mind, said, “Now Morris, get out of those dirty clothes so I can send them out to be cleaned,” which impressed Morris as a fortuitous turn of events and a harbinger of good things to come. “And tell me what you want to eat. I think we can do better than a bowl of…what was that anyway? You don’t eat that all the time, do you?”
The pottage of questionable origin was not Morris’ favorite dish, but due to economic considerations, it certainly was a regular part of his diet. “No, not at all. I was just in the mood for something light. But I am hungry now. I could eat a horse, I think. Do you think they have shrimp salad on rye with a salad on the side? With Thousand Island Dressing. And a couple of beers?”
A minute later he was handing over his outerwear, which Stan unceremoniously bagged as though disposing of a musty clump of dead chrysanthemums, handing it over to a young woman who came to collect it. “And please hurry with the order,” he said to her, winking conspiratorially as he closed the door. The young woman disappeared around the corner, and Morris’ clothes disappeared into the garbage can.
Now, as Morris sat back on the overstuffed couch, in discolored tank top and boxer shorts, wondering whether to bathe before or after the meal, and feeling as carefree as he had in years, Stan stood over him and, looking down into his eyes, said in a rasping voice that could have been a low hiss, “You know, old fool…I am not your grandson.” And then he smiled with obvious menace. Morris’ lightness dissipated instantly, as he found himself nearly naked and penniless in the hotel room of a hostile predator, who before his eyes had transformed from a benevolent, if eccentric stranger into what he now apprehended as an eager sadist. Reality had begun to set in.
Morris moved as though to stand and Stan swiftly slapped him with more than enough force to knock him back onto the couch, where he sat inert in wide-eyed horror, while over him Stan almost growled.
“Not so fast, my friend,” Stan sneered with mock amity. “We have only just begun. Just an hour ago we met, but you have yet to get to know me the way I wish to have you know me. Don’t be in such a hurry. We have all night.”
With that Stan grabbed Morris by the neck, lifted him easily up and spun him around like a broom and, dropping him face-down on the bed, bound his arms behind him with the top sheet. Then he flipped him over, lifted his ankles to the top of the headboard and, with another sheet, bound them to it, so that Morris lay uncomfortably face up, his arms tied under him, behind his back, as blood rushed to his head.. Stan then began to giggle as he yanked at the wisps that hung from Morris’ bare skull, but his reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. Pulling Morris’ thick cotton socks from his feet, he balled them up and shoved them into Morris’s mouth, patted him on the head, and turned to answer the knock at the door.
Taking the tray, Stan slammed the door with enthusiastic anticipation, and balancing it on one hand, as though he were an attentive waiter, strutted with feigned elegance to where his supine customer awaited. Morris trembled noticeably, watching Stan’s every move with trepidation. Sweat ran from every part of him. The taste of dirty socks nauseated him, as well.
“We are going to have a lot of fun, tonight, Grampa,” Stan sweetly sang, laying the tray down on Morris’ belly. “I have a long list of games to play and parts to pull.” Now he pulled Morris’ left ear till he squealed through the socks. “But first you should have a bite.” Now he bit Morris’ right ear, drawing blood and a long, pathetic, muffled wail. “I meant a bite to eat. How silly of me.” Morris began to cry quietly as he gently shuddered.
As Stan stood watching Morris weep and quake, he suddenly felt bored, and decided to search for a more challenging victim. Dropping his façade of humanity, Stan transformed into Satan, and becoming quietly somber, bent over far enough to whisper into Morris’ bloody ear in his normally grave, raspy voice.
“My friend,” he said, “You really bore me to tears, so I will put you out of your misery and find someone who’ll at least pretend to be a man, the torturing of whom perhaps might provide some pleasure. Flaying a wreck of a man is no challenge at all. The night is still young enough and shows much promise.” And with that he flipped open a rusty, old straight razor that often served as his tool of choice in finalizing executions.
“But at least we can make your departure a memorable one,” he quipped and, first pulling the dirty socks from Morris’ mouth, then grabbing Morris’ left ear, he lopped it off, with cold, conscienceless grace, leaving the pitiable old derelict screaming in pain and fright. In quick order the right ear joined the left on the blood-stained carpet. Then the nose. “Beg me to kill you whenever you’ve had enough.” Satan crooned in an acrid falsetto, lopping of Morris’ thumbs in quick succession.
“Pleeeeeeeeease,” Morris screamed, ‘Please end this!!” Satan smiled.
“Alright, dear man, alright.” And he drew the blade slowly toward the jugular that seemed almost to be trying to burst from Morris’ neck.
The end was imminent, but just as Satan was about to finish him, Morris began to laugh, a quiet, peaceful kind of chuckle really, as a wide, bright smile lit up his face like a streetlamp, as his countenance began to transform from that of a dried up old wretch into a virile young man in the prime of life. Satan was taken aback, and fell silent as his eyes bugged open in bitter astonishment.
The bonds fell from Morris’ limbs and he sat up in bed, pulled Satan’s face close to his own, and kissed him on both cheeks. Satan then began to weep and almost whimpered, “It is not fair. You have done it again.”
The person on the bed, now fully revealed as Jesus Christ, patted Satan gently on the cheek.
“I apologize, brother,” he said, almost in earnest, “but I cannot simply let you roam freely to abuse my sheep.”
I am about to sound sanctimonious but sometimes we need reminders. Not all who
say to Him “Lord, Lord” will enter the kingdom of heaven. He said that many will
call Him Lord whom He will call practicers of lawlessness. Recall that He said
He came to bring not peace but a sword. He also taught that friendship with the
world is enmity with God. Even the members of our own family may turn against us
if we serve Christ.
