Sinners in the Hand of an Angry God (Seuss)

What if Jonathan Edwards memorable sermon “Sinners in the Hand of an Angry God” was written in the style of Dr. Seuss’ The Cat in the Hat? It might go something like this:

EdwardsInTheHatTo Fall In Due Time

We sat there in church.
We listened so well.
The preacher stepped up
to tell us about hell.

With tales of horror,
that sound like Stephen King,
We sat on the seat edge
with sweat that did cling.

The preacher he taught,
about our feet sliding.
Explaining the text,
no truth was he hiding.

To walk in a place
so slippery and wet.
A most foolish idea
you are sure to regret.

You’ll fall down
into a wide gaping pit.
And you will not like it.
Not one little bit.

And when
the preacher went thump!
How that thump made us jump!

Come look!
God’s hand holds you on better than rope.
Come look!
Now you know it.
Please don’t be a dope.
`Tis God’s grace keeps you,
on that slippery wet slope.

It sounds very bad,
and it is really no joke.
Going to hell,
a place filled with fire and smoke.

You’ll fall right down into this place
on your own.
No push is needed.
By your weight you are thrown.
Walk on a wet path
and your likely to slip.
When you do,
only you’re to blame for your trip.

The reason you still walk
and do not fall yet.
Your number was not called
Your time is not set.

But our nature yells: No!
Make this fright go away!
I am healthy and fit.
Stop saying I’m clay!
I want an escape.
I am not all that bad.
I want an escape.
More good works I will add.

And life looks just fine.
Fine, from where I now sit.
God’s anger sleeps on.
I won’t be in that pit.
God’s wrath sleeps not.
The fire is hot and aglow.
Wake now from your slumber,
while God’s anger is slow.

Words that cut to the heart,
about human condition.
It rebels against God,
sends me to perdition.

The fire is made ready.
The furnace glows hot.
The devil waits for you,
They are ready, your not!
The preacher kept talking,
all `bout hate, anger, wrath.
These God has stored up for those on
the wrong path.

Listen up!
To those in hell already.
They walked on the wet slope.
They too were unsteady!
Don’t take my word for it.
Let’s ask the undead.
A grisly interview
that filled me with dread.

I didn’t intend to be in this pit.
Thought I was legit,
where you now sit.
It came like a thief.
It caught me off guard.
When death came to me,
it hit me real hard.

The preacher he warned us.
You hang by a thread.
Over burning brimstone
and flames that must be fed.
We sat there in silence.
We sat there and shook.
We sat there and sat there,
with a most fearful look.

For those unconverted,
there is no promise made.
Nor is there much hope
for those with debt unpaid.
God’s one obligation,
to save those that believe.
Faith in King Jesus
gives the only reprieve.

His wrath is like water
rising high, high, higher.
The flood of God’s anger
shoves you right in the fire.
Not getting God’s wrath,
have one more example.
an arrow through the heart
that ought to be ample.

The wicked are trampled,
and placed under foot.
They are crushed and swept up,
like ashes and soot.
In anger God stomps them.
On them He will tread.
Wrath without pity
for those souls He will shred.

Held up,
by God’s restraining, sovereign hand.
Our time,
how it slips by
like hour glass sand.
Held up,
till He lets us go from His hand.

Spared not!
He’ll care not, as He tosses us in.
Sent down,
because we are tainted by sin.
Bottomless gulf,
We’re sent to infinite gloom.
Isaiah has told us,
God’s wrath sealed our doom.

Said God:
My wrath is what I will show to you.
Your future,
I don’t mind at all if I do.
This is my design.
Ordained from the start.
Showing my wrath
that keeps us far apart.
My power must be seen,
It’s part of My glory.
Tormented souls,
why that’s part of the story.

God gathers the elect.
some from every land.
He calls those He will save.
The rest dropped from His hand.

Said the preacher:
You’ve been given a scare.
This preaching on hell,
why it’s so very rare.
You dwell in the land of the living.
Grab hold of Jesus!
Heed the words I’m giving.

Then we left the church.
Our heads hung down low.
Yes thinking, about life down below.
This story of torment,
Is that how we’re won?
This really, no really
was not all that fun.
All that talk of the fire.
The tale about hell.
It sounds nothing like
the one told by Rob Bell.

What do you think?

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