The Rev. Austin K. Rios
25th September 2022: Proper 21
We continue our exploration of this section of Luke’s Gospel today and find Jesus, once again, contrasting prevailing ideas about wealth with the richness of God’s reign.
Last week, we talked about how wealth can an incredible tool when used to build up human community, but becomes a horrible master if given our ultimate allegiance.
Today, we are introduced to an unnamed rich man and Lazarus, a poor man, who are the central characters in Jesus’ parable.
The movement of the parable is rather straightforward: The rich man feasts all day while poor Lazarus, who has been placed at the rich man’s gate to wait for the customary patronage of leftovers, goes hungry.
Only the dogs—creation’s compassionate emissaries— seem to care for Lazarus’ plight, licking his wounds when the rest of the world seems to have abandoned him.
Both men die and suddenly, just like Mary’s Magnificat foreshadowed, their roles are reversed.
Suddenly it is the rich man who is suffering in the flames of Hades, while Lazarus is reconnected to the family of Abraham.
And even though the rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus like a servant with water to cool his tongue, and even though the rich man pleads for Abraham to send a warning to his still living brothers about what awaits them after death if they refuse to heed Moses and the prophets, Abraham is unable to do oblige him.
There are all sorts of details of this parable that I find interesting.
Jesus has been telling the parables of the last few weeks to primarily Pharisee audiences, the dominant sect of Judaism in Jesus’ day.
But another sect that was smaller but no less powerful were the Sadducees, who were known for their wealth, political influence, and aristocratic standing as keepers of the Temple.
The Sadducees were not only wealthy, but they also did not believe in the kind of afterlife our parable today assumes—a realm where actions in this life affect outcomes in the next.
Perhaps Jesus’ nameless rich man is a Sadducee—not only surprised that his wealth in this world has given way to the fires of Hades, but amazed that the realm exists at all.
And then there is the matter of the rich man having no name while Lazarus does.
It should strike us as odd that someone as important and wealthy as the rich man should go nameless, as if his memory has been erased from the annals of time, while Lazarus who languished in hunger and squalor is remembered for all time.
That’s simply not the way history works—as we know from our copious records of powerful and wealthy figures preserved by the machinery of empire.
But Jesus is making the point that this IS the way the kingdom of God works, and he is encouraging us to prioritize our lives according to its metrics rather than those of the prevailing worldly view.
These are just a few of the details that interest me in this parable.
However, upon deep reflection and a powerful Bible study with fellow clergy at this week’s retreat in Frankfurt, I believe the core of Jesus’ call to us in this parable is to a way of life that leaves behind practices of separation for the green pastures of communion.
One of the most painful moments of the parable is when we learn that the rich man actually knows Lazarus’ name.
It’s not just some sore-covered, faceless man whom he has denied the fruits of his table and the warmth of his home.
Lazarus is known to the rich man—which makes his choice to maintain his social distance that much more horrifying.
The separation that existed between the men on earth is manifested as an uncrossable chasm in the afterlife.
And while we may console ourselves that the resurrected Jesus can bridge any divide, the parable is a stark warning for all who truly hear it to rethink and reorder their lives in ways that shrink, rather than widen, the divisions that exist between human beings.
I’ll never forget the words of Father Bill Galaty, the rector who taught our confirmation class many years ago.
“Sin is not primarily about bad thoughts or actions, as important as such things may seem. But rather, sin is separation. Separation that breaks down relationships between peoples, that breaks down the relationship between an individual and God, and that can divide even one’s very soul.”
The 30 years I’ve spent reflecting on this teaching have revealed its truth.
It is not the wealth that the rich man has which creates the separation—that sinful chasm between them.
Rather, it is his unwillingness to see Lazarus’ life and situation as intimately bound to his own and to act accordingly.
Jesus’ movement that began in Bethlehem, grew to maturity in Nazareth, and made its way from Galilee to Jerusalem with miracles and teachings has at its core the radical reimagining of our relationships.
Instead of seeing the wealthy as blessed and the poor as cursed, Jesus asks us to find common purpose in serving together.
If one member of the body suffers, we all suffer.
If one member of the body feasts, we all feast.
Rather than live by worldly wisdom that would keep us apart and unable to realistically address the world’s greatest challenges together, Jesus calls us to believe and act as if we truly are one, in all our glorious, challenging God-given diversity.
Not only so our afterlife might be free of flames and chasms, but so our lives on this side of the veil will be channels of God’s good news of reconciliation and renewed humanity.
The more we live into our interconnectedness, the more we allow the grace of God to overcome our sins—be they institutional, tribal, or individual.
And the more our collective efforts as the people of God are focused on sharing God’s bounty rather than hoarding it, the more our current reality will begin to approximate the heaven for which we long.
Then the words of the prophet Isaiah will shine like a beacon and renew our shared call:
“Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt;
you shall raise up the foundations of many generations;
you shall be called the repairer of the breach,
the restorer of streets to live in.[1]”
May you find ways to truly see and share your daily bread with those who hunger and hurt today.
May your passion be renewed for breaking down the numerous dividing walls that have been erected to maintain the illusion that we are separate rather than connected in Christ.
And may the same God who licked the sores of Lazarus, who raised the crucified Jesus to resurrected life, and who infused a community of rich and poor servants alike with the Holy Spirit to call a separated world back into communion be your ever-present guide and companion in this life and the next.