There are many who say they are Christian but who do not know the truth. They
can learn. And if they belong to Christ they will hear his voice. But many know
the word and reject it who also claim to be Christian. They create doctrines
that ignore his teachings & they reject his words. They reject his teaching &
they condemn those who teach what He taught. This is clear evidence of to whom
they really belong.
The scriptures speak in various places of this type of traitor to Christ. They
warn of them. Do not listen to the teaching of false prophets. The scriptures
say that they come to mislead and deceive, drawing away even the elect, if
possible. Do not be deceived. Have the Bible on hand.
Some teach falsehood being themselves deceived. They can be helped and taught.
False prophets come to separate us from Christ. We need to constantly refer to
his word as we must remain alert and informed of what is true and if we remain
in the word He will reveal it.
Don’t be led away by false teachers who sound smart but whose doctrine opposes
the truth of Christ. False teachers can be slick and sly. They can look just
like sheep but be wolves. Do not be deceived. Test every teaching with his word.
This is not a game. Satan the devil is looking to devour whomever he can and
uses people to help him do it. The war is spiritual. You must remain informed to
What does this have to do with the war on starvation? There is a class of false teacher who insists that since we are saved by grace through faith we do not have to have works. They say this even though Christ clearly taught that those who do not do as He commands will not inherit the kingdom of God. Regardless of whether works are necessary for salvation, per se, works are necessary, since Christ said they are necessary, and since He told us to do them.
One of the things He told us to do is to feed the needy. Since we do not do it, they die by the millions.
Regardless of whatever it means to work or not to work, the world is what it is because we do not do what He told us to do. The dying from starvation are dying because we do not feed them as He commanded.
The word of God says that we were created for good works that were prepared for us to walk in. But some prefer to argue against the necessity of works that Christ commanded, rather than to do what we were created to do.
What do you think about prophecy? It is not uncommon for people to scoff at biblical prophecy, or to compare it to prophecy of others, such as Nostradamus. But those who scoff at prohecy tend to become less arrogant after actually taking a closer look at it.
The fact is that Nostradamus’ record of prophecy was not just hit and miss, but more miss than hit. He made a lot of predictions that did not pan out. However, the same cannot be said of prophecy that is in the Bible.
It is true that not all Bible prophecy has yet come to pass. But hundreds of prophecies contained in the Bible have already come to pass.
Take a look at just one small set of prophecies in Amos 1. There it was prophesied that several places would be destroyed, including Tyre, Gaza, Damascus, Ammon, and Edom. Three are no more. Gaza is barely a remnant, and will disappear. Damascus, the oldest continually inhabited city on Earth, is in danger at this time.
Christ prophesied conditions that would prevail in the end times, and we see these conditions now. Of course, the more you consider the specific details, the more it becomes clear that conditions Christ prophesied now prevail.
For those who understand what I am saying, I will add this: Christ prophesied our end in case we obey or do not obey His words. In Matthew 7, he said this: 21 “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. 22 Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ 23 And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’
24 “Therefore whoever hears these sayings of Mine, and does them, I will liken him to a wise man who built his house on the rock: 25 and the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house; and it did not fall, for it was founded on the rock.
26 “But everyone who hears these sayings of Mine, and does not do them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand: 27 and the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house; and it fell. And great was its fall.”
And Christ also made it even more clear when He said the following in Matthew 25: 31 “When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all the holy angels with Him, then He will sit on the throne of His glory. 32 All the nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd divides his sheep from the goats. 33 And He will set the sheep on His right hand, but the goats on the left. 34 Then the King will say to those on His right hand, ‘Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: 35 for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; 36 I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’
37 “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? 38 When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? 39 Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ 40 And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’
41 “Then He will also say to those on the left hand, ‘Depart from Me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: 42 for I was hungry and you gave Me no food; I was thirsty and you gave Me no drink; 43 I was a stranger and you did not take Me in, naked and you did not clothe Me, sick and in prison and you did not visit Me.’
44 “Then they also will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?’ 45 Then He will answer them, saying, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ 46 And these will go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
If you believe in prophecy and you believe in Christ, those words must leave an impression on you that no comment of mine could enhance. If you do not believe in them, be advised that the time is coming when we will all answer for the choices we made.
I believe in them. But even if you do not, you should still be moved by the spectacle of millions dying of starvation while the world looks the other way. Be moved to do whatever you can to not be a part of that spectacle.
Pastors…is there a reason why you are not preaching what the scriptures say about feeding the starving widows and orphans? Is there a reason why you do not have a collection box dedicated to feeding the needy? It is God’s will that we do it. (Matthew 25:31-42)
Married people…why not sit down with your spouse and children and suggest that each of you contribute just a few cents a day to feed the starving? A family of four could each contribute 25 cents/day which would be enough to feed a straving person every day. You would do God’s will and set a great example, while uniting the family in good works. The scriptures say we were created for good works. (Ephesians 2:10, Hebrews 13:16)
Children…why not make the suggestion to your parents, and to your friends, and to your pastor? God wants us to feed the hungry. We have more than enough to do it.
If each child in a class of 30 children gave 7 cents/day of school (180 days/year), the class could feed a starving person all year long.
Christians are mainly in a state of spiritual lethargy. We need to awaken and obey Christ. If we dedicated as much to feeding the hungry as we do to going to the movies, starvation would cease to exist. But when we turn our eyes away from the needy, we disobey Christ. Do you remember what Christ said about thiose who call Him Lord, but who do not do God’s will? (Matthew 7:21-23)
There is enough food produced already to end starvation, and enough resources to get that food into the hands of those who are dying from starvation. Don’t tell me there is nothing you can do, or that you are too busy. We both know that is not true.
Think about it. Pray about it. Talk to your friends and family about it. Awaken from spiritual stupor. Be what God wants us to be.
You want a spiritual revival? Work together to feed the hungry and watch God move.