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A Clueless Man and His Brothers
Luke 16: 19 – 31 |
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Summary
The Most Clueless Man in History and His Brothers The contrasts in this story told by Jesus are as stark as its message. We are left here with good or bad, right or wrong, stark black or white with no gray areas in between. We have a rich man, clothed in purple. Purple, as you know, is traditionally the color of royalty. Virtually any commentary will tell you that purple fabric in the time of Jesus was made from costly dye extracted from shellfish. Such clothing was accessible only to people who had what we would today call “large disposable incomes.” This Rich Man, we are told, “feasted sumptuously every day,” was clothed luxuriously in purple when he was out and about doing business and enjoying his leisure time, and clothed with “fine linen” when he made his bed at night. And then there is Lazarus. Lazarus is a poor man living in the same community as the Rich Man. Lazarus is literally starving. Jesus tells us that he would have been more than satisfied with scraps that fell from the Rich Man’s table, but even these scraps were denied him. A commentator tells us that in those times, bread was used by the rich at feasts to wipe the grease off the diners’ hands, and then was thrown under the table. These scraps of greasy bread were probably collected by the hired help and fed to the dogs who licked Lazarus’ running sores — the dogs, Jesus tells us in so many words, ate better than Lazarus did. Lazarus, though a poor man, is not “out of sight and therefore out of mind,” as we might say, in a ghetto or remote mountain shack. Neither is he sleeping in an alley over a grate or sequestered in a homeless shelter conveniently tucked away in a poor section of the city. Lazarus lies right at the Rich Man’s gate. The Rich Man in his comings and goings was literally stepping over Lazarus’ body, perhaps looking away in revulsion at the sight of the dogs licking his sores, and then forgetting about him as he made his way into his mansion. In the afterlife Lazarus dies — no surprise here. It’s easy to imagine what killed him. The Rich Man dies, too — again, really, no surprise here, either; we all owe God a death, as the saying goes; nobody lives forever, not even the rich and powerful. And then we are given this vision of what we might call “the afterlife.” Lazarus is in what people imagined as heaven, in those days, and the Rich Man is in hell. The Rich Man’s reaction to his situation is staggering, when you think about it. If you or I died and “woke up in hell” as we say — what might our first response be? OMG!! What am I doing here? Why ME? What did I do to deserve this? This is not, however, the response of our Rich Man. No, his first response to the situation is, “Father Abraham! I’m thirsty! Send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and then stick it in my mouth, to give me some relief!” This Rich Man has got to be the most clueless man in history. During his lifetime on earth, he had every good thing handed to him. No doubt he “worked for it”; perhaps he even worked hard to “earn” it — but there were others who worked just as hard as he did and did not have anywhere near as much to show for it in the way of “earnings” as he did. And speaking of working for it — Lazarus lay at this sumptuously rich man’s gate, obviously starving, with dogs licking his sores. Did it never occur to this Rich Man to perhaps hire Lazarus to pick up the scraps and take them to the dogs, in exchange for whatever passed in that time and place for a minimum wage? And now — here they are, in this afterlife, the Rich Man carrying on a conversation with Father Abraham across a chasm that cannot be crossed by one or the other. It does not occur to this man to ask how he might have ended up here. All that occurs to him now — and too late — is to put Lazarus in his employ. “Send him to dip his finger in water and cool my mouth! Send him to my brothers, to warn them what awaits them if they don’t — well, I don’t know what exactly it is that they’re supposed to do, but tell them that such a place as this awaits them if they don’t change their ways!” And Abraham’s response, in this parable told by Jesus to whoever happens to be paying attention, is freighted with implication. “They have Moses and the prophets .... If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” The brothers Where are we in this story — reasonably well-fed and cared-for people that we are? With whom do we identify? Can any of us identify with the Rich Man? No, I don’t think so! Most of us, I think, are gloatingly happy to see the Rich Man get what’s coming to him; most of us chuckle and shake our heads in cynical satisfaction at the realization that he is, indeed, the most clueless man in history. Do we identify, then, with Lazarus? No, I don’t think so. Jesus forgive me if I’m being too glib or presumptuous, but I don’t think even the poorest among us are literally starving. We don’t have dogs licking at our running sores. We don’t even have running sores, and if we did, we would have more sophisticated medical help than the dubious attentions of animals, the alleged healing qualities of saliva notwithstanding. Well, then, with whom shall we identify in this tale told by Jesus, this moral tale with its stark and uncompromising contrasts? Who are we in this story? We are not the Rich Man; we are not Lazarus. Are we the dogs? Are we the unnamed and unidentified hired help bringing the table scraps to the dogs — and perhaps also stepping over Lazarus’ body to do it? Who are we? We are the Rich Man’s brothers. We are being warned. Of what are we being warned? Granted: This is a story. This did not “really happen”; a parable by definition is a story designed to make a point. This is not live video footage giving us a clear picture of exactly what happens to us after we die. We are not being presented here with photographs of “heaven” and photographs of “hell.” Jesus told this story with its stark black and whites and its clear moral contrasts to make a point. And that point is, hardness of heart in the face of relievable human misery utterly and completely separates us from God, from “heaven,” from the kingdom of God, from whatever kind of goodness or final reward we may think of, hope for, or envision. Where do we, the living, where do we, the hearers of this tale, fit in? We are the Rich Man’s brothers. We are being warned. Jesus is telling us, in effect — heretical as saying it may sound — that faith alone will not save us. If we wish to fly to the “bosom of Abraham” after a full life on earth, “believing” that Jesus rose from the dead in and of itself will do us no good. If we want to find ourselves in “heaven” after death, what we need is not “profession” of Christ as “Lord and Savior,” or belief that he indeed rose from the dead on the third day — “not everyone who comes to me saying ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven,” Jesus says, in another place. If we would enter into the resurrection and the new life, the eternal life foreshadowed by Jesus’ Easter triumph, what we need is — Moses and the prophets. If we would partake of eternal life, we must heed Moses: “I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land’” If we would participate fully in the Resurrection and the life, we must do more than “believe in” the Resurrection and the life. We must heed the prophets: “… what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” We cannot claim the name of Jesus if we are stepping over Lazarus. Be we rich, poor or in between, in the terms of this story, we are the Rich Man’s brothers. And we have been warned. |
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