Luke 16.19-31; 1 Timothy 6.6-9

Pentecost 16 | September 25, 2022 | Lk 16.19-31; 1 Timothy 6.6-9 | Richard O. Johnson |

Jesus said, “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, `Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, `Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ He said, `Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house– for I have five brothers– that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, `They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, `No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, `If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’“ [Luke 16.19-31]

This morning we have heard yet another of Jesus’ parables. Last week’s example, if you recall, was a little difficult to understand. By contrast, today’s parable is pretty easy to grasp, at least on one level, and it is one that is reasonably familiar to most of us. It is a rather popular parable, perhaps because it seems to be a case of the underdog winning in the end, and that’s a popular story, whether in literature or sports or politics. I can see this parable turned into a movie, with everyone cheering as the terrible rich man finally gets what’s coming to him after years of mistreating poor Lazarus!

But of course, as we often find with the parables, there’s more here than meets the eye. This morning I’d like to focus on the rich man. He’s the villain, I know, but I think we need to look at him with some different eyes. He’s not an evil person, but he does find himself, in this story, cast into hell. So let’s ask the question: “What’s a nice guy like him doing in a place like this?” And we really need to ask that question, because the rich man is really not so unlike you and me.

Who is this rich man?

First, who is he? Interesting question! Did you know that Lazarus, the poor beggar in this story, is (if we don’t include “Father Abraham”) the only character in any of Jesus’ parables to be given a name? That’s something to ponder, especially because while Lazarus has a name, the rich man doesn’t. It is as if all we can know about him can summed up in a phrase: he is “a certain rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.” What does it mean that this is all that is to be said about him?

When we lived in California, our closest metropolitan newspaper was the Sacramento Bee. I used to love to read the obituaries. For a time, the editor of that section would include headlines to the obituaries of very ordinary people, headlines which tried to sum up what was significant about that person. “She was a dentist whose real love was raising canaries.”  “He spent years reading the Encyclopedia Britannica from cover to cover.” “She once met the King of Sweden.” Interesting things to offer in summary of a person’s life! It always made me wonder what they would say about me!

But what kind of a man would it be about whom one could only say, “He was rich, he dressed well, and he ate fabulously!” Not much of a life, was it? The old saying is that no one wants to see, engraved on their tombstone, “She worked a lot of overtime” or “He was an immaculate housekeeper,” but I think either of those would be preferable to the summary Jesus gives us of this man’s life. “Rich, well-dressed, well-fed.” There are plenty of people in this world who could be so described, of course. But this man’s problem wasn’t that he was rich; it was that being rich was all he was. That summed it up. That was the focus of his life. There was nothing else to say about him.

But he’s more than that

Oh, but I’m being too harsh. There were other things about him, but we have to read between the lines. Sometimes preachers rail against this man by claiming that he simply ignored poor Lazarus, lying at his gate. Don’t you believe it! Read between the lines. Lazarus lay there because he wanted to eat the scraps that came from this man’s table. I don’t see anything to suggest he wasn’t given those scraps. If he hadn’t been given those scraps, he would have found another place to beg, a more profitable place.

Furthermore, it is obvious, isn’t it, that the rich man was at least aware of who Lazarus was. He seemed to have no difficulty recognizing him as the parable unfolds. He knew this man, knew that he was beggar, knew that he had lain at his gate, knew, no doubt, that every day his servants had thrown Lazarus the scraps left from the rich man’s sumptuous table. And he knew—or should we say, “he thought”—that those scraps were enough, that they fulfilled his obligations, that he’d been kind to someone less fortunate than himself.

Now he becomes a little more like us, doesn’t he? We see him, not as a heartless and selfish man, but as one whose level of concern and giving never goes beyond the cast offs. “Of course,” he thought, “that poor man can have my scraps. I don’t need them.” Isn’t that how we often give? What we don’t need, what we can easily afford, that we give—and we feel so good about it!

“People like that”

But there is more. How about the part where the rich man is in Hades, tormented by thirst? He sees Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom and so he calls out to Abraham, “Send Lazarus down to bring me some water!” My goodness! This certain rich man without a name no doubt lived his whole life thinking that other people were at his beck and call, that he was somehow more important than they. Now even in the prison of Hades, he still thinks that way. Send Lazarus down—that’s what people like him are for, to help people like me!

Of course, it isn’t only the rich who look down their noses at other people. Who is it that you view as being essentially different from you, less important, not worthy of much consideration? Is it the poor? Is it someone of a different race or culture? Is it the harried salesperson? Is it the telemarketer? Is it the young? Is it the old?

Do we hear? Do we see?

Then there’s the part where the rich man tries to get Lazarus sent back to warn his brothers about where their road is leading. “Oh, but they have the law and the prophets to warn them,” Abraham says.  “No,” the rich man replies, “but if someone would go to them from the dead, then they would understand.” Let’s not be too touched by the nameless rich man’s sudden concern for his brothers. Let’s read between the lines. He’s really saying something about himself. “If only someone had told me…” What a human response! “It wasn’t really my fault; I didn’t know any better.” Abraham says, in effect, “Oh, but you did. You were told. You just chose not to listen.”

And what about us, on that score? We listen, of course. We hear the words week after week about what the Lord calls us to do. Do we listen? Do we hear, any more than a certain rich man? Or are we, like him, content to throw our scraps to the beggar at the door?

Albert Schweitzer, the great missionary doctor, read this parable and felt the call of God. He became convinced that Africa was the beggar lying at the gate of Europe, and so he left behind his lucrative medical practice and his prominence as a musical scholar and went to Africa to heal the sick in the name of Christ.

Several years ago, I knew a young man in California. He and his wife were rather recently married, and they were living in a large old house in Oakland. They had been involved in a ministry that took meals to AIDS patients in their homes, and through that ministry, they came to know a man, in the fairly late stages of the disease, who had lost his job, whose family had essentially deserted him, and who now had lost the place where he was living. This young couple, married only a few weeks, decided to take this man into their home and care for him. They provided him with more than food and a bed and medical help; they loved him. They became his family and gave him a home in every sense until he died. They surely exemplified the words we heard in 1 Timothy: “Do good, be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share, thus storing up the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that [you] may take hold of the life that really is life.”

Of course, God doesn’t give us all the opportunity to do such a dramatic thing. But he does call us to look out the window of our comfortable lives and see who might be lying at the gate. There are many kinds of beggars. They are the poor, like Lazarus, the homeless and the needy. They are the sick, the lonely. They are the aged who fill the convalescent hospitals around us. They are the confused and lonely and troubled who may live right among us but whom we conveniently overlook. They are all Lazarus, all of them, crying out not just for scraps but for people who will care and love and see them with eyes of compassion and hearts of tenderness. Who lies at your gate? What will you do?

Pastor Richard O. Johnson

Webster, NY

roj@nccn.net