The Sophomore
          (Romans 1:22)

The sophomore says, ``What is truth?''
and turns to bask in the admiration of his peers.

How modern how daring how liberating
How modern how daring how liberating
they chant

The sophomore, being American
Doesn't know
That his ``question''

   modern
       skeptical
           cynical

Was asked before, by a

   modern
       skeptical
           cynical
   urbane cosmopolitan

Politician (appointed not elected)
Who happened to live two thousand years ago.

Like many politicians he cared

    Less about ideals
         than results

    Less about ends
         than means

    Less about anything
         than keeping his job
              (and his head).

We might call him
A bit brutal
Though `firm' would be kinder
(And no doubt Stalin, who let nobody go, laughed at his laxness)
He didn't like his job; perhaps he no longer hoped for better
(Nor feared worse, except regarding his head).

And when these wily Jews
With their heads-I-win, tails-you-lose
     conundrums
Brought forth their madman,
His first impulse was to play the Roman:
``I find nothing wrong with him,
  See to it yourselves.''

But when they mentioned `King' and `Caesar'
His heart froze.

If he killed their madman
    He'd start a riot
         and lose his job
             (and his head)

If he saved the King of the Jews
    He'd piss off Caesar
         and lose his job
             (and his head)

And when his wife told him to have
   Nothing to do with the righteous lout
She didn't tell him anything
   He hadn't already figured out.

So he punted.

``Not my jurisdiction!  Take him to see Herod!''
(who just happened to be in town....)

Herod appreciated the courtesy
But wasn't worried
        And sent the sharp-tongued fool
     (Who suddenly didn't have much to say,
    funny how people lose it under pressure....)
  back
In the attire proper
  to his Royal State.

His ass is covered---if Herod has no problem,
Caesar certainly won't.  The fool can be king
of whatever world he wants
as long as it's not Caesar's.

``I'm letting him go,'' he said with a shout.
(Looks like he'll last this one out....)

The crowd's reaction puzzled him.
  They really wanted him dead.
They didn't want the King of the Jews,
  They wanted Barabbas instead
(And, as Josephus records, they got him)

Oh well, he thought,
They all look the same to me.
And we'll get Barabbas next time.

And if I can get them to say
   ``We have no king but Caesar!''
   By killing a madman,
Hell, I'll kill ten a day.

And then Pilate had his fun
  A little joke
    Short
      To the point
        Trilingual

And all this
Went as it always does
When someone gets caught
In the gears of government

And there's a scientific explanation
     (no doubt)
For the superstitious rumors
     (persisting to this day)
That it didn't all end
With a tomb
and a Roman squadron on guard.

Our sophomore doesn't know about this
He doesn't recognize his kindred spirit
(Or truth either, as he admits).

I guess we haven't learned much
in two thousand years.



