John The Baptist in the Temple of Augustus, Pula, Croatia

When we visited the port town of Pula, Croatia this year, we came upon the Temple of Augustus which had been built between 2BC and 14AD during the Emperor's lifetime. Surprisingly it had survived until 1944 when it was hit by a bomb. Rebuilt in 1947 it is now intactus once again. A large statue of John the Baptist by famous Croatian artist Ivan Mestrovic had been placed inside. I saw this as being somewhat ironic and imagined a conversation between the Emperor and the Baptist.

These walls are cold, the wind howls outside.

Voices indecipherable whistle around this chamber

ritual chant, some moan, weep.

An insistent murmur becomes louder

Baptist, Baptist! Did you enjoy your locusts and honey?

Why are you here? You, a Jew. A vagrant

in my temple. You are no God. I am a God,

you an impostor. Well speak! Speak to me...

Speak to your Emperor! I can't stand this silence.

This silence, deathly silence of centuries

the clicking of insects... at times

I thought I heard birds calling...

Lately my temple was blown apart.

We were rebuilt. There are times I wish it

had remained rubble. A god's life is a lonely one.

I command you to speak.

What would you have me say Augustus?

Emperor, Emperor! I am due that respect!

At least. I am a God. A God. You are

a peasant, a Jewish peasant

placed here in my temple like a god

your hand in gesture as though you hold

the meaning of the universe!

Let us see prophet what became of you.

I can conjure it up now, you see Salome dancing

your life away, an entrancing sight..?

So charmed was Herod that he granted her wish.

Now we find your severed head on a silver platter,

Ha – see the the needles in your tongue,

an artistic touch, some might say barbaric..?

But tell me, what did you give to your people to

deserve this honour? Speak!

What would you have me say Augustus?

That I am a thief being here? I was no thief.

I am no god. Nor Messiah. I gave my people hope.

Hope in the vengeance and mercy of Jehovah.

This, in the tyranny, sword thrust and

blood lust of Roman occupation. When all was despair

they had that sweet swell of hope within

to sup upon, that one day we would rise again.

We did. But we lost our belief in Jehovah.

Baptist you were the fool. Humans are flawed.

The common herd requires direction,

requires a whip crack across the back

a sword at the throat to keep them

in line, to make them obey. I gave them this.

My gift. Thus we marry order to duty.

I also prescribed law and made government.

I built their cities, their roads, their tunnels

bridges and canals, their aqueducts. Yes, their prisons too.

I conquered and slaughtered their enemies.

I gave them their triumphs. I fed them, housed them

I built arenas for their entertainment

trained the gladiators, starved the beasts

so that they would crack the bones, tear

the flesh and spray the blood, of those who

would ruffle the robes of our Holy Mother Roma.

The herd loves to see blood seep into the sand.

It's cathartic. And you Baptist? I ask you again.

What did you do to deserve this place in my temple?

You baptised the so called Son of God?

Yeshua was no more god than you Augustus.

Jehovah was his god. He was a good man.

He lived by our Torah. He brought

hope and food for the soul to the poor,

the hungry, the sick, the destitute. When

they had nothing he gave them joy and the Holy Spirit.

But Baptist, he was no god. We know that now.

He didn't die, I know that. The one instance

we have of crucifixion failing. He died

when we found him later and made certain

he would never rise again. Of course

Tiberius kept it quiet, we failed in our execution.

He expected it all to dissipate with time.

Now there's a god, my son Tiberius.

A cruel god, eh? No one prays to him now.

But those stories persisted. And Yeshua

became Jesus Christus. Temples everywhere.

The most grand in Holy Mother Rome. A travesty!

Augustus, figuratively, it was no lie.

He rose again in his teachings. But they

were tailored to Saul's vision.

Some excised some inserted, three hundred

years of shaping the garment, to fit the plot

to clothe the narrative.

He would have been horrified had he known.

Baptist, I still don't know why you are here!

These walls are as cold as fate
 the wind howls outside.

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