Scripture Luke 16:19-31
“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.
The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side.
He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘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.’ He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house—for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Sermon
I love words. I love learning about them, their etymologies, their original meanings and languages. Which means that today I’m going to have a lot of fun sharing words with you and talking about all those things, because they are important to our understanding Jesus’s words.
Once again Jesus is sharing a parable. In seminary I learned the etymology of that word, parable, its root meaning. It’s from the Greek parabole (παραβολή). “Para” means “alongside,” or together. The root of “bole” means “to throw.” A parable is a story or saying in which one idea is thrown alongside another idea, so that you can learn something new about one of those ideas.
For example: The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. Which sounds strange to our ears. That little yellow seed that you could easily lose, have it roll away into oblivion? It’s good for spice and flavor, and even for keeping soil healthy from some pathogens. But how can it be like the kingdom of God? Well, even though it is tiny, when planted, it grows—not into a great tree, but into a good, sturdy bush—sturdy enough that there’s capacity for birds to build nests there.
The kingdom of God may not look impressive from the outside—heaven knows the church is made up of people and is therefore flawed, as we tend to be—but when planted, it grows, and there is room for all who want to nest here.
That’s a parable for another day. Today we are reading a parable is known as “The Rich Man and Lazarus,” or sometimes, “Dives and Lazarus,” Dives being Greek for “rich.”
Our translation gives us information that is not there in the original language. While ours begins, “There was a rich man,” in the Greek it reads, simply, “there was some man.” That’s because Jesus’s original audience would have known the man was rich by what comes next: The purple clothes, created with a rare and expensive dye that only the rich could afford, and a color that is still considered royal. The linen clothes that he wore, which are identified in the Hebrew scriptures as the clothing a priest would wear while serving in the Temple. And then there are the meals—not your everyday, regular fare as most people would eat, but sumptuous buffets, as if every night were a reception for royalty.
For those original listeners, these are all red flags about this man. The fact that he wears these exquisite and expensive clothes every day, and not just on special occasions such as holy festivals, Succoth, Passover. He is wasteful and entitled. He has servants running around providing buffets worthy of receiving a king and he is not a king, only rich.
Then we meet Lazarus, who is introduced just as the rich man is introduced: “some poor man.” I can’t bring myself to say “he lives;” let’s say, he exists at the gate of the rich man, and he is presented in the most painful, awful terms. He longs for the crumbs that might fall from the rich man’s table, which may be why he is at his gate in the first place. He is covered in sores—which may be a result of malnutrition. People who don’t take in adequate nutrients are more susceptible to infections, and heal more slowly than those who are well-fed. A lack of protein and minerals can cause skin ulcers.
And then there are the dogs. I like dogs, so I want their reasons for licking Lazarus’s wounds to be benevolent. And it turns out that dogs have an instinct to lick wounds—their own and others’—and it is a kind of caregiving. Saliva does have some healing properties. Unfortunately, dogs can be doofuses who will gobble up pretty much anything, including their own poop, so even this seeming animal kindness could put someone like Lazarus at greater risk of infection and sepsis.
And here’s the thing. These two men are in close proximity to one another. Each of them very likely sees the other one every day, as the rich man goes about his business. They see one another. Lazarus sees the well-fed man in the fancy clothes. The rich man sees the poor beggar, and, apparently, does nothing.
The Hebrew scriptures emphasize how important it is for those who have means to reach out to those who don’t to help them. In Deuteronomy, we read, “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.’” The poor, including but not limited to widows, orphans, and immigrants, are named repeatedly in scripture as those whom we are responsible to help.
To be clear: the problem is not that the man is rich. The problem is that he is not obeying these basic and Biblical principles of simple decency. As Martin Luther would put it, this man is curved in on himself. That was Luther’s definition of sin: living only for the self, and rather than living outwardly, toward others and their needs. It is as if a great chasm exists between these two men. They might as well be on different planets. The rich man has been given someone to care for, and he has chosen not to do so.
And then, both men die.
