The men of Nineveh shall rise in judgment with this generation, and shall condemn it:
because they repented at the preaching of Jonas; and, behold, a greater than Jonas is here.
The queen of the south shall rise up in the judgment with this generation,and shall condemn it:
for she came from the uttermost parts of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon;
and, behold, a greater than Solomon is here.
Christ’s words from Matthew 12:41,42
It’s Sunday again for you cloistered patricians
aloof from the madness, the magic and myth;
who trust in your wisdom, investments, physicians
unready to answer forthwith:
“Why bother with worship – in church or the zoo –
why weaken the links with a dull set of tools ?”
you ask yourself over your high-end Tarrazu,
bemused at the fables of fools.
You’ve bartered salvation for New York Times articles,
sipping on bitterness (shade-grown organic).
You settle for molecules, atoms and particles
unfairly-traded, satanic –
while you celebrate emptiness, general futility
musing on nothingness, sure of specifics
ensconced in your kitchens of pampered gentility
flirting with atheist physics.
Those simple plebeians: you’d love to enlighten them
help them, like you, to become a free-thinker
but you remain tasteful, for boldness might frighten them
reeling in fairy tales: hook, line and sinker.
Yet somebody, somewhere has uttered your sentence
(though you abhor judgement, let’s read it again).
Sheba and Nineveh, versed in repentance
await you – not whether but when.
The darkness is brewing unholy filtration;
the wine of the harlot approaches the rim;
your guilt is augmenting in slow percolation;
you shrug it all off on a whim.
The souls of Assyria rise from your paper
they watch in amazement, prepare your abyss.
Your coffee now brims a more sulfurous vapor;
oh sinner – there’s something amiss:
It is Sunday in Babylon. What if your sunlight ends…
why are there mobs in the streets of the nation?
Shall you have breakfast – or calculate dividends…
what would you pay for salvation?