I won’t ask for a show of hands, but I wonder if any of you have ever walked by a full trash can, an unfolded basket of clean laundry, or a sink full of dishes with the hope that by the next time you walk by, someone else would have already taken care of it? I’ve certainly done this. I even did this when I was living on my own and there was no one else to do the work! All I was doing by pretending not to see was creating more work for myself in the future.
This is a pretty low-stakes example, but the practice of averting our eyes as we gingerly tiptoe past things that require our effort and energy, things that ask us to notice, care, and act, extends far beyond household chores. It might be our response to someone who is homeless, addicted, poor, or asking for help. It might be our reaction to hearing news about crisis after crisis close to home or across the world. We see a chasm, a divide, and we cannot or will not cross over.
Sometimes we tell ourselves we don’t have the time or resources to make a difference. Sometimes it feels too heavy, scary, or difficult to confront such an uncomfortable truth. Sometimes we don’t want to admit there’s a problem because doing so would compel us to act in ways that require sacrifice, discomfort, and loss.
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus tells a parable in the presence of the religious leaders, who are described as lovers of money, and who totally disagree with Jesus’ statement that you can’t serve both God and wealth. In the parable, we meet a rich man - who is so generic and predictable that he doesn’t even need a name – and Lazarus - not Jesus’ friend who he raises from the dead, but a poor, sick, hungry man who could be found at the gate to the rich man’s house.
In their lifetime as neighbors, we get the sense that things remained pretty separate. The rich man was inside, and Lazarus was outside. The rich man was comfortable and well-fed, covered in expensive purple and fine linen, and Lazarus was in pain and hungry, covered in sores and the saliva of the neighborhood dogs.
It’s not clear what kind of interactions they had, if any. Perhaps the rich man gave Lazarus a few cast-offs every so often - robes that were torn or stained, or food that was spoiled and ready to be thrown away; maybe a coin or two. Perhaps the rich man, filled with embarrassment at Lazarus’ state, or shame at his own discomfort, always pretended to be in a great hurry as he left his house and returned home again. I can picture him holding his breath as he stepped over Lazarus’ sprawling body as quickly as possible, until he was safely beyond the gate and could go on with his day. Or perhaps the rich man got so used to seeing him there at the gate that, over time, Lazarus just sort of blended in with the dust and the walls.
After years of this side-by-side yet vastly different life, both men die and are transported to the opposite setting of what they had previously experienced. The rich man, who knew nothing but comfort and luxury in life, finds himself tormented in Hades. Lazarus, on the other hand, finds himself fed, warm, and comfortably situated next to Abraham. Between them is a great chasm, a great divide, and those who wish to cross it from either direction will find themselves unable to do so.
The rich man, who is probably quite surprised by his surroundings, is so in shock, or just so used to getting what he wants, that he does not even bother to sound contrite or grovel just a bit as he converses across the chasm with Father Abraham. He is, admirably, concerned about his brothers, but in doing so still doesn’t really see his old neighbor Lazarus as anything other than an errand boy. Regardless, Abraham isn’t convinced that Lazarus’ appearance from beyond the grave would make much of a difference, and the parable ends with this zinger filled with foreshadowing - “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”
As Jesus promised when he began his ministry by reading from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, the message at the surface of this parable is indeed good news for the poor. All your suffering in this life will be reversed in the presence of God, it seems to say. But what about now? And what about the rest of us? What’s the good news for us?
The good news is that we have everything we need - Moses, the prophets, and even someone who has risen from the dead - to show us how to live in relationship with God and with one another. When we see those around us who are suffering, we are reminded that we are connected to them - joined as children of God in the waters of baptism, and gathered side by side at the feast God has prepared for us - the body and blood of Jesus. If salvation is about more than just what happens when we die - and it is! - then we best experience those riches now through the joy of relationship and community – community where we know that we belong to God and to one another; community where everyone has enough; community where we see and act in response to the pain and injustice we encounter.
The even better good news, though, is that when we inevitably fail, the chasms that separate us from God are not uncrossable for Jesus. In the incarnation, Jesus crossed the chasm from divinity to humanity, becoming like us in all our messiness, and brokenness, and pain. In his death, Jesus crossed the chasm between heaven and hell, descending into hell to liberate even that place of torment with his life-giving grace. In his resurrection, Jesus crossed the chasm between life and death, embodying the promise that death never gets the last word. In the end, nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord - not even our own selfishness or refusal to see and care for one another. This is indeed good news!
