red letter promise


Christ And The Soldier - Poem by Siegfried Sassoon

I

The straggled soldier halted — stared at Him — Then clumsily dumped down upon his knees, Gasping

'O blessed crucifix, I'm beat !'

And Christ, still sentried by the seraphim, Near the front-line, between two splintered trees, Spoke him:

'My son, behold these hands and feet.'

The soldier eyed him upward, limb by limb, Paused at the Face, then muttered,

'Wounds like these Would shift a bloke to Blighty just a treat!'

Christ, gazing downward, grieving and ungrim, Whispered,

'I made for you the mysteries, Beyond all battles moves the Paraclete.'

II

The soldier chucked his rifle in the dust, And slipped his pack, and wiped his neck, and said —

'O Christ Almighty, stop this bleeding fight !'

Above that hill the sky was stained like rust With smoke. In sullen daybreak flaring red The guns were thundering bombardment's blight. The soldier cried,

'I was born full of lust, With hunger, thirst, and wishfulness to wed. Who cares today if I done wrong or right?'

Christ asked all pitying,

'Can you put no trust In my known word that shrives each faithful head ? Am I not resurrection, life and light ?'

III

Machine-guns rattled from below the hill; High bullets flicked and whistled through the leaves; And smoke came drifting from exploding shells.

Christ said

'Believe; and I can cleanse your ill. I have not died in vain between two thieves; Nor made a fruitless gift of miracles.'

The soldier answered,

'Heal me if you will, Maybe there's comfort when a soul believes In mercy, and we need it in these hells. But be you for both sides ? I'm paid to kill And if I shoot a man his mother grieves. Does that come into what your teaching tells ?'

A bird lit on the Christ and twittered gay; Then a breeze passed and shook the ripening corn. A Red Cross waggon bumped along the track. Forsaken Jesus dreamed in the desolate day — Uplifted Jesus, Prince of Peace forsworn — An observation post for the attack.

'Lord Jesus, ain't you got no more to say ?'

Bowed hung that head below the crown of thorns. The soldier shifted, and picked up his pack, And slung his gun, and stumbled on his way.

'O God,' he groaned,'why ever was I born ?'

The battle boomed, and no reply came back. 



After a friend told me this poem, I googled and saved it, look back at it now and then. A soldier in the fury of battle raging round him encounters the Savior in person. He prays for relief, a plea of pathetic longing and fear midst the horror of war, suffering, death. Oblivious to the human’s plight, indeed not even hearing the soldier, the One on Crucifix is only about himself, what he has done, what he offers: salvation. Savior is unconscious to the man. Salvation is not what the soldier wants, but the Savior is not even tuned to the soldier, his pitiless words are only about himself. This is the poem, the poet: sarcasm, cynicism, theodicy at its most perverse.

Been there done that. In ER praying for William after boating accident. In hospital and at home, praying for Bill with brain tumor. At the moment, my first cousin, who years ago lost her son in a fall at work, is in the depths of anguishing despair about a daughter, whose brain cancer diagnosis is six months. I pray, John 14:13f "I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it". I’ve exchanged communications with her. Inconsolable, she has no place for god in her nightmare, has come to know herself as agnostic at best. Curse god and die. Only the most contemptible, arrogant, pompous self-certitudinous air quote Christian would fault her. Son, now daughter, she faces the imminent death of a second child, the worst that life can be.

'O Christ Almighty, stop this!’
'Lord Jesus, ain't you got no more to say?’

The battle boomed, and no reply came back.

Religious certainty is humanity’s greatest sin, "sometimes God says 'no'" is the theology of fools, any religion that cannot be examined, questioned, doubted, and stand the anger of blasphemy, is not worth a tinker's dam.
DThos+