At The Smithville Methodist Church
There is a candor about Stephen Dunn’s “At The Smithville Methodist Church” that I find incredibly attractive. He is candid about his own lack of faith, his own skepticism, without being antagonistic. But he is also candid about where lack of belief falls short: “Evolution is magical but devoid of heroes. / You can’t say to your child / ‘Evolution loves you.’ / The story stinks / of extinction….”
It may be hard for many Christians to think of our faith primarily as a story. It feels reductionistic. Until, that is, you recognize just how much of life is made up of stories, and of how little that isn’t. Then, suddenly, you realize that “objective truth” seems like a silly category with which to talk about, let alone assess, our faith.
So Dunn is stuck. He doesn’t believe. He doesn’t particularly want his daughter to believe. But, as he realizes, “you can’t teach disbelief / to a child, / only wonderful stories, and we hadn’t a story / nearly as good.”
I think that I’m okay with Christianity being a wonderful story, a story that gives life and love, hope and courage. The risk, I suppose, is that these things are all given this side of eternity only. But even if that’s all it is – and I believe there is more – yet even so it would be enough, for life and love, hope and courage, experienced even for a little while are better than life without them at all.
So during this season of Vacation Bible School :), read Stephen Dunn’s poem and give thanks both for the candor of the poet and the wonder of our story, the story of God’s love for each of us.
At The Smithville Methodist Church
It was supposed to be Arts & Crafts for a week,
but when she came home
with the “Jesus Saves” button, we knew what art
was up, what ancient craft.
She liked her little friends. She liked the songs
they sang when they weren’t
twisting and folding paper into dolls.
What could be so bad?
Jesus had been a good man, and putting faith
in good men was what
we had to do to stay this side of cynicism,
that other sadness.
OK, we said, One week. But when she came home
singing “Jesus loves me,
the Bible tells me so,” it was time to talk.
Could we say Jesus
doesn’t love you? Could I tell her the Bible
is a great book certain people use
to make you feel bad? We sent her back
without a word.
It had been so long since we believed, so long
since we needed Jesus
as our nemesis and friend, that we thought he was
sufficiently dead,
that our children would think of him like Lincoln
or Thomas Jefferson.
Soon it became clear to us: you can’t teach disbelief
to a child,
only wonderful stories, and we hadn’t a story
nearly as good.
On parents’ night there were the Arts & Crafts
all spread out
like appetizers. Then we took our seats
in the church
and the children sang a song about the Ark,
and Hallelujah
and one in which they had to jump up and down
for Jesus.
I can’t remember ever feeling so uncertain
about what’s comic, what’s serious.
Evolution is magical but devoid of heroes.
You can’t say to your child
“Evolution loves you.” The story stinks
of extinction and nothing
exciting happens for centuries. I didn’t have
a wonderful story for my child
and she was beaming. All the way home in the car
she sang the songs,
occasionally standing up for Jesus.
There was nothing to do
but drive, ride it out, sing along
in silence.
I wish people would not feel that science and religion are incompatible. My faith is so enriched and inspired by what I know about science.
Thanks for the poem, I will be thinking about all day.
David, yes stories are powerful, stories are also a way to convey objective truth I don’t think one has to give up one for the other. Because if Christianity is “just” a story, then where is the objective hope we all need?
Remember the hymn line, “I love to tell the story”? The next line is, “because I know ’tis true.” Thank you for the poems you incorporate. They enrich your writing and bless my reading. Hear Dunn read this poem at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAJGeJDkasU