Proper 21.C.25
Luke 16:19-31
Melanie L. McCarley

Once upon a time, there was a rich man who ate and dressed very well. He lived in an opulent mansion surrounded by a large, secure wall. At the gate to the outside there was a poor, diseased man named Lazarus. (Public Service Announcement: Luke’s character in this parable named Lazarus is a different person than the brother of Martha and Mary whom Jesus resuscitates in John’s Gospel). The Lazarus of this story was starving, and begged the rich man for food—not the food from the man’s table, (certainly not) but only the food that fell to the floor; scraps intended for the dogs. Weeks went by. The rich man kept ignoring Lazarus, and Lazarus kept getting sicker and weaker and hungrier. Eventually, both men died. Fast-forward to the afterlife: Lazarus is in heaven, and the rich man is in Hades (which most Christians have amalgamated to mean Hell). So there you have it: the rich man who doesn’t care about the poor goes to Hell, and poor man who is forced to beg toes to Heaven. The end.

Well…perhaps not so fast. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention.
To comprehend today’s parable—or any parable, really, it’s important to understand that parables are meant to give us a glimpse—often a surprising, jarring and even uncomfortable glimpse into the kingdom of God. Parables aren’t necessarily being told to tell us how it is—they are given so that we might see the world and God’s kingdom through a lens different from the one through which we are accustomed to seeing the world. In other words, today’s parable isn’t intended to be a picture of the afterlife. It’s really a parable about our lives, right now—in the present tense. Think of yourselves, if you will, as the relatives of the Rich Man to whom a message is being given.

So, let’s delve a little deeper into the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. The first thing to notice is that Lazarus has a name. The Rich Man, does not. In fact, this is the only time in any of Jesus’s parables that a character has a name. That tells us something important. This man, “Lazarus” sitting outside the Rich Man’s gate is important. The name Lazarus means “God helps”—which, in this parable functions as both a promise as well as an indictment. For while God does indeed bring Lazarus to the bosom of Abraham; the intent was for Lazarus to have been helped while he was still on the earthly side of the afterlife.

And…what about that chasm; the one that we are told is fixed between the Rich Man and Lazarus? The Rev. David Lose has a perspective which I believe has a great deal of merit. What he says is this: “That chasm was fixed a long, long time ago and was reinforced every time the Rich Man came and went into his sumptuous abode to feast at his rich table and ignored Lazarus. He obviously knew Lazarus was there and understood his plight, because he knows Lazarus by name. Yet he did nothing. Furthermore, even in the afterlife the Rich Man continues to treat Lazarus as a non-entity, a servant who should fetch him some water or, failing that, be sent as a messenger to his brothers. So, in both his earthly life and in the life to come, the Rich Man refuses to see Lazarus as a person, a human being, a fellow child of God.” Even in Hell, the Rich Man still thinks that Lazarus is below him and is meant to be used for the benefit of the Rich Man and his family. All of which is flat-out stunning, when you pause to think about it. Consider it this way, that chasm, it wasn’t simply a geological feature of the afterworld, it was something the Rich Man had invested a great deal of effort in making.

So, what is the parable about? And how might it relate to you and me? In this passage, seeing is a really big deal. Our parable seems to suggest that before you can have compassion for people, you have to be willing to see them. You have to acknowledge their presence, their needs, and gifts, and above all, their status as Children of God, worthy of respect and dignity. It’s worth thinking, then, of the people that we don’t see—individuals whose identities exist solely in categories rather than as individuals with names, histories, gifts and talents. The poor, the homeless, addicts, illegal aliens, gays, Trans, feminists, blacks, neuro-divergents, Woke people, fat people, beautiful people: “The Worst of the Worst”; “Nazis”; “Snowflakes”, “Fascists” and “Deplorables” all wrapped up in the convenient label of “Them”. In our culture, where people are so deeply polarized, it’s worth taking note of how often people are dehumanized—tossed into categories, and given derogatory nicknames. Here is my suggestion. When you hear someone do this (and, let’s face it, I think we’ve all been guilty of it)— it’s worth investing the energy to point this out—gently, politely, but clearly. The sad lessons of history have taught us that it is when people are dehumanized, that society can treat them with greater harm. Learn names. See people, not categories—look at the individuals beyond the boxes into which we have placed them. In this way, we begin to build a bridge over the chasm which divides “us” from “them”.

This makes sense to me. It’s easy to hate a “them”; but if you get to know a person—and discover that Irene, whose parents are from the Dominican Republic, who is receiving food stamps is actually working two jobs, has a child with disabilities and is a person with a deep fondness for calico cats—it’s really hard to hate her—in fact, the more you know about her—it’s really hard to ignore her and her situation as well. Then there’s Jerry, 56 years old, recently laid off from his job, whose spouse (whom he fondly refers to as the “Light of his Life”) has a chronic disease. He loses sleep wondering how she will continue to receive treatment without his insurance. Esther is 87, with no children or relatives nearby. She is suffering from mild dementia and has fallen prey to an online scammer. She is also a passionate gardener, who raises beautiful dahlias, a master quilter and, as a former teacher, has invested decades of her life teaching children in her community how to read. Compassion and empathy come from the ability to see—to look beyond labels to the remarkable people God has created us to be.

The American author and playwright Tennessee Williams said it best: “The world is violent and mercurial. It will have its way with you. We are saved only by love—love for each other and the love that we pour into the art we feel compelled to share: being a parent, being a writer, being a painter, being a friend. We live in a perpetually burning building, and what we must save from it, all the time, is love.” Amen to that. Amen.