[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Carl, David, and Nemo—

Thanks, gentlemen, for sharing with me how my poem landed with you. It seems to have provoked a variety of responses.

Carl, I took the advice you and Julie gave about restoring the original first line. It is simpler, more direct, and avoids the whole issue of questionable Church history.

David, the tone I was aiming for was a Jeremiad—a lament delivered as a speech by a prophet, or, in this case, by Jesus. I can see, though, why you might read it as a catalogue of social ills to blame on organized religion. That was not my intent.

Nemo, well, at least it’s mercifully short! You don’t offer any specific suggestions to improve it, so I conclude that you recommend relegating the poem to the memory hole. I am a bit puzzled by your assertion that the N’s “moral mantle” is “dubious” since the N is Jesus. I also think that one can be critical of one’s faith and still have “true reverence.” Ask Job. I would also point out that no “poor humans” were harmed in the production of this poem. To point out that children act out, sometimes violently, against churches, or that drug addicts leave syringes in secluded places like cemeteries is merely to describe the current state of affairs. I do not blame them with a “blanket condemnation.” In fact, line 3 suggests a very good reason why children might be hostile to clergy. It seems that Jesus’s feelings about the sorry state of the world are not so different from your feelings about my poem.

Glenn

[R. Nemo Hill]

Well, if speaking for Jesus isn't sanctimonious then I don't know what is.

Nemo

[N. Matheson]

Originally Posted by R. Nemo Hill

Well, if speaking for Jesus isn't sanctimonious then I don't know what is.

Nemo

I recommend avoiding anything by Milton, then.

[R. Nemo Hill]

Everyone was speaking for Jesus in Milton's day, N, or a great many were—but since you so willfully refuse to embrace the passage of time, I wouldn't expect you to pick up on how the tenor of such a strategy of voice is altered by the lapse of centuries.

I admit I am speaking from the gut here, Glen, but the gut will have its say as well as the subtler organs of expression. I hardly picked up on your critique of faith because the whole attitude of the voice reeks of polemical certainty rather than resonating with compassionate uncertainty. (Perhaps you are speaking from the gut as well—?) As Julie points out, it is money that is the object of Jesus' censure, and not the lost sheep that litter money's landscape. For me, the voice here is so intoxicated with it judgements that it sweeps along with little regard for the consequences of what it is saying. And this momentum causes the flattening of the language into imagery that, to my ear, is quite stale.

I've said enough.
I'll take a Bromo-Seltzer.

Nemo

[Carl Copeland]

The heart of this poem is its title. (I’d never have guessed from it that the N is Jesus, so that’s a non-issue for me.) The title invites us to revisit a timeworn Bible story but, by jerking us into an ugly present, grows threatening and apocalyptic. Call it sanctimonious if you like, but it’s arguably closer to the Jesus of the Bible than the bland, folksy Christianity that I was brought up in. The N—not necessarily either Glenn or Jesus—is saying something unpalatable perhaps, but acute.

[R. Nemo Hill]

Unpalatably stale.

Nemo

[Roger Slater]

It never occurred to me that the speaker was Jesus. Did they have bullets back in Jesus's day? Did they have syringes? Did they have the posperity gospel? Was graffiti a big problem back in the days that Jesus walked the earth?

If it's Jesus, it's not Jesus at his most eloquent.

But leaving aside the theological questions, the poem doesn't actually take us anywhere or develop beyond the first three lines. It's just a list of vague and mostly non-specific complaints and condemnations, without a single word of hope or redemption or moral direction, and without a single word about why the speaker is choosing this moment to say these these things. It feels like it's building to some sort of turn or volta, but that never happens. It just lists a few more sins and then trails off no further along than the first line.

The writing itself continues your fondness for pre-written phrases (i.e., cliche expressions), like "faintest scent of" and "drenched" and "paying no heed." It's just very stale and unspecific language. We're not given a close look at anything. What holy places are we talking about? Who are The Privileged? Who are the friends they are gossiping with? Why should they not "meet their lovers"? Is there something wrong with meeting lovers? And they plot against their enemies, but did Jesus say you should surrender to your enemies? And what sort of "heed" should they pay to the Holy Ghost's moaning? To me, it comes off like word salad without the dressing.

