A SERMON BY DOCTOR PEP
457
that, foremost, we have to settle. Think of the old tale of Pharaoh
bathing his leprosy in the blood of Israel's children.
If
you picture
him sitting evil in his basaltic tub, see his head like the head of a
swimming snake, you are partIy in error. You ought to see him sad,
as anyone is taking medicine and treatments. Any way you want to
pick this thing up you have layers and series. The welfare of the
common rests on the beasts, and as for the greatness of the great,
the perfect representations of happiness and satisfaction which we
have had the get-up to make the image of democratic everybody, it
was always felt to come from the thousands and millions underneath,
the beasts and the lowly. The ignorant poor bringing their children to
be cured of scrofula by the touch of a British queen-I see the
pudgy-headed infant Sam Johnson carried all the way from Lichfield
among them-brought them in that thought, to get back a little of
their own from the heart-rich sovereign fed thick by them.
Spring and Easter make me think of these things, dear listeners.
The slaughtered Osiris gets himself together again and his scattered
body comes to life; the grave-cold Redeemer rises up; the tadpole
shucks the tallowy, pond-bobbing egg and his tender feet grow
scratchy, and the fat of life begins to sizzle. The new styles have been
showing since February; we little dream of the love-raging cults that
preceded when we see those sprays of cloth flowers worn in the
parade or of the legs that trembled for the panting touch of Attis in
the hobbled march of tight skirts. And pretty soon there'll be little
cake and fudge lambs in the windows that the children will croon
at and eat. Yes, eat the lamb made to eat. Why not? Is there any
real love short of eating? Bite off the tail, the little feet, the head, and
make inarticulate love with the hungry tongue and amorous teeth,
learn biting love with the little pure divinity lamb. Have you heard
the mother tell her little Tommy, "I could eat you up!" You have;
she says it, but she does not gobble him like the cold-blooded guppy
or the indiscriminate feasting sow. And we shudder when we read of
poor Thyestes dished up his children unsuspecting by that hateful
king and have deep horror and deep envy of his ignorant cannibal
dinner because he has the tragic true love of assimilating
his
own
into his own body again and returning them to the glue of his bones
and the fat of his kidneys. Or turn your thoughts to eucharistic wine
and wafers. "You shall eat my body and drink my blood"-terrible to
