Laodicean Sonnet

The idea for this sonnet began months ago when I first istened to Malcolm Guite's sermon,  "Not a Chocolate Jesus: Learning from Tom Waits and Johnny Cash". In the opening lines of that message, Malcolm calls for "some piece of sacred art, on the side of a cathedral, maybe, painted very beautifully at the far end of King's College Chapel, somewhere like that. I would love to see the image of Jesus spewing lukewarm Christianity out of his mouth in disgust, a flood of saccharine platitudes, a spewing out of absolute disgust of prosperity gospels all flowing out there, all those versions of Christianity which are based around, 'I'm all right, Jack,' the very things that Jesus is specifically criticizing in that passage in Revelation where he says, 'You say, "I am rich, and have become wealthy, and have need of nothing," and you do not know that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.'" The image arrested my thought, and while I do not  mistake my sonnet for great art or my blog for the wall of a mighty cathedral, I couldn't get away from that picture. The first line came fairly quickly. I worked the rest out on weeks' worth of morning and evening walks through my neighborhood with my dog. I offer it here for what it's worth, perhaps as no more than an introduction to Malcolm's sermon for people who might not otherwise have known about it.

Laodicean Sonnet

So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. - Revelation 3.16

"If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity. I am certain there must be a patent American article on the market which will suit you far better." - C. S. Lewis

I saw the face of Christ fish belly-pale

And bloodless blanched. Five wounds in mottled skin

Glowed livid. From his bowels keened forth a wail.

Bright blazing eyes now banked, glazed, gazed within.

Chest's sudden spasm under golden sash

Belched forth and splattered plastic platitudes.

From white robe's hem now ricocheted and splashed

Best lives, bland smiles, be-happy-attitudes.

From wide mouth many waters thundered forth

Great half-chewed chunks of saltless sentiment.

Gobs, globs of branded worship without worth

Spewed, spattered, spat in torrents of torment.

'Midst Heaven's host dry heaves declared a stop.

Christ wiped his mouth. An angel grabbed a mop.