Sermon Archive

Ray Kroc of McDonald-hamburger fame was once asked why he gave so much money away, why he was so committed to philanthropy. His terse reply: “Well, I've never seen a Brinks truck trailing a hearse.”

This reply of his was simply a colorful version of the message found in today’s First Lesson: “…we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it.” (I Timothy 6:7)

I wonder whether the rich man Jesus describes in this morning’s Second Lesson might have changed his ways had he heard some such sage saying as Kroc’s. Probably not. For Jesus’s rich man seems to me too preoccupied with furthering his own comfort and too unmindful of a truth like “you can’t take it with you” to let himself become at all aware of the truly desperate needs of so many of the folks around him.

Take, for example, that starving, sore-ridden fellow lying at his gate. To the rich man, this poor soul is as good as invisible. Day in and day out the rich man simply steps over him, or around him, never once letting this man’s plight summon to mind either God’s commandment to care for the poor and the hungry, a commandment repeated over and over again by prophets like Amos and Isaiah, or God’s instruction to perform continuous deeds of love toward our neighbors, a teaching proclaimed originally by the prophet Moses. Indeed, the fact of the matter is that most of the dogs who scavenge this sore-ridden fellow’s neighborhood act more compassionately toward him than the rich man ever has.

Now, in this parable about two men—one rich, one poor—Jesus creates a tale filled with complex reversals.

First, Jesus gives the man of great account no name, but Jesus gives the man of no account a great name, one to be remembered through all of time—Lazarus. Indeed, this poor man is the one and only character in all of Jesus’s parables to whom a name is given.

And here’s a second reversal. At death, the rich man suffers an incalculable impoverishment—he’s consigned to Hades. But at death, the poor man receives an immeasurable enrichment—angels carry him to the very bosom of Father Abraham!

And finally, toward the conclusion of Jesus’s story, there’s a third reversal. Jesus shifts his narrative focus from eternity and the fate of his two protagonists back to earth and the destiny of a group up to then unspoken of—namely, the rich man’s five brothers, who have not yet died, whose eternal destiny has not yet been decided, who with proper warning and admonition may yet be able to repent and find salvation.

Now, it is this last shift that has caused many commentators to criticize Jesus’s story-telling ability. They suggest that he’s committed not just one literary sin but two: first, he’s let his plot drift off into an anticlimax; and, second, he’s let the power of his images fade out into something commonplace.

But you see, Jesus doesn’t construct his stories in order to enhance his reputation for literary artistry. No, Jesus constructs his stories in order to motivate his audience to change our lives.

And by focusing the last part of his story on the rich man’s siblings, rather than on the rich man himself or even on Lazarus, Jesus furthers his overriding prophetic purpose—to proclaim to those still living a strong warning from God that we should heed the scriptures and practice on earth the kind of justice that’s practiced in heaven.

Jesus realizes that most of those in an audience like us here today—most of us will not be able to identify either with the abject misery and poverty of Lazarus’s life or with the purple-robed splendor of the rich man’s life.

And Jesus realizes that most of us here today will be able to identify with the rich man’s more ordinary siblings—whom we can picture as only comparatively well-off, like us, rather than as outrageously rich; whom we can imagine as still capable of someday noticing a Lazarus at their gate, rather than as hopelessly callous to the presence of the poor; whom we can envision as still able to learn from the word of God in scripture rather than as completely closed off from it by the myopia of self-absorption.

As many of you are aware, Jesus’s stories are often open-ended—that is, Jesus leaves a number of his parables unfinished so that they may find their completion in the lives of his audience. Well, today’s parable is in fact one of Jesus’s open-ended stories.

The rich man pleads with Father Abraham to send Lazarus as a messenger to warn his siblings about the torments of hell. Abraham replies that for them to successfully avoid the rich man’s fate they need only to heed the scriptures that God has already given them. No special envoy is necessary. They already have everything they need to know to make the right choices. They just have to gain the will to make those choices.

And at this point Jesus stops his story. Whether or not the siblings learn from the scriptures, whether or not they come to act justly, whether or not they avoid their brother’s fate—Jesus leaves all of this untold so that his story may find its ending in our lives.

For we are the siblings of that rich man, the ones who still have time to make the choices in our lives that conform to God’s will—the choices that enable us to care for the strangers at our gate, the hungry in our streets, those at the margins of our society.

News flash #1, from last month’s report by the U.S. Census Bureau: in 2003, there were now 35.9 million—million—Americans living below the poverty level—12.5% of our population, a 10% increase over the percentage of us living in poverty in the year 2000.

