Letter to the Romans
by gnimbley the gnome
November 2, 2004
...being a true and faithful translation of the correspondence sent by Sir gnimbley, Apple Pickler of Discord, O.C.G., G.D.E., to the Church of New Rome, the day that judgment was passed upon the younger Bush who sat precariously upon the seat of power...
Ah, where was I?
Oh, yeah.
gnimbley, a lowly gnome neither graced nor appointed by any power from above or below. nor by the will of his intellect alone,
To the church of the New Rome and the faithful acolytes that worship ever at her feet,
Greetings! Grace and Peace be upon you and upon those who sup at your table and upon those who wait upon your pleasure.
I give thanks to find you in good health and supporting a pleasing attitude towards life. I give thanks that those of you who are amidst despair and turmoil that your health supports your quest for relief. I give thanks that those of you who struggle with physical ailments have the aid of family and friends in retaining an optimistic worldview. And finally I give thanks that those of you who have neither health nor attitude, couldn't give a shit about what I am about to say.
As the bunny would say, gnomes are already full of shit.
I have wandered among you for some short time and will wander indiscriminately for even less, but I hope to be able to break bread with you some time during this journey, be it in person or in spirit. However, as you prepare for my visit, please keep in mind that gnomes are inordinately fond of chocolate chip cookies, deep red wines, and the gentle cuisines.
It is my concern that false prophets are proselytizing among you, speaking words which seem upright and honorable, but like the weasel which stands at your ear and says flattering things to advance his own, these prophets speak that which you wish to hear while they cast your brothers into fire and gather ill-gotten goods to their bosoms.
They speak of justice and the rightly benefits of freedom and democracy, but you live in Rome, the empire disguised as a Republic, which has never seen freedom, and knows only the justice of the lash.
You are the New Rome, the master of all you survey, the richest people in the richest country ever in the history of mankind. You have more than Pharoah who enslaved entire peoples. More than Nero whose possessions encircled the Mediterranean. More than Soloman and David and Nebuchadnezzar combined.
And the false prophets say that this is because the face of God smiles upon you. But which god?
The god they raise up in plastic and bronze and nail to the wall behind the altar? Or the god that miraculously delivers manna in plastic wrapped, refrigerated packages to a building just down the street so you never have to grow your own food?
The god that died so that you need never make sacrifice again? Or the god that accepts the sacrifice of thousands of women and children so that the plague that hates Rome can be obliterated from the earth?
The god that said do unto others as you would have them do unto you? Or the god that says the objective of life is to be he with the biggest house, the most expensive car, the state of the art entertainment system, and the most beauteous concubines?
Your messiah was stripped of his skin and bled dry on a tree of broken bones and you say never again. Never again will they break us and scourge us and grind us into meal. But your messiah looks down at you with eyes of remorse and asks why you refuse to climb up on his cross with him.
Your Jesus stood among people oppressed and destroyed, conquered by the only superpower extant in the world, promised prosperity and freedom if they would only accept Roman culture and the divinity of the Roman gods, a mere token of obsequiousness to those who held the monopoly on proclaimed righteousness.
And promised the scourge and death if they dared speak against what all men knew to be true, that Rome was paramount and had the power to prove it. For who could hold the power, if the gods said nay?
Your Jesus stood among a people broken and occupied, a people crying out for justice and relief, a people enflamed by murder, a people abused by zealots from a foreign land, a people burning for revenge, a people hungry for a messiah to deliver them from the wolves of the world.
But when his contemporaries cried war, he whispered peace. When they cried hate, he whispered love. When they called for justice, he whispered faith. And when they screamed remember the thousands who have been murdered, he counseled turn the other cheek.
The false prophets tell you that you are not Rome, but rather the people of the messiah. They lie. Your messiah preferred to consort with the prostitutes and the homeless, the lepers and the lame.
The false prophets tell you to pray the Prayer of Jebez and thank God for the glory and wealth he had lavished upon your land. They lie. Your messiah said that it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.
The false prophets tell you that you must believe everything they say or you are the enemy of yourself, the consort of evil, the whore of Babylon. They lie. Your messiah said blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.
The false prophets say that you must strike down all who raise their voice and hand against you; that you must strike back against those who have hurt you. They lie. Your messiah said love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.
The false prophets turn their back on their god and embrace the virtues of the system that murdered him.
It is no longer the kingdom of God that they seek. It is the kingdom of Rome. In Rome they have stored their treasure. In Rome they have found their god.
They praise the Roman Republic built in the New World. They praise the New Centurians sent across the ocean to occupy foreign lands. They praise the Senate that debates and decides the way best to ensure all Rome's Citizens receive all they demand, regardless of consequence.
In the words of the immortal Pogo, "We have met the Enemy, and He is Us."
Where would Jesus be today? In whose house would he lay down to sleep? Whose feet would he wash? Whose head would he bless?
Have you a clue?
In closing may this blessing be upon you. May you see yourself as others see and understand the glory that waits inside you. Go in peace, brothers and sisters. Go in peace.
Yours, in hope admidst chaos,
gnimbley the gnome