Luke 16:19-31
When I was young I lived in a
community where almost everyone was Caucasian and Christian. We had
a couple of Jewish families who were merchants, but they went to the
Episcopalian Church. There was an African American family in town
and a couple of Chinese families, who of course, operated Chinese
restaurants. And there were a few native Americans. Our little town
didn't have a problem with a few people like this and my father would
often point to their presence as evidence of our tolerance.
My grandmother, on the other hand,
had many interesting ideas. She knew that Polish people were
basically mean. She didn't think much of Native Americans, and when
a cousin of my grandfather announced that he was one eighth Sioux
Indian, my grandmother had a fit, because of it was true she was
married to someone who was one eighth Sioux Indian, and that wouldn't
do at all. My grandmother had no love for the Irish, and it wasn't
until I was in my late teens that I learned, not from her, that her
own mother had been an Irish immigrant.
Prejudices soak in. In our town the
people we all looked down upon were the “bums” who lived in the
South End where most of the bars were. We referred to them as
“winos” and laughed when we saw them sleeping in an alley or
staggering down the street.
When I went off to college I had
classmates from all over the country, in fact, all over the world.
And as I got to know them, I learned that they could not be dismissed
with a label, but they all had stories; they had families, they had
people they loved; they believed in their religion, they loved the
place in which they grew up. As a practicing physician I had
patients from all walks of life. I learned that gay people and
lesbians also had stories. Regardless of their life styles, they
were rounded human beings, they had loved ones, they had ups and
downs and goals and ambitions just like I did.
I think today Jesus is not talking
about rich and poor, or asking the those who have a lot of the
world's goods help out those who don't. Those are definitely things
he wanted his followers to do, but he's asking more of us in this
story.
Because, you see, I don't think the
rich man was a sinner. I think he was a neurosurgeon or a trial
lawyer or a financial planner or a banker – and I think he probably
did pro-bono work or volunteered at his church and helped raise money
for his favorite cause. And he wore an Armani suit and had a Rolex
and drove a Porsche. And he had lunch at the Federal Club. And when
he was downtown he saw what you and I see, a woman pushing a shopping
cart, a man with a cardboard sign stating that he was homeless –
maybe someone muttering to himself and rolling his eyes. People you
would walk around and not meet their gaze.
We know that Jesus wants to reconcile
sinners with God. We know he wants brothers to forgive each other
before they offer sacrifice. We know he doesn't want Jews and
Gentiles to hate each other. But for people to bridge the gulfs
between them, they have to know each other's stories. Because once
you know someone's story, they cease to be a member of a class, and
become real human beings to you.
And that's really the rich man's sin.
He never saw Lazarus as a brother, a fellow human being, a child of
God. Not only does the rich man ignore the poor man on his doorstep
during life, but even after death he asks Abraham to send Lazarus to
put some water on his tongue; and when that doesn't work, he asks
that Lazarus be sent to his brothers to warn them. Lazarus to the
rich man is not a fellow human being, he is a thing, a member of a
class, something to be used.
Is Jesus saying that people like that
will go to hell? Not really. Jesus tells this story before he has
won salvation for the human race. In those days people who believed
in life after death believed that people would get justice in the
next world, but it was all one world – Hades, or Sheol. The rich
man is suffering because he does not see Lazarus, and indeed everyone
else, as persons. In fact, of all the people on the earth, he is
only concerned about his brothers; he doesn't want them to end up in
his situation. But even there it's not because they are people; it's
because they are blood relatives; they are “my brothers”. He
wants to spare them because they are all that is left of him.
The man who never took the time to
know the story of the person on the street, the one who is not like
myself, will always be impoverished, because he will not see reality;
he will only see an illusion, a reflection of himself. The rich man
is not suffering in the next life because of a particular sin he
committed or even a series of sins. He is suffering because he has
cut himself off from other people during his life. His punishment is
self-imposed, and even after death his attitude toward Lazarus does
not change.
Part of being a Christian is to help
those less fortunate, that's true. But maybe a maybe an even more
important part is to overcome those things that divide us, those
things that make us look at each other with suspicion, that make us
cross the street so that we don't have to confront someone who is so
different from us. Because when you think about it, almost all the
problems in our world that have to do with people start because we
don't make the effort to know the other person, to learn the other
person's story.
I am the rich man. I don't get a kick
out of fine clothes or fast cars, but I do enjoy food and I like the
fact that I have enough money so that when I want something I can
have it. There are people I meet every week that I don't really want
to know better. Most of the time I am like the rich man and I step
over him, or around him, or ignore her. But now and then I am kind
of forced to stop and listen to his story. And once I've done that,
that person is no longer an it, but now a you. During the rest of my
life I ask God to help me so that I will always notice Lazarus and go
out of my way to see him as a person. And once I recognize my
brother or sister, I can't very well ignore their needs.
