Today’s
Gospel,
the parable of Jesus about the rich man and
the beggar Lazarus,
is
gripping in the imagination.
And
initially what I wanted to do with it this time, being a Franciscan and all,
was
to really get into a great spiel about economic justice.
This
parable, combined with the Epistle reading for today,
allows
for a nice rant about the rich and the poor,
for
making comparisons between multinational corporations, for instance,
or
those out-sourcing jobs to third world countries
and
then exploiting workers,
or for carrying on about the great
disparities between the salaries
of
CEO’s and their average employees’ salaries.
The
Old Testament and especially the Prophets are passionate
about
God’s preferential option for the poor.
And
this parable bears that out.
You
might notice that in all the parables
none
of the characters have names except in this one, Lazarus,
a
name which means “God helps.”
Post-biblical
tradition has given a name to the rich man too,
-
Dives, which is simply the Latin word for wealth, riches.
This
is a story that Jesus told for the benefit of the Pharisees
who
didn’t get it about the parable Jesus had just told his disciples,
the
one that was the Gospel for last Sunday.
You
might remember that
it
was the story about the manager embezzling his boss’ property
and
then once he got fired,
set
things up for himself with those in debt to his boss
by
cooking the books and reducing the amount they owed,
so
that they would have to be beholden to him
or
so that, if they weren’t quick to help him out,
he
could extort a little something from them in blackmail
to
keep quiet about tampering with the actual amount of their debt.
A
nasty little story
told
to raise awareness among the disciples
about
faithfulness in stewardship
that
ends with the declaration:
“You
cannot serve God and mammon.”
Well,
the Pharisees took exception to all this.
Jesus
didn’t have the right theology about wealth.
The
Pharisees were of the school that believed
that
prosperity and wealth were a sign
that
you were doing something right
and
God was blessing you.
So
Jesus, who engages with everyone who approached him,
zeros
in on their own theology
and
tells them a story that confronts their major premise.
Here
was someone so successful, so blessed by God,
that
he could afford to wear the most expensive clothes
-
purple and fine linen -
and
could afford to have sumptuous feasts every day.
Dives
was very blessed by God, it would seem
-
until he died,
and
then everything was turned around.
How
could this happen?! the Pharisees might wonder.
Well,
I was sitting in meditation, and a thought came along.
-
Yes, thoughts do come along during meditation.
There
was Lazarus in the bosom of Abraham,
and
Dives in the torment of hell,
and
between them a great chasm.
What
is the great chasm existing between the rich man and Lazarus?
It’s
what Dives did not see.
It
was his failure to be open to and vulnerable to life,
to
the suffering he saw right outside his gate
in
the face of all his feasting.
Lazarus
was at his door begging.
Dives
had to have seen him as he went in and out.
The
parable doesn’t indicate that the rich man was cruel to Lazarus.
He
didn’t chase him away.
He
didn’t kick him as he went in and out his door.
Lazarus
longed to eat whatever fell from the table like the dogs got to do
-
like those dogs who liked his sores,
and
it doesn’t say that Dives refused him that.
Maybe
he gave him a handout now and then.
There
was just enough interaction between them
so
that he knew the poor man’s name and recognized Lazarus
across
the great chasm fixed between them.
But
even then in the recognition,
Dives
then wants Lazarus to do him a favor, run an errand for him
-
maybe return the favor of a handout previously given.
What
did Dives not get, not understand?
It
is obvious to us in a way that would have troubled the Pharisees.
I’ve
heard it called “compassion overload,”
or
where you see so much suffering through the evening news
or
you get so many pleas in solicitation letters for charities
that
you become numb to all the human need and suffering
with
which we are surrounded.
To
see the suffering and to fail to be vulnerable to life -
that
is the great chasm which separates one from another.
It’s
our self-protective isolation that locks another out of our awareness
that
will ever so surely confine us to hell,
that
will bring agony upon us.
It
would do well for us to ponder and reflect on
what
the chasm is between ourselves and others.
What
is the chasm that appears between us and our neighbors?
between
members of the same family?
and
possibly between members of this parish family?
And
what would bridge that chasm?
What
if Dives and Lazarus had sat down together at table?
What
if they had shared a meal?
What
if it hadn’t been just a handout from Dives,
some
crusts of bread?
What if Dives had a whole feast spread out and then shared it with Lazarus?
The
supper table is one of those sacred places that bridges the gap,
that
closes the gulf.
It
is a time of nourishment
which is more than nourishment of the body;
it
is a time of communion.
And
isn’t that what the Supper of Lamb does too?
Here
is the supper table where we can feast with gladness and rejoicing,
the
Table spread with fine linen everyday.
And
we all come to this Table the same way – humbly.
We
kneel down at the Altar,
or
kneel down in the attitude of our hearts if physically unable.
We
let someone else feed us.
We
all eat from the same loaf,
drink
from the same cup,
share
in the One Body,
in
the Blood of our One Lord, our common Savior.
Jesus
gave himself as food for us,
for
the Lazarus persons
and
for the Dives persons
-
for all.
The
Table is the place of reconciliation,
a
place for healing divisions,
the
place where our Lord is made known in the breaking of the bread,
when
eyes are opened to see
and
hearts now understand
like
the two disciples at home in Emmaus.
Where
are the chasms in our own lives,
the
chasms caused by our failures to connect with our neighbor,
the
chasms of division between brothers and sisters.
It’s
not just the chasm between the very wealthy man
who
no longer noticed the abject beggar at his door.
It’s
the chasm in our own self-awareness
that
blocks our communion one with another.
Let
us come to the Table together,
here
and
then after we have feasted here in this breaking of the bread,
we
can continue the communion at the coffee hour – and beyond.
So
this sermon is not a rant about economic justice after all,
even
though that’s something to think about too.
This
is also a parable about how we open to one another
and
how we can be with each other in our need.
We
all are Dives and Lazarus both,
so
blessed with material blessings
and
also so abjectly in need.
May
our hearts be open to hear
from
the One who rose from the dead,
who
invites us to table with him.
