Brother Bird and The Man from Hell

In the foothills of the Blue Ridge

Our peculiar Brother Bird

Took some time to do some writing

Which is what he most preferred.

Willie Waver was now married,

Farren Brimstone done and gone,

And the Big Feud just a mem’ry

When the “rich man” came along.

Well, the rich man was a poor man,

Or at least he so appeared,

Clothed in rags all singed and blackened

With a long white ashen beard.

And he smelled of burning sulfur,

And he reeked of soot and smoke,

With his face and arms all blistered,

Wildly coughing when he spoke.

And he said he was the rich man

Who was sent back from the dead,

Just to warn of endless torment - 

Well, at least that’s what he said.

And he stood out in the graveyard,

Shrieking madly with each breath,

“You will burn in Hell forever!”

Scaring some folks half to death.

But most people thought ‘im crazy,

While some others thought ‘im true,

And a few were pretty shook up,

And not sure just what to do.

That’s when Sheriff Roscoe Ramey

Hauled the rich man off to jail,

And he asked him where he came from,

And he said, “I came from Hell!”

And he asked him what his name was,

And he said, “My name is Dives,”

And said, “Abraham’s my father,

And of brothers I have five.”

And whatever Roscoe asked ‘im,

He would answer just that way,

And keep crying, “Hell’s eternal!”

And that’s all he’d ever say.

Then the Sheriff asked our brother

If he’d come down to the jail,

And attempt a conversation

With the man who came from Hell. 

And it seemed that Dives was eager

With our brother to converse,

Almost like he had to do it

To remove some awful curse.

And by then he was much calmer

As he said with certainty,

“I must tell you that my story

Is most lit-er-al, you see!”

“But it’s not,” our brother told ‘im,

Sort o’ playing right along,

“And to prove you are the rich man

You must prove that I am wrong.”

“Oh, most gladly,” said the rich man,

“I can prove just what I claim,

For a par-a-ble can never

Ever use a proper name.”

Bird: “Ah, the law of proper names, eh?

And just when was that law writ?

And by who was it enacted?

And just who enforces it?

Dives: “In the Scofield Reference Bible

It is manifestly claimed,

In no par-a-ble, his note says

Is an individual named.”

Bird: “Yet another chapter, Scofield,

Heads surprisingly enough

As The Par’ble of A-ho-lah

And (the name) A-ho-li-bah.

“And it’s not coincidental

In each ‘Gospel Harmony’

Luke sixteen and John eleven

Are in close proximity.

“For a name Christ used was Laz’rus,

And he planned just what He said,

For His list’ners knew ‘twas Laz’rus

Who had risen from the dead.

“For a certain man named Laz’rus’

From a poorer family,

Had been sick and on his deathbed

In the town of Bethany.

“And though Laz’rus had arisen,

And had come back from the dead,

Those same fellers weren’t a-listenin’,

Just as Abraham had said.

“But this story of the rich man

Never says that hell’s for aye,

And it’s not the final Judgment

And it’s not the final Day.

“Otis Sellers has a notion

He delineates with zest,

That the story Jesus crafted

Is pure satire at its best.

“It’s a literary method

That our Lord has used before,

And it’s not far-fetched to figure

That He used it here once more.

“Whether parable or satire,

Either-or, I know it’s not

Some newspaper-headline-story:

When? & Where? & Who? & What?

“But a pointed poignant message

From the Lord in sim-i-les

To the covetous and scornful

Mammon-serving Pharisees.

“For they could not serve their mammon

And be servants of the Lord,

Or call Abraham their father

If ol’ Moses they ignored.

“So the po-int of the story

Is of negligence and greed,

Not a cutaway of Hades

For the endless torment creed.

“And when Pharisees and chief priests

Heard some other such from Him-

Well, they didn’t take it lit’ral,

But ‘perceived he spake of them.’

“And in fact, one place, it tells us,

Of our Lord so wise and meek,

That without such kind of stories

Unto them He didn’t speak (Mk 4:11, 34)

“If it’s concrete detailed data,

Such could hardly be believed;

But as lessons in a picture

They are readily received.

