Pentecost 16 | Luke 16:19-31
In the Taoist Treatise on Response and Retribution, there is told the
tale of a man named Fan Ki, who was famous for being, well, an evil
scoundrel, to put a fine point on it. He stirred up unrest amongs his
neighbors, causing arguments, inciting them to sue one another in
court. He even encouraged people to steal and rape. And then one day,
to his great surprise, Fan Ki died.
In spite of the fact that he was such a wicked rascal, his relatives
were preparing his body for burial when, all of a sudden, it was
reanimated before their very eyes. Fan Ki had come back to life, and
boy! did he have a story to tell.
He called all of his relatives to gather around him, and told them,
“I have died and gone to the land of the dead. I met Yama, the
Dark King of that realm, and he said to me, ‘This is where the
dead are punished for the evil that they did during their lives. Those
who are alive have no idea what is waiting for them! Everyone has to
endure pains that are in direct proportion to the wickedness that they
inflicted during their lives.’”
Unfortunately, Fan Ki’s family didn’t believe him. They
thought he was having a fever dream, and they were not at all surprised
that someone who had gone through what he had gone through might be a
little delirious.
But Yama, the King of the Dead, was watching from his Dark Kingdom, and
decided to make an example of Fan Ki. And so, at Yama’s command,
the unfortunate man picked up a knife and cut at himself, crying,
“This is my punishment for encouraging my neighbors to lead evil
lives.”
Then he put out both of his eyes, saying, “This is my punishment
for looking at my parents in anger, and for lusting after women!”
Then he cut off his right hand, crying out, “This is my
punishment for killing all those animals!” Then he sliced into
his own chest and pulled forth his beating heart, calling out,
“This is my punishment for torturing others to death!”
Finally, he cut out his own tongue as punishment for lying and slander,
but the crowd had to infer that from his actions, because, you know, he
had no tongue.
News of this amazing display spread like wildfire and people rushed
from far and wide to watch Fan Ki as he writhed about on the ground in
his own blood. Which he did for the next six long days until he finally
expired, this time for good. And they all lived happily ever after.
It’s a similar story to our Gospel reading, except, of course,
it’s a heck of a lot more gruesome. It’s like, the story
from Luke is the Ron Howard version, and the story from the Taoist
Treatise is the Quintin Terrantino version. My guess is that if we had
more scripture stories like this in church, we’d have more men!
Just oing my part for gender balance, here.
These two stories are cautionary tales, stories of wicked people who
have died and must suffer the consequences for their actions in life.
Our study of Dante’s Inferno in our adult Sunday School class
covers the same kind of territory, only in much greater detail, and in
some cases, even much more graphic terms.
In the case of the rich man in our reading from Luke, he longs to
return to the living to warn them so that they do not suffer the same
fate. He is prevented from doing so, but the living are getting the
message anyway, through Jesus, which is a nice moebius twist.
In the Taoist story, the wicked man does return, and delivers his
message punctuated by a series of gory and dramatic flourishes. None of
Fan Ki’s relatives are going to forget his warning anytime soon.
In the case of Dante, a living man descends into Hell, and then ascends
to Purgatory and Paradise, and returns to the world to inform people of
what awaits them.
In my opinion, we are primed to hear this message precisely because we
have been so dismissive of it. What I mean is, because those who deign
to speak for God have used the threat of Hell in such an abusive and
irresponsible manner, we—rightly—disregard anything they
have to say, but we also—perhaps wrongly—disregard anything
having to do with Hell, too. I think this is a case of throwing out the
damned with the sulfer, if you get my meaning. Because there ARE people
in Hell, and we would do well to heed the warning in these stories.
Before you freak out, let me explain what I mean. I remember once, when
Margaret and I were taking our confirmation class together at St.
George’s Episcopal Church in Riverside, Fr. Gene asked us about
Hell. The room positively erupted in a spray of clashing opinions.
After hearing some of them, Margaret exclaimed, “I can’t be
confirmed in this church if it teaches that there IS a hell.” But
then she thought for a minute, and clarified, “Well, I might be
able to accept the fact that there is a Hell, but I can’t believe
that God would actually SEND anyone there.”
Then a wonderful woman I was very fond of named Bonnie said, “Fr.
Gene, I just can’t be confirmed if this Church teaches there
ISN’T a Hell with anybody in it.”
