The Rich Man and Lazarus: Approaching the Coming  Holidays

One of the things that I miss the most being retired is researching, writing and giving sermons.  Several members of the OS family have asked why I  mostly write about politics and not about the vocation that is my passion.  I suppose it is because many of the OS family do not share my faith, or have no faith at all.   So, as one who has never forced my religious views on anyone, I have hesitated to write about religion.  But now I am going to share with you a sermon that I wrote that seems, at least to me, to address a moral/ethical issue that is just as applicable to a secular humanist as it is to a religious person.  We’ll see how it is received.

The little story Jesus relates about the Rich Man and Lazarus is told by St. Luke at Chapter 16 of his Gospel, verses 19-31.  This is a good time of year to consider the meaning of that story.  You do not have to be a Christian to understand the universality of the moral of this story.

Why this time of year?  Because we are about to unleash ourselves upon the annual rituals of gluttony and greed and self gratification that begins at Thanksgiving and runs through New Year’s Day.  

We will lavish on ourselves huge dinners, and attend many parties, most of which will have tables laden with food.  We will go to holiday movies, and maybe take trips to the city to see the lights, or a play, or other entertainment.  We will watch football games with friends and spare no calories in the process.  Booze will flow and a good time will be had by all.  Well, maybe not all.  Maybe not the Lazuruses of the world.

And most of us have already started buying the massive piles of Christmas and Chanukah  presents which we will give to each other, and our children, and our grandchildren.  We will spend and spend some more, convincing ourselves that we can delay worrying about the economic impact on our selves until no earlier than January 2nd.  And, mostly, we’ll keep all this within our own families and our closest friends.

Oh, I know that we will make some efforts to share some of this with others.  We may ring the bell for the Salvation Army, or, if we are church goers we give our December benevolence to the a specified charity, and our Christmas Eve donations will go to another.  Some churches and synagogues will finance and distribute food baskets to some needy families.
 
And all of this is well and good.  No, I will go farther.  This is not only well and good: it is our moral obligation to do these things. The question isn’t whether or not these are good and necessary things.  They are.  The question is whether or not they are all we can do; and, for the faithful, whether or not God will find them generous.

So, let’s honestly ask ourselves: as a percentage of our total self indulgences on food and presents and decorations and parties, and all the rest that goes into the Holiday Season, what percentage of our spending do we think we will actually give to the poor; to those outside of our family and friends; to those whom Jesus calls, “the least of these, my children?”

And, while we ponder that question – which, incidentally, I am not going to answer for you – it is something each must answer for him or her self – let’s spend some time looking at the story of Lazarus.

There was a rich man, dressed in purple and fine linen, who feasted every day.  At his gate lay the poorest of the poor, Lazarus by name, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger even from the crumbs which would drop from the rich man’s table.

Notice the contrast.  Jesus sets the entire story as a story of stark contrasts.  Black or white; no shades of gray.  No subtleties, no way to justify or explain or alibi oneself out of this situation.  The Rich man is very rich.  The poor man is not only dirt poor, but sick, covered with sores.  And then there is the gate.  The gate accentuates the contrast.  The gate is the great dividing line between them.  The boundary between the two men is set in solid wood, not to be breached.  

The story is about boundaries: great gaps between us and our neighbors, between people who have it: money, power, prestige, education: who have the power to move in and out of the gates that society erects, and those who have nothing; and certainly have no power to move anywhere at all, who lie helpless, just beyond the gate, dying.

The contrasts are stark, and Jesus piles them on.  The rich man feasts “every day,” and not just feasts, but feasts “sumptuously.”  Lazarus doesn’t eat.  The rich man is covered in fine linens, purple – the most expensive cloth.  Lazarus is covered too: with sores!  Lazarus would settle for the garbage that the rich man threw out.  Nothing in the story suggests he gets even that.

The stark contract is accentuated by that infernal gate.  Inside the gate, protected by the wall surrounding the house, secure, well-housed, well-fed, well-clothed, sits the rich man.  Outside the gate lies Lazarus, wild dogs licking his sores.

