Pentecost 19C
Luke 16:19-31
Since
moving into our new house, Michael and I have been trying different routes to
get to and from work. What I have mostly settled on for going home is going via
104, and getting off at the Hudson/Carter exit. Almost every day, at this exit
between about 4 and 6 o’clock, there is a man standing on the corner at the
stoplight. He holds a sign written on a piece of cardboard – you know the type
– and it says some version of, “Need work. Please help. God bless.”
I’ve
never talked to him, because he usually stands on the left corner, and I’m
always turning right. Or at least that is why I tell myself that I haven’t
talked to him – because that sounds and feels a lot better than saying I
haven’t talked to him because I’m scared to, or because he’ll probably take
advantage of me if I reach out, or because he’ll probably use my generosity to
buy booze, or because one granola bar or even $10 isn’t going to help because
what he needs is a steady income, and I can’t help him with that. You see,
there are really so many reasons I don’t talk to him, but most of them boil
down to: I’m too lazy, I’m too fearful, or I’m too cynical.
But
I do wonder about him. Does he have a family? A home? If he’s married, does his
wife work? What got him in this situation? What sort of work is he able to do?
What was that day like, the day he decided that he needed to stand on the
corner of an exit off 104 at rush hour, and beg people for help? What made him
finish his written request with, “God bless”? Does he believe in God? Does he
believe in Jesus?
Do
you think his name is Lazarus?
The
parable Jesus tells us today, the story about the rich man and Lazarus, has not
helped my guilt about that man on the corner, my very own Lazarus, if not at my
gate, at least at my exit. And frankly, none of the readings today instill much
more than guilt in me. Take Amos, for example, who admonishes those who relish
in their riches at the exclusion of the poor: those who live like they are
entitled to their wealth, with their beautiful beds, and their juicy steak and
veal, and their large glasses of wine, who sit around playing music, and use
fancy soaps, and hardly even consider the ruin of so many people around them.
Amos basically just described my weekend!
And
then Timothy, who reminds us that we came into this world penniless, and will
leave it penniless – after all, you never see a hearse towing a U-Haul! Because
of this, we should be content just to have food and clothing enough to survive.
Any more than that, he says, and our wealth will start to tempt us. “Those who
want to be rich,” he says, “fall into temptation and are trapped by many
senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.”
And then that famous line: “For the love of money is the root of all kinds of
evils.” Youch!
And
if you weren’t feeling guilty and threatened enough, the parable of the rich
man and Lazarus seals the deal, as we see the beggar Lazarus end up in heaven,
and the rich man in Hades. This reversal theme is prevalent in Luke from the
very beginning: you remember, how Mary sang when she found out she would bear
the son of God, “the hungry will be filled and the rich sent away empty.” Now,
Lazarus, who could scarcely find a scrap to eat and had only dogs for friends,
is feasting in heaven, while the rich man, who feasted sumptuously every day,
is being tormented down below. And Father Abraham’s chastisement: you should have
listened to Moses and the prophets – prophets like Amos – and then you would
have known this would happen!
I
don’t know about you, but all three of these readings make my stomach turn. Is
a glass of wine after a long day really a sin? Should I not be sleeping in such
a nice bed? Do I love money too much? Is my avoidance of the man at my exit off
of 104 going to send me straight to Hades?
As
is so often the case with Jesus’ parables, this one is not meant to be taken
literally – that is, it is not so much saying that if you are well-off, you are
going to Hades for eternity. Rather, it is a description of how God calls us to
live in this life. So we can ask ourselves, what is the rich man’s sin, and how
shall we avoid it?
Is his sin that he is rich? No, I don’t think so.
After all, we have seen that money can be used for many godly purposes. Just
last week, the shrewd steward showed us how money can be used to help people
and build relationships. Bill and Melinda Gates have used their fortune to
improve the lives of many people through their charitable foundation. Money in
itself is not a bad thing, and can be a very good thing.
Is his sin, then, that he has no compassion for
Lazarus, there on his doorstep day after day, and the rich man doesn’t even
give him scraps from the table? Well, I’d say we’re getting closer, but I still
don’t think that is quite the whole story.
Really, I think the rich man’s sin is a combination of
the two: that his wealth prevents him from having compassion, from seeing human
need. It is his preference for money over anything else, over God and his
neighbor. That’s what Amos admonishes, when he points out all these people
enjoying their riches while those around them are in ruins. That’s what Timothy
means when he says not that money is the root of all kinds of evil, but rather
that the love of money is. In all
three cases, the problem is that money has become an idol, something to be
achieved in itself, something that insulates us from the needs of those around
us.
And when we isolate ourselves from others’ needs, and
hence from the natural human tendency toward compassion, do we not also isolate
ourselves from God? Because if we have so much money, and we are numbed to the
needs of our neighbor, what’s to keep us from believing that we have no needs,
that money can satisfy anything we need or desire, that we are sufficient unto
ourselves? Suddenly, we no longer need God, or grace, or the salvation promised
to us by Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Who needs God’s grace and mercy
if you’ve got hard work, and a little luck, and a healthy bank account?
There is a lot of conversation these days about some
of the explicit religious references in government-related things, mostly
notably “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance, and “In God We Trust” on our
money. I don’t know where I fall constitutionally on those issues, but
personally, I find it extremely helpful to see “In God we trust” on my money. I
wish my checks and credit cards said it, too. What a wonderful reminder to always
ask myself, “Do I spend my money in a way that reflects that I trust God?” Does
it show my care and compassion for God’s children? Or do I use it to isolate myself from the human need around
me – by buying a house in a safe neighborhood, and driving my own car to avoid
public transportation, and staying out of down town if I can help it? Do my
spending habits reflect my trust of and utter dependence on God? Or do I use it
to further my desire for self-sufficiency and autonomy? Should my money say,
“In God we trust,” or would I rather it say, “In myself I trust?”
What
would have happened, I wonder, if the rich man had reached out to Lazarus? We
can’t know, of course. But we do know a little bit about what happens when we
reach out to others in service. And by service, I don’t mean help – help
implies that one person has something that the other doesn’t, that one person
is there to fix and the other only to receive. By service, I mean those times
when we open our hearts with a willingness to be vulnerable, to be present with
another person, so hear his or her story, without judgment or expectation. When
we are willing to do that, we not only perceive another person’s need, we also
become aware of our own need – our need for God and for God’s grace. We become
more aware of our own humanity, our own longings and insufficiencies, and we
therefore appreciate God’s grace in Christ, who took on our need, our humanity,
so that we could see the depth of God’s profound love for each of us. This
truly is something we can trust.
Let
us pray. God of grace and compassion, we often overlook the needs of others
and even our own needs, preferring to think that we can manage life completely
on our own and don’t owe anything to anyone. Help us to put our trust in you,
so that everything we do and everything we are might reflect that trust. In the
name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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