Supposedly You will spit people out
if they’re lukewarm and don’t love You enough,
so onto life’s afflictions and its doubt
we’ve got to add some other awful stuff:
the visions ancient people had of You
as angry, punitive, abusive dad,
who’d hurl us into hell for what we do–
if we’re not good enough or still too bad.
But I have had to spit out such a view,
that haunted, nearly driving me insane,
and damaged and killed many others too,
that’s deemed as sacred, but I find profane.
No, I can’t swallow, needing so much help,
a God by whom we’re spit instead of held.