Lazarus is refuse.  What to do?  At this point in the story a “good Christian” would hope that the next words would be that the rich man saw the plight of Lazarus and took him in, called a doctor to heal his sores, gave him some decent clothes, and fed him until he was on his feet.  Maybe then find him some work so he could have a little dignity, a little sense of self-worth.  After all, that’s what the Bible says he should do.  What does Micah say? “What does the Lord require of you?  To do justice, to show kindness, and to walk humbly with God.”  What would justice and kindness and humility require in this case?  What would God require?

Well, however you see the answer to that question, what God requires never happens. What happens is what you would expect: Lazarus dies.  And, although sometimes we don’t expect it to happen to us when it does, the rich man also dies.  Dead.  Both are now stone dead.

And dead is dead.  Right?  No.  Wrong.  Not in this story. Lazarus is carried away by angels and placed in the seat of honor, in the bosom of Father Abraham.  The rich man is simply buried.  Which is bad enough.  But it gets worse.  The rich man goes to hell, where he is tormented day and night.  The rich man sees Father Abraham and calls out to him to send Lazarus to wet his tongue with some cool water because, as he says, “I am in agony in these flames.”

Now, I don’t know about you, but this image of Hades that Jesus paints is pretty upsetting.  I am pretty used to the hyperbole “fire and torment”; I guess because I have heard about it since I was a child.  But, have you stopped to think how much worse it would be if you could actually see and talk to those who were on the other side?  Now, folks, THAT is hell!

Father Abraham replies to him, and note how sorrowful the reply.  The rich man is called “my child.”  Abraham says, “My child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony.  Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.”

Contrast again.  Stark, harsh contrast.  There is no gate separating them now.  Instead, the gate has been replaced by something even more fearful: a deep chasm; a chasm so deep and so wide that it is literally impossible to bridge: and it is forever!

As in life, the two, Lazarus and the rich man, are divided.  First by a gate; now by a chasm.  But.  Surprise!  Their situations are reversed.  Lazarus, who had nothing in life, now, in heaven, has everything.  And, here we learn the significance of the name of Lazarus.  Oh, that’s right!  I forgot to mention what his name means in Hebrew, didn’t I?  It means, “The one whom God helps.”  No one helped Lazarus during his lifetime.  Lazarus was so low, so socially repugnant, that no one helped him; certainly not the rich man.  Now, however, he is lifted up.  God helps!

From his place in eternal torment, and for the first time in the story, the rich man tries to bridge the gap, to eliminate the boundary between him and Lazarus.  But, it is too late.  The gate is forever closed; the chasm forever in place.  Even Father Abraham himself cannot bridge the gap.  There is nothing to be done.  

There was a gap between rich in poor in life; now, in the after life, there is still a gap.  The only difference is that the tables are turned.  The gate which the rich man closed of his own free will in life has become the chasm between him and God in death.

The rich man, who undoubtedly had a big name in life: everybody knew who HE was; doesn’t even have a name in Jesus’ story.  Lazarus, whom nobody knew in life, and whose name would not be caught on the lips of the socially acceptable if it were known, is the only person in any of Jesus’ parables who is identified by name.  A name signifies many things; but most of all it signifies individual value: value in the eyes of God.  Lazarus is “somebody.”  Why?  Because Lazarus is “one whom God helps.”  It’s that simple.

All of which is to say that, the way the Bible tells us to value things and people who are other than us or our own is a far cry from the way our culture tells us to value them.  Those whom we honor as insiders often end up as outsiders in God’s economy; and those we treat as outsiders, beneath us and barely worthy of our consideration, often end up as insiders in God’s eyes.

Jesus said it a hundred times, but still we don’t get it:  The last will be first and the first will be last.  The least will inherit the Kingdom of God.  The humble will know God.  Those who feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, heal the sick, help the poor, will inherit the Kingdom.  The others?  Don’t ask!  Read Matthew 25 if you don’t believe me.

There is great injustice in the world now.  It is all around us.  We have become good at being jaded, at going through our gates into our protected homes without so much as an embarrassing glance at the Lazaruses of this world.  This story from the lips of Jesus tells us that the justice of God will not be mocked forever.  There will come a time of judgment, if not in this life then in the next.  That is good news for the Lazaruses of this world.  But whether or not it is good news for those who are clothed in purple, who have more than a small portion of the bounty of God’s blessing, depends not on whether or not they have been abundantly blessed.  It depends on what they do with the riches God has given them.  And, incidentally, if you wonder who is them; well, them is us.

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