The Demise of American Christianity

The North Carolina 'preacher' who on Mother's Day preached a sermon


in which he stated that lesbians and "queers" should be kept behind

an electrified fence until they die, is evidence of the demise of

Christianity in America. During the seventies, the same 'preacher'

advocated the hanging of homosexuals from "a white oak tree."

This man and his church are no more Christian than the Devil himself.

In fact, one could argue that this congregation has been completely

overwhelmed by evil. The frightening fact about this incident is that this type

of pseudo-Christian, anti-Christ attitude is rampant throughout the South

and the Midwest. It is the same doctrine that Christians used to excuse

themselves from lynching African-Americans. It is also further evidence

of the degenerate nature of the people who are trying to take over our country

and our government.

Three Lives Converged


(At the Grand Canyon with Scooter and Liz)



For Elizabeth Grey Fussell (1960-1973)







We walked to the altar of the cathedral of stone,

as through its halls the wolves’ song rang.

Like an angel an eagle soared

high above Wotan’s Throne.



Below us the river like foaming fountains

christened the Earth and its mystical mountains-

man and woman and man’s best friend,

alone with God and His granite garden.



Shadows of clouds in slow motion moved

across the face of the sculptured rock.

Time disappeared in the silent fusion

of Heaven’s cape with the canyon’s cloak.



Hand in hand of love we spoke,

of loyalty, faith and enduring trust.

Prayers we offered to the world as gifts

returned as snow in the evening mist.



Beyond the peaks the setting sun

streaked the sky with its scarlet rays.

We called from the cliffs the sacred names

of the mother of nights and the father of days.



Upon the frame of the cosmic loom

three souls among the stars were spun.

Upon the banks of the rainbow’s flume

three lives converged and became as one.





Copyright © 1994 John M. Marshall

Aftermath: West Nickel Mines






On Thursday, October 12, 2006, a crew demolished the

one-room Amish school where, ten days prior, Charles

Carl Roberts, milk truck driver, had shot five young girls.





Dawn is still an hour away. The bulldozer’s

chuff of ignition sounds like a dinosaur belching.

It startles the blackbirds from their red maple branches.

The clapboard schoolhouse is a murky grey box.

It seems transparent, an architectural ghost, as if

it too had died. One man, rocking on his heels,

says something, laughs like a weed-whacker.

A co-worker shoves the speaker’s shoulder and,

for a moment, all four hands become fists. Loose

crime scene tape flutters like thin banners of an

abandoned country. Ants have discovered the

splinter-edged holes the bullets made, and they nibble at

the dried brown pools. Rulers, textbooks, unbloodied desks

have been ferried to another school. A newswire stringer

murmurs into his recorder. ‘The walls vibrate,

as if echoing the frantic pleas of last week’s victims.

This is what happens when man cannot reach high

enough to slap God’s face.’ He grins, pleased.

An iron blade penetrates the foundation like

a lance bursting a boil. The birds and the mice

retreat to await the incipient pasture. They wonder

why men bother at all: building it up, only to bring it down.





Copyright © 2008 Scott Urban

Poetry by John Marshall - http://pangalactic.venus-rising.net/

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A man never stands as tall as when he kneels to help a child.

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