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
was to really get into a great spiel about the shape of the world
and economic justice.
This parable allows for a nice rant about the rich and the poor,
for making comparisons between multinational corporations, for instance,
and exploited natural resources and exploited workers,
or for carrying on about the great disparities between the salaries
of CEO’s and the janitorial staff.
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 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.
That 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.
Just a little tag-on there to last week’s sermon.
That parable is 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.
In this parable here is 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 thanksgiving day every day.
That’s what the Greek word for feast here implies;
it is to be glad, to have a feast for rejoicing.
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 the rich man 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 merry making.
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 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 Lazarus’ name and he could recognized him
across the great chasm fixed between them.
But even then in the recognition,
Dives then wants Lazarus to do him a favor
- maybe return the favor of a handout previously given -
and run an errand or two for him.
What did Dives not get, not understand?
It is obvious to us in a way that would have troubled the Pharisees.
You may have heard about what is called “compassion overload,”
where you see so much suffering through the evening news
or you get so many pleas in solicitation emails and letters for donations
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?
between members of this parish family
one with another?
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 there had been a whole Thanksgiving Day turkey dinner spread out
that they shared?
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, the Eucharist, 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, if physically unable, kneel down in the attitude of our hearts.
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
- all.
The Table is the place of reconciliation,
a place for healing old 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 Great Thanksgiving in the parish hall
over coffee and cookies.
So it’s not a rant about the state of the world and 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.
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