Margaret was making a very important distinction, and one that,
I’m afraid, my friend Bonnie missed. When Emmanuel Swedenborg
made his historic explorations of the Heavens and the Hells, he
discovered something quite surprising to him, and to many others as
well. That God has never damned anyone. That God has never judged
anyone. And yet the Hells were full of people. How could this be? What
he was told was that every soul seeks the place that it is most
comfortable in. That when a soul passes over, it is like moving to
another country, but it is a lateral move, no better and no worse than
their life on earth.
Therefore, the kind of existence that a person has cultivated here
will simply continue in the next life. As the Buddha says in our
reading today, “Suffer here, suffer there. Happy here, happy
there.” Or as Jesus puts it elsewhere, “Whatsoever ye reap,
that also shall ye sow.”
The fact is, I know plenty of people who are already in Hell. What they
have sown in their lives is an infernal existence of abuse, addiction,
exploitation, and isolation. They surround themselves with others who
are comfortable with exactly the same sort of lives, and they project
the fears, anxieties and suspicions that they themselves live with onto
everyone else, often most inaccurately.
I have seen life in Hell, and I didn’t need someone to return
from the dead to show me what it is like. I’m guessing you might
know a person or two who also fits this description.
On the other side, however, I have known people that are already in
Heaven. These are people who cultivate community, who love without
condition, and return kindness for anger. And I have no doubt that when
they pass over, their lives will change little. The goodness they have
cultivated here will make them feel comfortable in a place surrounded
by those who have likewise cultivated kindness and compassion.
Me? I’m waiting for our class to hit the Purgatorio, because I
think that’s pretty much where I live. I have cultivated some bad
habits in my time here on earth, but I have also known real
love—I have given it and I have received it. I struggle with my
share of resentment, but I also have dug great wells of gratitude in my
time. I struggle with envy and pride, but I also have a pretty fair
grasp of my limitations and vulnerabilities, and my desperately real
need for others. I fully expect to hit the celestial equivalent of the
Fruitvale district upon my own passing, and I am okay with that.
But I am not CONTENT with it. The difference is that I have an
ambition to be a better person than I am. I have this notion that I am
not a lost cause—or a lost soul—but that through the
guidance of the spiritual teachers and my own conscience I may yet be
able to cultivate a greater share of heaven in my life.
And let us not think that anyone is a lost cause. Such teachers as
Swedenborg, the Buddha, the sages of Hinduism, and even such Christian
teachers as Origen, Charles Williams and C.S. Lewis assure us that even
after death, people have the ability to change their zip code, and can
sing “I’m Movin’ On Up” just like the
Jeffersons.
But in the next life, no less than it is in this one, that kind of
change is hard work. We become set in our ways, and breaking old habits
and unhelpful patterns of thought are very difficult indeed. These
stories from Jesus, the Taoists, and even Dante aren’t scary
because there’s some great and nasty God who is going to throw us
into Hellfire if we don’t follow all of His inane rules. Because
the injustice of that is so transparent that even if it were so,
we’d be able to cling to our own moral high ground for all of
eternity.
No, it’s even scarier than that, precisely because it IS just.
God is not going to send us into hellfire because we broke any silly
“rules.” We are going to walk directly into the kind of
place we have made for ourselves right here and right now, and
we’re going to do it with our own two feet.
And there is always redemption. We can always aspire to more and
achieve a more blessed state, if that is what we truly want and we are
willing to face the habits and patterns that keep us on our current
trajectory, whether in this life or the next. No one is responsible for
where you are but you. No one chooses where I am headed but me. No one
can decide to turn around and walk in another direction but us.
I’m sure my mother was just repeating what her mother told her,
but I can remember her scolding me, “You made your bed, now you
lie in it.” Neither Jesus nor the Buddha could have said it any
better. Let us pray…
God of wisdom and mercy,
You hate nothing that you have made and you bid all people
to live in community and harmony with one another and with thee.
Grant us insight and discernment to see the ways in which we have
created islands of isolation for ourselves,
the ways in which we have alienated one another and thee,
and give us the will to change our hearts.
Let us cry with thy servant Mechtild of Magdeburg,
“God has granted me the power to change my ways.”
Help us to claim that power, and let us lean upon thee
As we choose to walk toward greater compassion,
greater honesty, greater integrity, and greater community,
as we seek to live a life that is both blessed and a blessing
to everyone we meet. Amen.