Let me introduce you...

September 29, 2013

Pentecost 19, Proper 21, Year C

 

            Once again this morning we have the Gospel of Luke talking about the problem of wealth.  And once again, it makes me uncomfortable.  The not-so-secret truth about preachers is that most of the time we are preaching to ourselves as much as anybody.  I am part of Jesus’ parable for today.  So let me introduce you to the characters.

            First, of course, there’s Lazarus.  A poor man, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from a rich man’s table.  That’s all we know about him.  We don’t know whether he is kind or loving or righteous.  We don’t know whether he could be trusted with money or would just go off and spend it on alcohol or drugs.  We just know that he was miserably poor.  That he was living a life that was no life at all.  That we would not want to be in his shoes.

You’ve probably met Lazarus.  In fact, chances are, you’ve probably met him over and over again.  Some of us met him on Monday night.  A group of St. Aidan’s moms hosted a welcome reception for the new residents at Mondloch House.  Mondloch House is a beautifully redone building near Huntley Meadows with 18 apartments for formerly-homeless single men and women.  We got to take a tour of some of the rooms.  They were beautiful and clean, but very simple and small.  Studio apartments with a stovetop, tiny fridge, small kitchen table, and bed.  For any of us it would probably feel woefully inadequate.  But for the people we met that evening, these apartments are a dream come true.  One man hadn’t had a place to live since he was a teenager.  For 40 years, after running away from an abusive situation at home, he’d been sleeping outside or in a homeless shelter.  Another woman, a huge Redskins fan missing most of her front teeth, kept wanting to show everyone her room because she was so proud to finally have something of her own.  These are some of the same people I’ve seen at the tables waiting for food at the hypothermia shelter and pushing a bunch of stuff along Route 1.  People who until this week had no access to a comfortable bed or a place to store their stuff safely or a shower.

I don’t know how it was decided who would get these apartments.  But these probably aren’t the people that most of us would have chosen.  Some of them had come from the Mondloch shelter next door for people with mental disabilities.  At least one did not seem to be a legal resident.  Several continue to struggle with addition.  Many of them would be very unlikely to find jobs because of these and other issues.  And all of them know far too well what it is to be Lazarus.  All of them are used to being un-chosen, overlooked.

            And now, let me introduce you to the Rich Man.  Living in a gated community.  Dressed in purple and fine linen.  Feasting sumptuously every day.  And ignoring the pitiful starving poor man outside his gate.  We have no reason to think that he is wicked or evil.  He doesn’t persecute Lazarus, or call the cops on him, or even refuse to give him food.  He just doesn’t seem to see Lazarus.  He simply overlooks him.  The Rich Man’s focus is largely on himself, his quest to earn more, have more, be more.

When Jesus tells this parable about the Rich Man, he’s raising his eyebrows at the Pharisees.  They follow all the laws and go to religious services regularly.  They are probably perfectly good people living largely decent lives.  But they have trouble seeing the sinners, and the unclean people, and the poor people, and the tax collectors.  Last week we heard these same Pharisees scoffing at Jesus when he started teaching them that they couldn’t serve both God and wealth.  And so Jesus tells this parable looking straight at them.

And I wish it weren’t true, but I think for most of us, it’s impossible not to feel that he’s also looking straight at us.  Our political and economic systems feed on the sufferings of others.  Our country has an ever-widening disparity between rich and poor.  And we see in the paper how even more desperate the situation is in most places around the globe.  Almost every day we see someone who is clearly in need.  And most days we walk or drive on by as if they’re invisible.  

            And so this reading makes us uncomfortable. We don’t want to be like that Rich Man, and yet we know in our heart of hearts that we’re more like him than not like him.  I think that discomfort is intended - Jesus wanted to make the Pharisees uncomfortable and get their attention.  And I think God wants us to get uncomfortable so we’ll pay attention too.

And since I wasn’t paying enough attention, God hit me over the head as I was working on this sermon on Friday afternoon.  There I was in my office, starting to get a little frantic that I didn’t have a sermon yet, but at least having completed my research and on my way with an idea that looked promising.  (An idea that bore no resemblance at all to where I ended up going, truth be told.)  And then the phone rang.  It was one of the anonymous calls for “the minister” or “the rector” or “the priest” that means someone is looking for money.  John wasn’t in, so the call went to me.  Sure enough, the woman on the other end needed money for a hotel room.  And my first thought was an inward groan – “Oh, I don’t have time for this… I have got to finish this sermon…”  As I talked with the woman, I asked if she had been in touch with the County Coordinated Services.  I asked if she had longer term plans for her situation.  I began to weigh in my head whether she was a worthy recipient of the Church’s limited discretionary funds.  And then suddenly I realized that I was the Rich Man just about to overlook Lazarus on the other end of the line. 

But there’s hope in Jesus’ parable, and so there’s hope for me and for all of us.

Hope was front and center Monday night at Monloch House.  Suddenly the residents’ role in the story changed.  Just like Lazarus who was miserable and starving one minute and carried away by angels to be with Abraham in heaven the next.  Irina and Will and all the others living at Mondloch House are no longer invisible.  They are now included, part of this new community, “promoted” as one resident put it.  They are no longer anonymous people being served in a shelter or walked past on the street.  They have been seen.

            And our role in the story can change too. 

I know this parable seems alarming in the way that there is no happy ending for this Rich Man.  The chasm that he took advantage of in life to separate himself safely from having to deal with Lazarus was now keeping him away from any rescue from his own torment in Hades.  Abraham tells the Rich Man that there are no special warnings for the Rich Man’s five brothers either to save them from the same fate.  And yet that is exactly what this parable is.  A warning of sorts for the five brothers, and for all the rest of us that are having trouble seeing with compassion the Lazarus outside our gate.  But better than a warning – an invitation.  An invitation to see, and then help make visible to others, the suffering of the world.  To become a partner in compassion with our God who loves humanity and longs to ease the suffering of all of us.   Amen.