Nehemiah’s
Ride
Nem. 2:11-18: I went to Jerusalem,
and after staying there three days I set out during the night with a
few men. I had not told anyone what my God had put in my heart to do
for for Jerusalem. There were no mounts with me excerpt the one I was
riding on. By night I went out through the Valley Gate toward the
jackal Well and the Dung Gate, examining the walls of Jerusalem which
had been destroyed by fire. Then I moved on toward the fountain Gate
and King’s Pool, there were was not enough rom for my mount to get
through, so I went up the valley by night, examining the wall. Finally
I turned back and reentered through the Valley Gate. The officials did
not know where I had gone or what I was doing because I had said
nothing to the Jews or the priests or nobles or officials or any other
s who would be doing the work.
The Valley Gate
Sent by Ataxerxes, I made my way
from Babylon to restore our Kingdom, or to see
what could be done with such disaster. Late
at night, mounted on an ass, I rode out
the Valley Gate. Important journeys always
begin in low places. I bid the others keep
their peace. I did not want to to share
my grief or hope with anyone. I did not want
to confer or cut my thoughts to fit those of anyone
else. I knew they would talk of causes.All
I wanted was to rebuild the wall.
The Jackal Well
There was the Jackal Well. Some called it the Sserpent
Well. Both creatures were observed drinking
its brackish waters. For Jews the snake is all
about temptation, nothing about poison--
not so much the slithering horror, the sharp dart
followed by the slowly swelling limb
and the cold creeping up f rom the extremities,
but the voice whispering in the garden, lush images,
copulation for a higher cause: “After all, it is your duty
to renew the land: take off your clothes.”
But those who see dark forces looming at
the edge of night thought first of jackals, Abyssinian
madness,hoards pouring out of the East
on chariots of iron. But why conjure on causes?
Rebuild the wall.
The Dung Gate
Those smashed stones there is where the stable keepers
brought manure and piled it up. The farmers came
and carted it away to make their fields green. Thus dung
turns into life again. Renewal of the land--that pagan theme.
At every turn the pagans seem to have it right:
Sex and dung are all that matters. But nature cannot
rule the roost so far. Something more than nature
must prevail, something more that dung-to-life
and life-to-dung, something hard and diamond like,
something to be known by more than just
submission, something to known by love, something
before which Nature steps aside. Nature’s no more
that a bump on God’s log, a batting of God’s eye,
a game of chess he plays to pass the time
The Fountain Gate
It never was a fountain. More an ooze, really,
a dribble. But you could drink it, if you didn’t
mind the healthy taste--like drinking rocks. We
nursed it along, dug it out to help the flow. When
drought came, it slowed bu did not stop,
an adequate symbol for the God I knew. Oh
I envied Ezekiel his fiery chariots, Isaiah
his six-winged birds: “and with twain they
covered their eyes.” Yeah, Yeah, Yeah.
Good for him. But still the conquerers came.
Still they carted us away in chains.
And now everything is to be different, so says
Jeremiah, so say all the boys. Frankly, I’ll
believe it when I see it. Meanwhile we can
take small steps. I’ll have the fountain cleared,
dig down through the rubble, find first wet
gravel, then deeper still the old cold ooze
and take that first long, life-sustaining drink.
The King’s Pool
That slump in the ground there, could it be
The King’s pool, once lined in ivory, trimmed
in gold? When Solomon bathed there with even
half his wives, they filled it up. And the Queen
of Sheba, how she could swim they say.
But after that the pool filled up with slime,
Feted, foul and full of muck, like our
fumbling, stupid kings, too busy with defeat,
humiliation, assassination, intrigue, sordidness:
Johoram, Joash, Jotham, Asa, who
an even name them all, let alone compile
their mistakes? Hezekiah and Josiah, two sweet
notes in a cacophony of incompetence.
Then at the last Jehoiachim carted off
to Babylon with anyone they found could
read and write. We’re done with kings. We
won’t make that mistake again.
Fill in that low remaining slump.
We’ll take our chance with priests. They
can bathe at home like everyone else.
The Valley Gate
And so back in the Valley Gate again.
The moon’s gone down and dawn is racing
toward us fast from Babylon, whence so much
evil came. I know the wall can be rebuilt
and I know how: assign each family one small
part, so each one feels some pride. Tomorrow
we begin. Today let’s get some sleep.
A wall is not salvation but it is wall,
and something I can do. If Messiah comes,
he’ll need a wall if only to tear down,
to make all things new.