LETTER TO RUDOLF BULTMANN
FROM A SLANDEROUS MAN,
ONE WHOSE THREAD OF HOPE
ARRIVES FROM THE ALL-OUT
CONFRONTATION WITH
EVERYTHING TO GET PEOPLE
LIKE ME THROUGH THE DOOR
…SO THAT we gained the
reputation
of being a slanderous
company.
Rudolf
Bultmann
from a brief account of his relations
with the city and university of Marburg…
Summer,
1969
So many conflicting, sudden images of Heaven
gathering to walk into this letter with no postmark.
Let them have at. Bultmann, Barth and Paul,
as first suggested by Dr. Barth.
Certainly (Is that appropriate here?)
C. S. Lewis will have what
does
one call time here?
What is here?
All my images tethered.
There's a man, Stanley Marrow.
River of tears be my introduction.
I wouldn't be talking with you
but for Stanley. And others.
And others, because of Stanley,
auditing became an option.
From a far-back pew, slanderous
might be a credible word
for one like me.
None of us worthy.
Stealing images from your letter
to Barth, 11-15 November 1952.
My cause at stake, one who gambled
for the poem, an American,
of his time, if not modern.
Recoiling in ways best students
always have, troublesome.
Add controversy to my résumé
a core element in NT studies.
Belief, as you say here,
is a gift of the Holy Spirit.
Let the slanderous among us
say, Amen. I have participated
fully in the sin of self-certainty,
perverted, as you call it.
Christ only in Kerygma.
An old pastor sent me
Barth's letter to prisoners
naming those with Jesus
on the cross as the first
congregation. I stay awake
because I can't sleep.
When Stanley confronted
me, things didn't start
going easy, surprised,
though by joy, as Lewis
says, quoting Wordsworth.
Such company. My Dad.
My Mom, my brother's joy.
And my sister. Returning
from war the teacher
called my son, Astyanax,
son of Hector. I loved
the Hebrew Bible before
I knew the proper word
to name it. I was a boy
outback, walking railroad
tracks with Crazy Horse
and Jesus. We were looking
for treasure in native graves.
I felt sanctuary in groves of trees.
I have studied the canon.
This is the canon I pursued.
Permit me in this spirit
a commemorative stamp.
An artist's drawing of a small frog
clinging to a reed in wetlands.
This water! This water!
My letter in the wind.
Jim Bodeen
11 December 2019
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