Finally, I know very little about Christianity, but Wikepedia tells me that Ezekiel's Temple was never built, so I'm a bit confused how its water could have dried up.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Roger—

Originally Posted by Roger Slater

It never occurred to me that the speaker was Jesus. Did they have bullets back in Jesus's day? Did they have syringes? Did they have the posperity gospel? Was graffiti a big problem back in the days that Jesus walked the earth? I’m assuming that Jesus is still present and watching us today. In this poem, He is considering what to do about what He sees.

Wikepedia tells me that Ezekiel's Temple was never built, so I'm a bit confused how its water could have dried up. Ezekiel’s Temple was a metaphor for heaven and the water flowing from it represented God’s grace and favor, as I understand it. The drying up of the water suggests the rescinding of that grace and favor.

Thank for sharing your thoughts. It is, indeed, not a hopeful vision. Not all poetry is.

Glenn

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, Nemo—

Originally Posted by R. Nemo Hill

Everyone was speaking for Jesus in Milton's day, N, or a great many were—but since you so willfully refuse to embrace the passage of time, I wouldn't expect you to pick up on how the tenor of such a strategy of voice is altered by the lapse of centuries. Since this isn’t addressed to me, I won’t sound defensive if I remark that if you really don’t know what “sanctimonious” is, this is a pretty fair example of it.

I admit I am speaking from the gut here, Glen, but the gut will have its say as well as the subtler organs of expression. I hardly picked up on your critique of faith because the whole attitude of the voice reeks of polemical certainty rather than resonating with compassionate uncertainty. (Perhaps you are speaking from the gut as well—?) I was going for a tone of “divine authority” rather than “polemical certainty.” You made your issues with my poem very clear in your first post. Thank you. Repeating the same criticism three or four times really isn’t necessary. And BTW, since we have developed a working relationship, could you please spell my name correctly, Nemo?

I hope the Bromo-Seltzer helps you get past my poem.

Glenn

[Julie Steiner]

I've already broken my own rule about coming back to a poem to argue my point, particularly when it reflects a view of divinity that is different from my own.

But I have to ask: By allowing the situation to get so bad before taking action, isn't the Jesus portrayed in the poem every bit as guilty of "paying no heed to the agonized moans of the Holy Ghost." as the people he accuses?

The historical Jesus had an excuse for not knowing what was going on before witnessing the scene at the Temple. What is this the modern, risen Christ's excuse for letting things get so bad on such a scale before taking action?

This is the same problem that many people have with the stories of Noah and Lot, the Lamentations of Jeremiah, etc. Why does an omniscient, omnipotent, all-loving God let things get so bad before finally deciding enough is enough and doing something violent? Doesn't the attribution of natural disasters and military outcomes to divine retribution seem suspiciously like a human explanation presented after the fact (perhaps paired with human wish fulfillment before the fact)?

That's why I think the poem would be more convincing if the narrator's perspective shifted from a divine perspective to a human perspective, similar to that of the narrators of Biblical passages like Habakkuk 1:1-4 and Psalm 13. In these passages, believers express frustration and bewilderment with their god for not having taken action. Most believers can relate to that experience, and even non-believers might be sympathetic to those feelings. In contrast, artworks that claim to be accurate depictions of God, whether graven images or literary sketches, always invite the viewer to decide whether the resulting portraits look the way the viewer thinks they should.

Case in point: As I mentioned above, I am struck by the fact that the divine narrator of this poem does not seem to care about human victims, just respect for church property. (Yes, I know it's a metaphor for the state of religious institutions, but still.) I keep thinking of the priorities expressed in passages like Jeremiah 6:20, Isaiah 1:11-17, and Amos 5:21-24, in which God seems to express frustration with people who think worshipping him is just a matter of showy public rituals of performative God-love, while neglecting social justice and neighbor-love. Would such a God care more about the venues of those rituals than for people who are suffering?

I realize that all of the above expresses my own religious preferences, and that not everyone who writes a religious poem is obliged to share them. But if the intended audience of your poem is not limited to those who share your own religious preferences, I think it would be worthwhile to consider how it might come across to those who don't. So I hope this blather has been useful, even if not convincing.