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“Living With Blinders On”
- Luke 16:19-31 |
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They are everywhere. They wander down the
aisle of a bus in Athens, Greece, their clothes in tatters. They approach
diners sitting at tables in the great piazzas of Rome, Italy, with hands
outstretched. They sit outside the entrance to the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem,
mumbling pitifully as they show passers-by their sick child. They roam the
terminals at JFK airport in New York City, half-heartedly selling pencils and
handing out cards that say that they are deaf-mutes supporting a family. They
stand on the street corners of Dallas, Texas holding signs that say, “Will Work
for Food.” They crouch in front of stores on the Plaza, dirty and life-worn,
rattling a coin in a tin cup to get your attention. The poor sit at the gates
of our homes. They are everywhere. We have become so suspicious of their antics that we view them as a scam. We’ve become so numbed by the stress of our own circumstances that we just look the other way as we walk around them – or over them. We do not look them in the eye or give them our loose change. They have been there so long and have become so much a part of our landscape that they have become invisible to us. Jesus once told others a story about us. Lazarus was a poor man shrunken in hunger and covered with sores of some kind of disease. His name meant: “God helps.” That’s a laugh! His name must have been a comic touch by Jesus. God wasn’t doing a very good job of helping Lazarus. Maybe that’s what the rich man thought as he stepped over Lazarus day after day. Or maybe he thought, “God helps those who help themselves, so if that beggar wants any help from God, he ought to get up off his rear and get a job!” Finally, the day came when God lived up to Lazarus’ name. God saved him and brought him relief from his suffering through the gift of death. The rich man died too, but his eternal condition was something else. Surprise! In the afterlife, it was the rich man who suffered in Hades, a place of torment, completely apart from God. Lazarus was in heaven, resting at the side of Father Abraham. Ironically, it was only in the midst of his own suffering that the rich man finally noticed Lazarus. The rich man felt sorry for himself. It wasn’t fair. Couldn’t Abraham send Lazarus over to give him a sip of water to soothe his burning tongue? No. It could not be! There was a great uncrossable chasm separating heaven from hell. No relief could be given. Then the truth dawned on the rich man. He realized that God’s Kingdom is not structured the way our economic systems have structured our world. “Father Abraham,” he cried, “I beg you, at least send Lazarus to my father’s house to warn my brothers there.” Abraham responded. “I don’t think so, my son. Remember that I sent Lazarus to your front door, and you didn’t take the warning. And when your brothers came to visit you, they too, stumbled over Lazarus. What difference did it make? Why would your brothers do anything differently than they are already doing, or than what you did? In fact, there’s probably some other beggar outside your father’s gate right now, so why don’t your brothers take warning from him?” “Oh no, Father Abraham. You misunderstand me. I don’t mean that you should send Lazarus back as a beggar. You’re right! If he goes back as a beggar, of course my brothers won’t care what he says. I’m asking you to send him back as somebody important! Then maybe they’ll take notice.” Did you hear Abraham’s answer? “But who is more important than Moses? They listen to Moses’ words every week in their services at the synagogue. They know what Moses says about the poor and needy. It’s not a matter of not knowing, it’s a matter of not caring.” Long before the rich man died and the chasm was opened, God had been calling to the rich man – trying to help him. God gave him ample opportunity to respond with generosity and charity. But it was as if he were living with blinders on his eyes. Lazarus sat where the rich man stepped over him every time he left his house. But it was as if Lazarus was invisible. His eyes were blind. His heart was hard. He couldn’t see it because he didn’t want to see it. The rich man knew, but he didn’t really want to know. This is a story about two loves. It’s about the love of money, and the love of people, and which love controls the other. The man loved money – even more than he loved people. He loved his wealth more than he loved the man who sat outside of his gate. He didn’t know that his life was evil – everything felt good to him. His life was evil because Lazarus was nothing to him. If other people mean nothing to us – if we don’t care whether persons live or die – if it doesn’t concern us whether they are happy or suffering – then that is evil. That way of life is to be living outside of the love of other people, and to find a substitute in the love of money. It is not loving Jesus – or loving the world the way Jesus does. Money is nothing in of itself. It’s numbers on a bank statement, and small disks of cheap metal, and pieces of paper with printed pictures on them. Money is a representation of something else. The love of money is an expression of the love of the self – the indulgence in the self – the turning of the power of money toward one’s self. The accumulation of money gives us the illusion of security – of control. And let’s face it – following Christ is a control issue. His is a call to submission – of giving up personal control to God. If you are having a problem with living the challenge of Christ’s Way, then perhaps you might start by giving more of your money to God. Perhaps a person like Lazarus is your opportunity to love your neighbor as yourself. And what closer neighbor do you have than the beggar that sits on the curb in front of your house – or in the parking lot of the mall – or in the airport – or on the streets you drive every day? This story is about who and what we love, but, at its greatest depth, it is also about Jesus himself. Did you figure it out? Lazarus is like Jesus. Every one of Jesus’ stories and parables is about himself. He is the suffering one who walks down the bus aisle – approaches our restaurant table – sits against the wall in the alley through which we must walk – sells us the pencils – asks us to feed her for work – rattles his cup on the Plaza. He is the one from whose eyes we turn away in embarrassment or disgust or apathy. Do you think of Jesus as a beggar? You should! He comes in this disguise to help us. He stretches out across the porch of your house so that you have to step over him. Jesus is subtle. He never overpowers us. If anything, he underpowers us, coming to us in the guise of weakness, even though he is the king of kings. Do you see him? What would it take for us to see – to take the blinders off our eyes? Could Father Abraham be wrong? Is it possible that we, the rich men and women of this world, could be persuaded? Would we be able to see – if someone came back from the dead? Oh yeah - - someone did - - One did - - didn’t he! Let us pray: O Gracious God – Giver of Gifts: open our eyes so that we may see Jesus – today and every day – in the form of the hungry – the children – the homeless and the beggars – the powerless people we step over – or walk around – or cross the street to avoid. Teach us to love Jesus in these forms. Teach us to recognize their gift to us – the gift of the opportunity to love them generously and compassionately. It is a great challenge for us to love them, O God. But you don’t have any trouble loving them, do you? In Jesus’ name we ask these things. Amen. |