from The Bultmann Poems

from THE BULTMANN POEMS

Forty-five years liberated, counting

days, confined too, to pews mute

and suffering. Not perhaps, suffering

like the pulpit suffers, delivering

as it so often does, sermons

half-baked, half-hearted,

comfort food. For the comfortable?

No, they're not my interest.

Nor are those with greater faith

than mine, those already crucified,

asking only to be taken down

from the Cross. No, not them.

Tongue turned back on myself,

I deserved the portion

I've been given. I stood tested

and not alone in my deliverance

waiting for language Bultmann brought.

I had to get there on my own.

Language Bultmann

brought to the laity for liberation.

Language pulpit and pew

knew, and knows,

understanding their part,

this shaving of gospel truth.

How can one refrain from speaking then,

knowing what terror awaits

in compounding moments

for those withheld from Christ,

those thirsting and hungry,

waiting for the confrontation

allowing all that is false in life to fall.

Jim Bodeen

18 November 2019