POEM: American Logres
After William Blake and for F. Scott Hoffman (requiescat in pace)
Christ preached New England’s Pilgrim fields
from pulpit and with musket ball;
the light of Christ from Old North Church
shined clear to Independence Hall.
Christ westward crossed the fruited plain;
Christ bled to free the Southern slaves;
Christ led the million marching men
who dreamed Christ’s dream with MLK.
What now is this Christ-haunted land?
How long will we deny our Lord?
Where are the men who build and fight?
Where is my shovel? Where my sword?
By grace, we’ll build New Christendom:
from sea to shining sea he reigns!
His kingdom come, his will be done
in these United States again.
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Josh,
Man… this hit hard! I think you’re putting words to something a lot of us feel but don’t quite know how to say. That sense that this place isn’t empty, but "haunted" in a sense. Like it remembers something we’ve forgotten. And, I don’t think the answer is out there somewhere AHEAD of us.
I keep coming back to T. S. Eliot, “We shall not cease from exploration… and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.”
That feels about right. We don’t need a new story. We need to actually understand the one we’ve already been handed, because honestly, the “future” everyone keeps selling us is thin. It’s recycled. It’s not really new. Like Eliot said, it’s a faded song.
Which means the way forward isn’t chasing whatever’s next. It’s going back...on purpose. And, more than anyone I know, potentially, you seem to really get that. I love reading your work!
Btw, when I say go back, I'm not just saying that in a nostalgic sense (though, it feels nostalgic) or pretending the past was perfect. But, going back to the foundations that we’ve either ignored—or straight up abandoned.
That line you wrote, “Where is my shovel? Where my sword?”... that’s the question. I don’t think the answer is, “They’re gone.” I think it’s, “They’re still there… we just haven’t picked them up.”
I was reading something the other day about this idea that every nation has its own kind of story, its own “myth,” in the best sense of the word. And under Christ, those don’t get erased. They actually come alive the way they’re supposed to. Not less distinct, but more.
So, if Christ does take hold here again, it won’t make America generic. It’ll make it what it was always meant to be, but clearer, heavier, more accountable. Which means we’re not starting over, we’re returning. We will be learning to see the place again, as Eliot said, but rightly this time.
And then, hopefully, doing something with it. Building. Leading. And, taking responsibility for what’s right in front of us. That is, picking up the shovel and getting to work!