Let’s talk about Hades. The way Jesus talks about Hades is unusual. Hades is the name of both the Greek god of the underworld and of the underworld itself. It is almost universally understood as a neutral place, much like the Hebrew concept of Sheol, the realm of the dead. It is a place where there is neither reward nor punishment, The word “Hades” appears eleven times in the New Testament (in the original Greek). Every time but this, it is translated as something like “the grave” or even “death.” Here, Jesus adds a component of punishment, not seen anywhere else, because Jesus is making a big, big point.
In death, Lazarus is carried by the angels to be with Abraham, the ancestor of all God’s covenant people. By contrast, in death, the rich man is in Hades, where he is being tormented by flames. Jesus’ listeners understood the description of Lazarus’ experience. This is how the afterlife was often described: lying down with your ancestors, being with Abraham. What Jesus is saying about the rich man, while unusual, would also have made sense on some level, because everyone could see that he had not lived righteously, what some would call a sin of omission. His sin was what he didn’t do: help a poor man who was visible to him day in and day out.
This result—Lazarus at peace with his ancestors and the rich man in torment alone—is another example of the counter-cultural nature of the kingdom of God. The one who was humbled is exalted; the one who was exalted his humbled.
It also gives us insight as to how we feel when we have done, paraphrasing John Wesley,
“… all the good [we] can,
By all the means [we] can,
In all the ways [we] can,
In all the places [we] can,
At all the times [we] can,
To all the people [we] can,
As long as ever [we] can.”
When we do good, we feel good. And… you could say we have mixed motivations. We do go in order to feel good, and sure, that may be true. But a life of doing good also locates us within the Spirit-led beloved community, where we all know our mission is to serve and care for one another… and to let ourselves be cared for.
Conversely, when we miss, or, worse, deliberately avoid an opportunity to do good, it catches up with us, one way or another. When we detach ourselves from the beloved community, it may be that, in our hour of need we find ourselves alone and alienated. All the riches in the world cannot create true joy in the heart. Or, it may be that we find ourselves burning, not the flames of Hades, but with simmering shame and regret.
To do good is to do good for all, ourselves included.
Now, what the rich man does in response to his situation takes the cake. He asks Abraham to send Lazarus to Hades with some water for him, to help him to feel better. Lazarus, whose desperate needs he ignored, is now supposed to run an errand for him. The rich man is still in “rich-man-can-get-anything-he-wants-by-ordering-people-around” mode. He still does not get it.
Abraham is patient with the rich man. Abraham explains why, no, Lazarus will not come to his aid. The rich man does show some awareness and even compassion when he asks for Lazarus to warn his family—he knows he can’t escape his fate, but he hopes to help his siblings escape his fate. Abraham shrugs him off. “They have Moses and the prophets. They should listen to them. And no, it won’t matter is someone goes back from the dead.”
Last week’s parable was difficult because it didn’t seem to make sense. This week’s parable is difficult because its message is all too clear. All of us have an obligation to help our neighbors in need. Like Charles Dickens in “A Christmas Carol,” Jesus has given us a window into the possibilities of how our lives can impact the lives of others. Like Ebeneezer Scrooge and the still-living siblings of the rich man, we have the power to change, and to enact change in the world, whether we aim our efforts at the systems that allow such poverty, or at helping one community, or at helping one person.
The good news is this: there are communities built around such principles of service. Yes, there are government agencies, but there are also groups that arise to help just because it’s the right thing to do, and no one else seems to be doing it. I think of the Binghamton family who started making dozens upon dozens of sandwiches each day, and going around town with a shopping cart to find the unhoused people who might be hungry. I think of the Broome County Council of Churches, and the ever-more-innovative ways they have devised—with the help of restaurant owners, and truckers, and chefs and volunteers—to bring food to people who need it. I think of Union Presbyterian Church, with our robust outreach to a hungry community through our food pantry. I think of the World Central Kitchen, that has lost workers and chefs to bombs, and yet who are still committed to bringing one million meals to the starving children and families of Gaza every day.
There are still many Lazarus’s all around the world and in our own backyard. And we have the opportunity—and are taking it—to be part of the solution. Every day we have a chance to close that great chasm between the have and the have-nots. I leave you, again, with Wesley’s words:
“Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.”
And thanks be to God for the opportunity. Amen.