Humpty Dumpty's Burning in Hell

Our text for today:

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall -

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men

Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again.”

Our sermon on the text:

Humpty Dumpty’s burning in Hell,

Burning in hell for quite a spell,

And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men

Just speak of the torments that never shall end.

Humpty did not sit on a wall

(It really was no wall at all),

But all the rhyme’s wording and all the rhymes words

Have helped to make Humpty a rhyme most absurd.

Humpty did not have a great fall -

In fact, he did not fall at all;

So all the Greek’s grammar and all the Greek’s tense

Will have to help Humpty to make any sense.

Clearly to fall may mean to rise,

And Humpty did rise, surprise, surprise!

For all the wise doctors and all the smart men,

Have helped to make Humpty an egg with no end.

Humpty Dumpty stood on a gate -

It was the gate that was so “great” -

And all of this nonsense of all of this “fall”

Could not be speaking of Humpty at all!

Yes, great is the gate and great just means wide,

And stood on the gate means walked on inside;

(I’ve learned from my college the meaning to seek 

By drawing down deep in the well of the Greek).

Though eggs do have a crackable shell

Their yolks may endlessly suffer in Hell,

For yolks are not mortal and yolks cannot die,

And forever and ever an egg can still fry.

Humpty is burning, yes, burning in Hell -

A terrible truth, but one I must tell,

My heritage of faith and my circle of peers

Have believed this sad fact for thousands of years.

The wall’s a gate; the fall’s a rise,

The gate was great, so say the wise,

And most of the readers of this little rhyme

Have thus understood it for such a long time.

How could so many be so very wrong?

How could so many be wrong for so long?

For all the Church Councils and all the Church Creeds

Have all of the answers that anyone needs.

Humpty is burning, yes, burning in Hell,

Though dirt has reclaimed all the dust of his shell,

And all of the pieces will all be put back

And be made immortal and never to crack.

The yolk and the shell together return,

Together in hell forever to burn;

And all of the language of eggs and an end

Don’t mean how they’re sounding, but what they intend.

Now some say eggs perish, and some say eggs die -

Who’d say such a thing?  Who’d tell such a lie?

It’s all of these liberals, and all of these sects,

And all of these cults - why, who’d you expect?

Humpty Dumpty’ll never die -

Humpty Dumpty’ll always fry;

And all the clear wording and all the words worth

Can’t change the dear doctrine we’ve learned from our birth.

Humpty is burning, yes, burning in Hell,

Death’s just the exit of the yolk from the shell;

Perish is only a figure of speech -

This is what all of the orthodox teach!

“Burn up the egg” is not very clear -

“Destroy the yolk” is nothing to fear;

“Consume” and “Destroy” are figurative terms -

Like fire and chaff and flesh-eating worms.  

If Humpty’s not burning in eternal Hell

Then why should we bother the gospel to tell?

If eggs do not have an immortal yolk

Then torment eternal’s an immoral joke.

Though poor Mother Goose inspired a pure word,

Translations have made it a thing most absurd;

But all of us preachers and all who are wise

Will fry all your eggs, and open your eyes.

Humpty is burning, yes, burning in Hell,

Still begging for butter his torment to quell;

Yet lying in grease his anquish to soak,

And frying forever because of his yolk. 

But now I will close with an offer so swell -

A trip to this altar will save you from Hell;

A ticket to heaven’s egg carton on high,

Or stovetop eternal, forever to fry!

Yes, Humpty’s a riddle that puzzles some folk,

Who don’t comprehend the immortal yolk;

Don’t trust your own reading the meaning to find -

Just come back each Sunday and I’ll tell you mine.