“Would the wedding of a king’s son

Not at least appeal to some?

Would the ones who were invited

Kill the ones who bid them come?

“Would a man choose ten to marry

Five of whom he never knew?

Could they purchase oil at midnight?

Could this possibly be true?

“Would the owner of a vineyard

Send his own beloved son

To some mean and wicked servants

After all that they had done?

“But those stories have a message;

Yes, a point so plain to see

When they’re understood as pictures,

And not taken li-t’ral-ly.

“Yes, our Father to His vineyard

Sent the prophets who were slain,

And the precious son is Jesus -

Now, you see, it is so plain.

“And so many of Christ’s sayings

Are constructed like this too,

Where we know that they’re not lit’ral

Yet the points they make are true.

“No one really swallows camels;

No one really strains at gnats;

But it’s so true to the figure

That they really do, do that.

“Who has wood beams in their eyeballs?

Or casts pearls before swine?

Wolves don’t really wear sheep’s clothing,

And the Lord is not a vine.

“And yet spir-it-ual-ly speaking,

Doesn’t ‘vine’ make perfect sense?

Thus these stories and these sayings

Are con-du-its to convince!

“And when people heard the Savior

Did they ask for facts or proof?

No, they knew He spoke in pictures

To point out a certain truth.”

Then the rich man said, “A certain -

‘Twas a certain rich man, see,

So ‘a certain’ means it’s certain

Just as certain as can be!”

Brother Bird then said, ‘A certain

Was the way the Lord began

Oft to tell a pointed story:

‘And there was a certain man…’

“And ‘a certain priest and Levite,’

And a couple certain kings,

And a nobleman and farmer,

And some other certain things.

“And then five times in the gospels

These two words are in a mull,

Where the Lord would say ‘a certain’

When he ‘spake a par-a-ble.’

“So a 'certain' doesn’t mean it’s 

Not a par-a-ble, you see -

It’s a means of introduction,

Not a lit’ral guarantee.

“And the story of the rich man

Does not teach that hell’s for aye -

On the subject of duration

It has nary word to say.”

And then Sheriff Roscoe Ramey

Brought some vittles in a trunk,

With an inmate, Bogus Campbell,

Who was drunker than a skunk.

In the trunk there was a pitcher, 

And some Mason jars of tea,

And some chicken, beans and taters

From the Sheriff’s “Auntie Bea.”

And ol’ Bogus wobbly anchored

On the cot inside the cell,

And lay staring weirdly wide-eyed

At the man who came from hell.

When they all had finished supper

Brother Bird explained to them

Of the contest now a-stirrin’

‘Tween the crazy man and him.

Then the rich man said, “The ‘great gulf’

Is a proof for endless hell;

It is ‘fixed’ and can’t be conquered,

Thus continuous as well.”

Bird: “If I spoke of ‘here to Venus’

As impossible to climb,

It is relative to distance,

But irrelevant to time.”

Then the rich man said, “In torments

Of my body and my soul

I have been and ever will be

While the ceaseless ages roll.”

“Of your body?” asked our brother,

“Of your body?” Why, do tell

How it joined your soul in torments

In the nether world of Hell?

“Has there been a resurrection

To restore your flesh and bones?

Are there skeletons in spirits

To hang tongues and eyeballs on?”

Then the rich man hesitated

In a puzzled sort o’ way,

As he ob-vi-ous-ly didn’t

Know exactly what to say.

And then Bogus Campbell stammered

As he stumbled to a post-

“Bru- bru- brother, are you saying

He’s some kind of gu- gu- ghost?”

“Well…. exactly!” snapped the rich man,

“I’m a phantom from Sheol:

I’m a disembodied spirit;

I’m a never-dying soul!

“But my mind and sense and mem’ry

And awareness I retain,

And the essence of my spirit

Truly feels and suffers pain.”

“But how could it be your spirit?”

Brother Bird asked half amused,

But the rich man didn’t answer,

But seemed cornered and confused.

Then our brother said, “A spirit

Does not have a tongue or eyes,

Or a bosom or a finger,

As the Scripture testifies:

“When the Lord had resurrected,

He said, ‘Handle me, and see,

For a spirit doesn’t have the 

Flesh and bones ye see in me.’

