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Poetry

Jesus, Son of Gop

By January 7, 2025 One Comment

“We are going to put on the armor of God,” Kari Lake, the Arizona Republican candidate for Senate said to cheering supporters. “And maybe strap on a Glock on the side of us just in case.” — “Kari Lake Urges Supporters to Arm Themselves Ahead of Election,” NYTimes.com, April 16, 2024

On the night he was supposed to be betrayed, Jesus
strapped on a Glock under his cloak, just in case
the breastplate of righteousness didn’t hold up.

The boys arrived in the upper room, ready
for whatever the Son of Man might offer up,
but when he got down on his knees to lace 

the boots of the Lord’s army, it seemed abrupt. 
Are we really doing this? Shouldn’t we eat first?
Before he took the bread, he broke down, said, 

This is my body and it will not be a victim. The crew 
looked haggard, like they could use a little 
motivation, so before he drank from the cup, 

he lifted it up—imagine this is blood—he yelled, 
poured out from our enemies, and then he drank it. 
That got them on their feet. We’ll take up this cup 

again a few hours from now, Jesus said, but not before
we toss back one more. He stared at Judas, I know
what you’re up to, his eyes like polished daggers. 

Judas left, bewildered. Isn’t this what he wanted?
In the garden, Jesus checked his hip, checked 
his ammunition, checked his 9mm. When he saw 

the mob coming he fired first. Ask questions
later. Why wait for the wine-stained lips of some 
betrayer? Peter drew his sword in vain. Before 

they could even begin, it was finished. Jesus saved 
himself and his followers from the coming crucifixion,
the garden of Good Friday, their final expedition.

Later, when two survivors made their way back
to Emmaus, they lamented how the bloodbath 
happened, on Passover no less, the sacrificial lamb

they had hoped would be their Savior turned
Prince of the Slaughter. It was so typical,
they complained, Jesus just another 

run-of-the-mill messiah with a machete, 
mowing down the wheat and weeds
for a better view of trespassers that might

malign his legacy. But at least he stood
for something. At least he didn’t go down
without a fight.

Photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash

Sarah M. Wells

Sarah M. Wells is the author of The Family Bible Devotional Volumes 1 and 2, a memoir, American Honey: A Field Guide to Resisting Temptation (forthcoming), and two collections of poemsBetween the Heron and the Moss and Pruning Burning Bushes. Poems and essays by Wells have appeared in Ascent, Brevity, Full Grown People, Hippocampus Review, The Pinch, River Teeth, Rock & Sling, Under the Gum TreeTerrain.org and elsewhere. Sarah’s work has been honored with four Pushcart Prize nominations. Six of her essays have been listed as Notable Essays in The Best American Essays. She is a 2018 recipient of an Ohio Individual Excellence Award from the Ohio Arts Council. Sarah earned her BA in Creative Writing and MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Ashland University. She is a regular contributor to Root & Vine News and God Hears Her, a blog for women, from Our Daily Bread. She resides in Ashland, Ohio with her husband, Brandon, and their four children, Lydia, Elvis, Henry, and Izzy (their Westie).

One Comment

  • David Landegent says:

    I like this exposé of today’s blasphemous mix of Jesus and violence. Nothing like sarcasm to set the record straight.

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