Myth
A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.
Another Reading, from the ancient Egyptian tale known as Setne II:
One day, Setne and his son Si-Osire observe two funeral processions — one of a rich man who is attended to with honor, and another a poor man who is carried off with no fanfare to the cemetery. Setne remarks that the rich man must have been happy to be remembered with wailing and mourning. Si-Osire contradicts his father and offers to show him the fates of the poor man not mourned, and the rich man who was mourned. The two visit the Duat, the land of the dead ... They see that the gate's pivot rests atop one unfortunate soul's right eye, who pled for mercy and loudly cursed his fate. Setne spies one especially distinguished servant wearing royal linen, standing near Osiris, whom he concludes must be of exceptionally high rank … After this, Si-Osire explains to his father the truth: that the richly dressed man he observed standing in a place of honor near Osiris was the unmourned poor man he had just witnessed. The rich man's "burial equipment" were wrested off him and given to the poor man, whose good deeds had outweighed his misdeeds. Si-Osire reveals that the miserable man upon whose eye the gate hinged was the rich man who had been buried with honor and ceremony back in Memphis.[i]
Hear ends the reading. Familiar, huh?
Great myths tell us what we somehow already know to be true ... but are prone to forgetting. With their common ancient themes that mysteriously cross cultures (like creation out of chaos, great floods, giant dragons and sentient serpents, and indeed, dark underworlds of the dead), myths stir a deep seemingly “original” place in our hearts; a collective memory of the way things have been, perspective on the way things are; and inspiration for the way things might be.
C.S. Lewis—a big fan of mythology—called the story of Christ a “true myth,” in that it quote “[works] on us in the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened.”[ii] Lewis suggests that Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection are God’s true myth, told directly by God. And that God works in and through our storytellers and our poets and our writers and our composers and our artists to tell God’s truth, in many ways, over and over, through time and space. Tell us those things that we already know to be true … but are prone to forgetting.
Lewis first posited this “true myth” idea in a letter he wrote to a friend in 1931, while still in the midst of his faith journey – not quite yet a practicing Christian. I detect in this letter’s connection between Christ and myth the twinkle of the magic of his imagination that would create a mythical lion named Aslan and a world called Narnia two decades later.
And Jesus of Nazareth? He was aware of the power of myth to connect us to what we already know to be true. In today’s parable, he is picking up on a well-known mythological theme; it’s possible the very story I began with was on his mind.[iii]
It’s just one of the tales of the land of the dead with reversal of fortunes, torment on one side and blessed comfort on the other that could be found in Egyptian, Greco-Roman and Jewish traditions.
As one scholar clarifies,“[the story] is not intended as a cosmological description or an apocalypse of otherworldly secrets;” It’s not a map of life of life after death. “The afterlife scene only provides a setting for the story.”[iv]
So no, this parable is not a doctrinal teaching on the afterlife. I don’t think we are meant to be preparing for this precise picture of Hades and hellfire. But it is, I believe Jesus our great storyteller using myth to remind us of what we already know to be true, but … are prone to forgetting.
Our rich man asks if he can warn his loved ones who are still living about his fate, and Abraham refuses this request, insisting that if they didn’t hear it from Moses and the prophets, they won’t hear it from a dead man. Because … of course, somewhere, they already know … but are prone to forgetting. Or perhaps, denying.We shouldn’t actually need new signs.
We shouldn’t need a ghost to knock on our door and tell us what we already know, in that “original” place in our hearts.
We already know it feels unnatural to walk past a suffering soul on the street.
We already know the tension we feel when locking ourselves down behind walls.
We already know that in the end “we can’t take it with us.”
We already know that gates and walls cut us off from one another, and prevent human flourishing.
We already know that hoarding unnecessary wealth while others go hungry is not the way we were created to be
We already know that placing our power and privilege on parade amidst the suffering of the world is sinister.
And I think that when we forget and, worse, deny we know these things, it’s nothing less than the denial of who we are. In that deep original place. And that is a kind of torment.
That rich man in purple robes who walls himself from the suffering of the world keeps showing up. In ourselves (myself), and in others. He’s sure showing up all around us today.
And … So is God. Every time. Always. God shows up. The cross is never the end of the story. The suffering on the street is never the end of the tory. Of any of our stories.
We already know. That in this life (this life), we are meant to live now—as citizens of the coming realm of God, so close we can see it sometimes. And it looks like the moment the unnamed rich man tears down his gate before it’s too late. Gives away what he does not need. Steps into his community. And, finally, introduces himself to Lazarus. And the world finally knows his name, as he crosses the chasm, out of the fire. And remembers what we somehow already knew to be true.
[i] This summary compiled with the help of good old Wikipedia, but nerding out has and can also be done here and here and many other places. You can study the original papyrus at the British Museum website (it remains in their collection, having not yet been returned to the Egyptian people).
[ii] Lewis, C. S. The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis, Volume 1: Family Letters, 1905-1931 (p. 977). (Kindle Edition.
[iii] This is, of course, debatable (and indeed debated!), but fun to imagine. Theologian Richard Bauckham wrote, “It is quite plausible that a version of the Egyptian and Jewish story was current in first-century Palestine and that Jesus would have known it. Thus (assuming the parable to be authentic) he could have borrowed the two motifs from it. On the other hand, he may well have known other stories which used one or both motifs. He could have known the motifs without consciously borrowing them from any one particular story. In any case, he has used them to construct a new story, which as a whole is not the same as any other extant story.1” As quoted in The Afterlife Imagery in Luke's Story of the Rich Man and Lazarus by Biblical Scholar Outi Lethipuu. For a really interesting, much deeper and far more nuanced dive into this parable, read it! Lethipuu examines the many ways Christian thinkers have taken on this parable, and has plenty of fair critiques for many takes (including the one I have presented here!).
Finally, I commend to you this wonderful piece about the musical Hadestown from Freya Bradley. It’s not quoted, but definitely working between the lines of this sermon. Hadestown hints at so much more in Seen and Unseen.