“And it says you saw ol’ Laz’rus

And your father Abraham-

Were they only apparitions

In a nightmare of the damned?

“And just when did your free spirit

Find itself in Hades’ fire?

Was it instantly or shortly

When at last you did expire?”

“Well… it was,” the rich man muttered,

“When I closed my eyes in death,

I im-me-di-ate-ly looked up,

And in hell took my next breath.”

“But the order of the story,”

Brother Bird at once replied

States the fact that you were buried

E’er before you even died.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” said the rich man,

As if taken by surprise -

“First I died, and then was buried,

And in hell lift up my eyes.”

“Ah… you’re right!” our brother told ‘im,

Yes, of course, I must admit-

First you died, and then were buried -

That’s exactly how it’s writ.

“So that means that you were buried

Then, before you were inflamed -

Not the instance that you died, hmm?

As you earlier had claimed.

“For it was your buried body,

Not your disembodied soul

In the grave and in the gravedom

Of both Hades and Sheol.”

Then he showed ‘im how that Hades

Is the Greek word for Sheol,

And can mean a grave or gravedom,

And denote a hole or whole.

And that “Sheol in the Scripture

Is the Gravedom of the Dead,

Of the righteous and the wicked”-

And he proved just what he said:

“In that precious psalm of David,

Of God’s presence he did tell,

How the Lord would still be with him,

Though he made his bed in hell”

“And, ‘what man is he that liveth,

And shall not see death’ said he;

For the Sheol of the grave hole 

Is our common destiny. (89:48)

“In the belly of the great fish;

In the belly of a whale-

Is where Jonah cried in anguish

From the belly of a…hell.”

“And it’s perfect in the English,

Just the way they worded it-

It is hell if it’s the gravedom;

Otherwise it’s grave or pit.”

“And of all the Sheol’s mentioned, 

There’s not one in sixty-five

That e’er speaks of endless torment,

Or of souls that are alive.”

“And the story of the rich man

Never says that hell’s for aye

For it’s not the final Judgment

And it’s not the final Day.”

“But it is a picture story,

And not lit’ral as you tell,

For the Lord used allegory,

When He spake in par-a-ble,

Then the rich man interrupted,

“I was there so I should know-

It’s an actual and a factual

Picture of the world below.”

It was then that Bogus cried out

From the window ledge in dread,

“There’s another spa- spa- spirit

Ca- ca- come back from the dead!”

But the Sheriff only figured

It was spirits from a flask,

When about the rich man’s entry

Brother Bird was quick to ask:

“In the instance that you entered

Would you not have been confused?

Overwhelmed in shock and terror,”

Solemnly our brother mused.

“So just how could you have known it

Was your father Abraham?

How’d ya know it wasn’t Isaac,

Or Bartholomew or Sam?

“In the throes of fiery torment

And the grasp of ghastly pain,

Could you have a conversation

So coherent and so plain?

“Could you frame a fluid sentence,

Or just weep and wail and groan?

And ar-tic-u-late petitions,

Or just shriek and flail and moan?

“From burn-victim testimonies

There is one thing we have learned:

They can’t formulate a sentence

In the midst of being burned.

“And how is it ‘outer darkness’

In such fiery flames so bright?

Or how is it “mists of darkness’

In the midst of blazing light?

“Since you’re sure it is so lit’ral

And of stark reality,

Then my questions are most proper

To see if it’s ‘verily’!

“No, the texture of your story

In the very warp and woof

Of its contrasts, names, and features

Speaks of metaphoric truth.

“Why, the preachers do not preach it

As a text on saving grace -

That to go to Abram’s bosom

‘Evil things’ you have to face!

“Or that angels transport spirits,

And then when they make it through

Abraham’s the first to greet ‘em

With the other side in view!

“And if Laz’rus heard your pleading 

Clear across the gulf in hell,

Then he must have heard the screamin’

Of a million more as well!

“If such sights and sounds surround ‘im

That are anything but nice,

Could you say that he finds ‘comfort’?

