What will make this tension alive for me today? I have recently been immersed in reading Greek mythology, exploring a musical I was introduced to several weeks ago called Hadestown, based on the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice (follow the underlined link to see a plot synopsis and performances).
Oddly, this teaching hums beneath the story of Hadestown.
At its core, Hadestown is a world shaped by fear of scarcity. Hades builds a kingdom on the promise of safety. The underworld, with its walls, the work routine, and Hades order, while providing protection from the chaos above. However, the cost is high. Workers trade their freedom for the illusion of security. They sing in rhythm, not because they are free, but because they are bound. It is a world where anxiety has become the organizing principle.
This is precisely the world Jesus warns against. “Do not worry about your life…” is not naïve optimism. It is a refusal to let fear become lord. Worry, in Jesus’ telling, is not just an emotion; it is a kind of allegiance.
When anxiety rules, it dictates our choices. Our relationships are affected, and our vision of what is possible becomes limited. We begin to believe there is never enough; never enough love, never enough time, never enough provision. Through grasping and hoarding, we build our own little Hadestowns.
Eurydice embodies this tension. She is not foolish or faithless. She acts from hunger. She is cold and afraid. When she chooses to go to Hadestown, it is not because she desires wealth or power, but because she fears not having enough to survive. Her decision is deeply human. It is the logic of worry made visible: I must secure my life, even if it costs me my soul. The Greek myths on which the story is based provide the drama that strikes at our hearts, hearing Jesus's words. It is hard not to be anxious.
And then there is Orpheus. Orpheus lives by the logic Jesus gestures toward. He trusts in a song not yet finished, a provision not yet visible. He seeks first something beyond survival: beauty, love, harmony. “Seek first the kingdom…” Jesus says, “and all these things will be added to you.” Orpheus embodies that seeking, even when it looks impractical. For Eurydice, focused on survival in the musical, Orpheus's quest looks foolish.
The tragedy of Hadestown is that even Orpheus is not immune to anxiety. In the final moments, as he leads Eurydice out of the underworld, he is given one command: do not look back. Trust. Keep walking.
And he cannot. He turns.
That turn is small, understandable and devastating. It is the moment worry reclaims him. The question creeps in: What if she’s not there? What if this promise fails? What if I lose everything? And in that moment, anxiety becomes master again. The very thing Jesus warns about, this inability to trust in what cannot yet be seen, undoes the redemption and Eurydice being brought back from death
Matthew 6 does not promise that life will be free of hunger or hardship. Eurydice’s fear is real. The world is harsh. Jesus insists that worry cannot save us from that reality; it only binds us more tightly to it. It turns us inward. It narrows our vision. It makes us build kingdoms like Hades’, where control masquerades as peace.
“Consider the lilies…”
In Hadestown, Persephone carries the memory of another world. She remembers a world of seasons, abundance, wine, and sunlight. She is a living reminder that the earth was not meant to be ruled by scarcity. Her presence is like the lilies Jesus points to: signs that there is a deeper order, a generosity woven into creation itself.
The invitation of Matthew 6, then, is not to deny reality but to reorient within it. To live as if God, not fear, is the truest master. To trust that life is more than what we can secure. To walk forward without looking back, not because we are certain, but because we refuse to let anxiety dictate the story.
Hadestown ends with a question: Is it a sad song? The answer is yes, and no. Because they sing it again. They try again. They hope again.
And maybe that is where the Gospel meets the myth.
Each day, we stand at the crossroads between trust and worry, between God and mammon, between the open fields of the lilies and the walled city of fear. And each day, we are invited to choose, not perfectly, not without trembling, but faithfully.
Will we live our own tragedies or keep walking and not look back?
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