Hard Of Hearing

Have any of you visited the Trump Plaza in Atlantic City? That’s what I kept thinking of as I meditated on this parable. Because just as I was leaving Presbytery last Tuesday evening, I ran into Bob Higgs, who is Executive Director of the Atlantic City Mission Council. He was carrying several plastic bags full of clothing. I looked at him inquiringly, and he explained, “Underwear. And socks. The guys at the mission wear theirs until they fall apart.” And so I saw the rich man in the story as Donald Trump, and Lazarus was all the homeless men who sit hopeless and hungry at their gates.

The timing is perfect, because we’re going to emphasize stewardship this month, as Consecration Sunday comes at the end of October, and this text certainly makes a great kick-off for the topic. But although how we use our resources is certainly part of this text’s message, I’m not sure it’s the most important. But before I tell you what I think this sermon IS about, I want to clear away some of the debris that typically surrounds any discussion of Jesus and money. This parable does not teach that it is sinful to be wealthy. Abraham was rich, Job was rich, Solomon was rich. Jesus doesn’t say it’s better to be poor, either. Even though Lazarus went to heaven and the rich man - let’s call him Donald - went to hell, it wasn’t their possessions that got them there. It does look like payback, of course... after death, their roles are reversed. Lazarus is at ease, and Donald is tormented. Jesus turns the old Hebrew way of thinking upside down, showing that wealth is not necessarily a reward for virtue, and poverty not necessarily the consequence of sin. “Woe to you who are rich,” says Luke, “ for you have received your consolation. “Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. “Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.” [Lk 6:24-26] Or as Matthew puts it, “Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” [Mt 19:30] The pendulum swings, and Lazarus is up while Donald is down.

Here’s a couple more interesting tidbits to put this story into context: ancient Hebrew tombs were often inscribed, “Asleep in the bosom of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” The popular belief at the time was that all of Abraham’s descendants would join him in the afterlife. Jesus used terminology familiar to His audience to make a point; we aren’t to assume that the people who made it into heaven can converse with people who didn’t. And it’s my opinion that he uses the name Lazarus partly because it means “God is my help,” but it’s also a reference to the other Lazarus whom Jesus later raised from the dead.

For the purposes of the lesson Jesus is trying to teach, however, Donald is in hell, and he can see heaven from there. Talk about rubbing it in! It’s a whole lot easier to put up with hunger, isn’t it, when the bakery isn’t right next door. I read somewhere that during the summer in Iraq - when the temperature rarely drops below 3 figures - our soldiers used to say “This isn’t hell, but you can see it from here.”

Well, there is Donald, hungry, thirsty, and hot, and for the first time in his life he can’t send a servant to fix things. So he calls up to Father Abraham to send Lazarus to help relieve his suffering. Now remember that Donald always been able to cut a deal. You find out what the other person wants, and negotiate the terms of exchange. But why on earth would he particularly ask for Lazarus to be the one to deliver the hoped-for mercy? Do you suppose he expects Lazarus to feel some kind of connection because they’re from the same home town? Somehow that does not compute for me. Do you suppose that every now and then Donald had the servants toss him a crust, and expected Lazarus to feel gratitude? It may well be. We almost always exaggerate our own generosity. But as Mother Teresa once said, “If you give something that you can live without, it’s not giving.”

Well, after Abraham turns that request down, Donald then asks for Lazarus be sent to warn his family to mend their ways, so they won’t end up where he was. This is an invitation to the hellfire and brimstone school of preaching, which is only effective if you actually do believe in an afterlife. C.S. Lewis tells us of a tombstone that read, “Here lies an atheist — all dressed up and no place to go.” He added, “I bet he wishes that were so.”