This is a pretty low-stakes example, but the practice of averting our eyes as we gingerly tiptoe past things that require our effort and energy, things that ask us to notice, care, and act, extends far beyond household chores. It might be our response to someone who is homeless, addicted, poor, or asking for help. It might be our reaction to hearing news about crisis after crisis close to home or across the world. We see a chasm, a divide, and we cannot or will not cross over.
Sometimes we tell ourselves we don’t have the time or resources to make a difference. Sometimes it feels too heavy, scary, or difficult to confront such an uncomfortable truth. Sometimes we don’t want to admit there’s a problem because doing so would compel us to act in ways that require sacrifice, discomfort, and loss.
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| Photo by Fineas Anton on Unsplash |
In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus tells a parable in the presence of the religious leaders, who are described as lovers of money, and who totally disagree with Jesus’ statement that you can’t serve both God and wealth. In the parable, we meet a rich man - who is so generic and predictable that he doesn’t even need a name – and Lazarus - not Jesus’ friend who he raises from the dead, but a poor, sick, hungry man who could be found at the gate to the rich man’s house.
In their lifetime as neighbors, we get the sense that things remained pretty separate. The rich man was inside, and Lazarus was outside. The rich man was comfortable and well-fed, covered in expensive purple and fine linen, and Lazarus was in pain and hungry, covered in sores and the saliva of the neighborhood dogs.
It’s not clear what kind of interactions they had, if any. Perhaps the rich man gave Lazarus a few cast-offs every so often - robes that were torn or stained, or food that was spoiled and ready to be thrown away; maybe a coin or two. Perhaps the rich man, filled with embarrassment at Lazarus’ state, or shame at his own discomfort, always pretended to be in a great hurry as he left his house and returned home again. I can picture him holding his breath as he stepped over Lazarus’ sprawling body as quickly as possible, until he was safely beyond the gate and could go on with his day. Or perhaps the rich man got so used to seeing him there at the gate that, over time, Lazarus just sort of blended in with the dust and the walls.
After years of this side-by-side yet vastly different life, both men die and are transported to the opposite setting of what they had previously experienced. The rich man, who knew nothing but comfort and luxury in life, finds himself tormented in Hades. Lazarus, on the other hand, finds himself fed, warm, and comfortably situated next to Abraham. Between them is a great chasm, a great divide, and those who wish to cross it from either direction will find themselves unable to do so.
The rich man, who is probably quite surprised by his surroundings, is so in shock, or just so used to getting what he wants, that he does not even bother to sound contrite or grovel just a bit as he converses across the chasm with Father Abraham. He is, admirably, concerned about his brothers, but in doing so still doesn’t really see his old neighbor Lazarus as anything other than an errand boy. Regardless, Abraham isn’t convinced that Lazarus’ appearance from beyond the grave would make much of a difference, and the parable ends with this zinger filled with foreshadowing - “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”
As Jesus promised when he began his ministry by reading from the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, the message at the surface of this parable is indeed good news for the poor. All your suffering in this life will be reversed in the presence of God, it seems to say. But what about now? And what about the rest of us? What’s the good news for us?
The good news is that we have everything we need - Moses, the prophets, and even someone who has risen from the dead - to show us how to live in relationship with God and with one another. When we see those around us who are suffering, we are reminded that we are connected to them - joined as children of God in the waters of baptism, and gathered side by side at the feast God has prepared for us - the body and blood of Jesus. If salvation is about more than just what happens when we die - and it is! - then we best experience those riches now through the joy of relationship and community – community where we know that we belong to God and to one another; community where everyone has enough; community where we see and act in response to the pain and injustice we encounter.
The even better good news, though, is that when we inevitably fail, the chasms that separate us from God are not uncrossable for Jesus. In the incarnation, Jesus crossed the chasm from divinity to humanity, becoming like us in all our messiness, and brokenness, and pain. In his death, Jesus crossed the chasm between heaven and hell, descending into hell to liberate even that place of torment with his life-giving grace. In his resurrection, Jesus crossed the chasm between life and death, embodying the promise that death never gets the last word. In the end, nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord - not even our own selfishness or refusal to see and care for one another. This is indeed good news!
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