wordsout by godfrey rust

B REAKING THE C HAINS < 27 of 61 > < christmas >

Herod's last request

When Herod came to dinner we

locked up the silver cutlery—

though king of God's own chosen nation

he had a certain reputation.

Quite a few later remarked

on how his chariot was parked:

it didn't really do much harm,

just set off the odd car alarm

(and anyway they never use

wing-mirrors on BMWs).

One thing we were grateful for—

his guards remained outside the door.

They said they didn't mind it snowing

and whiled away the time by throwing

javelins at next door's cat

(the neighbour's curtains twitched at that).

We set an extra place or two

for the Ethiopian eunuchs who

he brought along to taste his food.

I said his timing's very good,

dropping by on Christmas Day—

we were entertaining anyway.

Herod chewed the turkey fat

and chatted about this and that—

the cost of temple services,

the relative advantages

of burnt offerings over frankincense—

we seemed to have his confidence

and in a weak, unguarded minute

(just like me to drop us in it)

I brought up, casually aside,

the subject of infanticide.

Remembering John the Baptist's head

I was concerned at what I'd said

but then we saw, to our surprise,

a twinkle came in Herod's eyes.

"Say, don't you know what brought me here?

Well, then I must make it clear!

I've come to pay my compliments

to fellows with a common sense.

Don't you think that we might be

in the same business, you and me?

I kill by violence, you neglect—

and here you've earned my deep respect

for I can only be selective:

your methods are much more effective.

Just let an open sewer stink,

give him no clean water to drink

or basic medical supplies

and see how quickly one child dies!

By careful acts of selfishness

you have created such a mess

you now eliminate about—"

(he took his calculator out)

"—twenty thousand every day!"

He smiled and put the thing away.

"You can destroy whole continents

simply by indifference.

But though I like what you don't do,

your actions are impressive too.

You take the mineral resource,

the inexpensive labour force,

most of the profits they can earn

and then you leave them in return

Coca-Cola and Big Mac,

debts they never can pay back,

spare change you feel good in giving,

cardboard packaging to live in.

A hundred million children now

sleep on the planet's streets somehow

apprenticed into useful trades

like prostitution, drugs and AIDS—

though I'm both cruel and sadistic

I can't compete with that statistic,

nor with the armaments I know

you've built to keep the status quo.

I just had swords and knives and spears

but after nineteen hundred years

you have such powerful weapons

their cost alone kills millions!

However population climbs

you can destroy it fifty times

and fight it on a dozen fronts

while you don't feed it even once.

That's big league stuff compared to me

who butchers a baby boy or three.

There's nothing more I need to do—

I'll leave my murdering to you.

A toast is called for now, I think.

This Christmas evening let us drink

to all the damage that's been done

by looking after Number One!"

He raised his glass up to his head—

the wine it held was rich and red—

and looking round from face to face

he said "But we should say a grace!

Give thanks to those in direst need

who starve so we can overfeed

and die to do us sinners good.

We eat their flesh and drink their blood.

Do this, as oft as you remember,

at least once every December."

Then Herod laughed, and drained his wine.

Somehow I couldn't stomach mine,

yet though he smiled, his eyes were grim—

something clearly unsettled him.

"I murdered boys aged two or less,

and this was done under duress.

If you should want to place the blame

then put the Magi in the frame:

if I had not been so deceived

by those wise men, then I believe

much blood would never have been spilled.

I only needed one child killed.

My motive was quite rational:

stability in Israel

depends on keeping sweet somehow

whoever's emperor just now.

This story of a new-born king

could only be unsettling:

he was a danger, patently,

to national security

and threatened also therewithal

my throne, my life, my soul, my all.

So—proving that my word is good—

I went just as I said I would

to worship at his incarnation.

He had my total dedication.

Everything was sacrificed

until I found the baby Christ.

And did you think I'd failed? Oh no.

Though it took thirty years or so

my people got the brat at last

and strung him up and held him fast

and made quite sure that he was dead.

And there he should have stayed. Instead

something went wrong. I don't know how,

I just know he is not dead now

and like a nightmare in my brain

it happens time and time again —

with lives for stables, hearts for mangers,

he is born to total strangers

and so I cannot rest secure

until the child is found once more

and the botched work of Calvary

is completed finally.

That's why I’m here, and why I stay,

for now ten billion times a day

those nails are hammered deeper in

by each act of your human sin

and, though each time the God man dies

somehow he manages to rise,

still there may be—I don't despair—

evil enough to hold him there.

If Christ is born again in you

is he not often murdered too?

Surely someone hates enough

to overcome this power of love?

I depend on you, you see.

Please, finish off this job for me.”

Written for the carol service at St John’s, West Ealing in 1990.

Revised in 2017 to reflect the global decline in child mortality (UNICEF estimates 22,000 per day). At the time of writing the figure was nearer to 40,000.



Typical performance time 6 minutes 30 seconds.

© Godfrey Rust 1990, godfrey@wordsout.co.uk. See here for permissions.