Would you call it ‘paradise’?

And then someone went to bangin’,

Loudly bangin’ on the door,

And the Sheriff let him enter

Lest he bang on it some more.

Who then said, “My name is Laz’rus,

And I’ve come back from the dead

To refute this lyin’ con man”-

Well, at least that’s what he said.

Bogus Campbell was a-frightened,

And he slunk back in the cell

From the man who came from Heaven

And the man who came from Hell.

“Laz’rus” looked just like a mummy

Wrapped in gauze from head to toe,

And he smelled just like a dishrag,

And his eyes were all aglow.

In the foothills of the Blue Ridge

People came from hill and dale

To see Laz’rus and the rich man

In the Surry County Jail.

Willie with his darlin’ Daisy,

Ernest Ladd and Sister Smoke,

Ida Clara, Ima Vera, 

And a bunch of other folk.

Like detective Diddy Doright,

And ol’ Fetch, his blue tick hound,

Okie Dokie and his neighbors,

With ol’ Bogus gathered round.

That’s when Laz’rus started listing

Useful facts from A to Z -

Fascinating information 

Versus endless misery.

Of the contrast in the Scriptures

Of eternal life and death,

And of perish and destruction,

And of how the Scripture saith

That the chaff will surely burn up

In a fire you can’t put out,

And that perish means, well, perish

With no shadow of a doubt.

How the pictures in the Scriptures

And the words within the Word

Fully verify the teaching

Of peculiar Brother Bird.

And he pondered how the story

Could have ever come to be

Any proof for endless torment

When it’s just not there to see.

“This account our Lord has given

Does not state that hell’s for aye-

On the topic of duration

It has not a word to say.

“And it was a buried body,

Not a disembodied soul,

And between his death and entrance

Was a proper fun-er-al.

“It’s a pointed picture story,

And it paints the picture well;

Illustrative allegory,

Not a window into hell.”

And that’s when the rich man figured

Who this “Laz’rus” really was,

And remembered a computer

That was named the Wiz of Oz.

So he pulled one piece of wrapping 

With which Laz’rus had been bound,

‘Til the beggar went to whirlin’

Round and round until unwound.

Bogus Campbell’s head was spinnin’

And he blamed the whole affair

On an impure run of moonshine

Which he swore off then and there.

Then the beggar was the focus

In the Surry County pen

In his night shirt and his long johns,

And an impish little grin.

Willie whispered to sweet Daisy,

“What a clever little sneak;”

While the rich man roared in fury,

“It is Micro Chip the geek!”

Well, I guess that was a miscue;

Yes, a careless little slip,

For our brother asked the rich man,

“How do you know Micro Chip?”

And just then ol’ Fetch the coon hound

Toward the rich man quickly veered

Lickin’ greasy scraps of chicken

Tangled in the ashen beard.

And the beard and wig fell off ‘im,

And to ev’ryone’s surprise

It was Doctor Farren Brimstone

In that soot and smoke disguise!

How he wished he were a spirit

And could quickly disappear,

But he wasn’t and he couldn’t

And then Brother Bird drew near.

“And said, Farren, oh poor Farren,

What you’ll do your case to win,

And with such determination

That the torments never end.

“If it’s true it can’t be altered

By a question or a doubt,

And my tiny little squirt gun

Will not ever put it out.

“If it’s not you can’t create it

Through a vote or by a creed,

So relax and get your Bible

And just open it, and read.

“No one’s dug down to the center

Of the earth so they can know,

But we can dig in the Scriptures

For to see if things are so.

“And this story of your ‘rich man’

Never says that hell’s for aye,

And it’s not the final judgment,

And it’s not the final day.

“But it is a picture story

Of the mammon-servers greed,

Not a cutaway of Hades

For the endless torment creed.

“No, the story of the rich man

Does not teach that hell’s for aye -

On the subject of duration

It has nary word to say.”

In the foothills of the Blue Ridge

Bogus Campbell sobered up,

And you won’t find bootleg whiskey

In the bottom of his cup.

And our brother hopes that others

Will respond as soberly,

And soon learn that endless torment

Is as bogus as can be.