News flash #2: in 2003 there were now 45.0 million—million—Americans who had no health insurance—15.6% of our population, a 5.5% increase over the percentage without insurance 3 years ago.

Now, listen to what the word of God as found in Deuteronomy (15:7) has to say to us siblings of the rich man about situations like these: “If there is among you anyone in need…, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor.” The word of God.

Will we or will we not respond to the Lazaruses at our gate? The ending of Jesus’s story is yet to be written—in our lives.

News flash #3: the ratings for the TV reality shows in which someone becomes an instant millionaire are now at an all-time high—fueled by the desire, so widespread among us Americans, to become rich.

But listen to what the word of God as found in I Timothy (6:7–9) has to say to us siblings of the rich man about a situation like this: “… we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it; … if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these. But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil…”

Yes, in today’s parable, it is the love of money that lies at the root of the rich man’s neighbor-numbness, at the root of his sinful insensibility to Lazarus’s need.

Will our love of money render us neighbor-numbed? Or will we become mindful of the needs of the Lazaruses at our gate, on our street corners, in our subway stations? The ending of Jesus’s story is yet to be written—in our lives.

News flash #4, from the U.S. Census Bureau’s August report: more than 1 out of every 6 children in America is born into poverty—17.6%. That’s an increase of nearly 9% over the percentage for the year 2000. (The last three years have been a disaster, haven’t they!) Among industrialized nations, the U.S. is #1 in how many millionaires and billionaires we have, but only #18 in how many of our children are born out of poverty.

Now, listen to what the word of God as found in Isaiah (58:6–7) has to say to us siblings of the rich man about a situation like this:

“Is not this the fast that I choose:
… to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them…?”

Will we, like our brother in the parable, pull down the window shades so that we don’t have to see scenes that distress our enjoyment of life? Or will we heed God’s word by offering help to the Lazaruses at our gate? The ending of Jesus’s story is yet to be written—in our lives.

For years homeless persons had lain on the steps of the 5th Avenue Presbyterian Church while those inside remained unmindful of them—neighbor-numbed, stepping over and around them, perhaps overwhelmed by just how massive the size and scale of the whole problem of homelessness really is. My wife Margaret was one of those inside that church, serving on its staff. And she tells this story.

“As a follower of Christ, I knew in principle that I should get to know the homeless lying at our door, but to actually do that seemed hard and scary. Our society teaches us to ignore the homeless and never to make eye contact with them.

“Mindful of Jesus’s parable about the man named Lazarus and of the need to overcome my neighbor-numbness, I thought it might prove helpful as a first step to get to know some of those on our steps by learning their names and actually talking to them.

“So one night I decided to try to strike up a conversation with one of them, the one who was sitting there reading a book. After all, like most Presbyterians, I know a fair amount about books, and surely that would give us something to talk about!

“So I sat down beside this man, and said, ‘Hi, I’m Margaret.’ ‘I’m Turk,’ he responded, somewhat startled and surprised.

“’What’s that you’re reading?’ I asked. ‘Oh, the latest Grisham paperback,’ Turk responded. And suddenly I was dumbstruck, for I hate mystery stories, and I haven’t read any of John Grisham’s books. So I hadn’t the faintest idea of what to say next.

“But Turk saved the day, by himself picking up our conversation. ‘So, Margaret, who’s your favorite author?’ ‘John Steinbeck,’ I replied without hesitation.

“Well, Turk had read a number of books by Steinbeck, so we were able to carry on a good discussion of Steinbeck’s literary themes and of the social concerns expressed in his writings.”

Now, it was that first conversation with Turk that Margaret thinks of as having launched her, and, through her, the congregation of the 5th Avenue Church, into their ministry of befriending and assisting homeless persons—learning a name, finding a commonality, launching a friendship, assisting their journey out of homelessness.

Lazarus had a name, but the neighbor-numbed rich man never learned it. Lazarus had a life-story, but that, too, remained unexplored. Yet learning the names and learning something about the life-stories of those in need around us can lead us out of neighbor-numbness and into neighbor-helpfulness.

So let me be direct. I want you today to volunteer to help in our shelter for homeless men. And I want you today to volunteer to help in our Thursday night meal program for persons in need. And I ask you, while there, to get to know people’s names and something about their life-stories. It will change your life. If you’d like to learn more about these opportunities like these, please speak to me at the door or else to Margaret herself during the coffee hour.

And while you’re at it, on your way home today, why not try to speak to the homeless person on your corner? And why not try to listen to what he or she can tell you?

For remember, it’s when our own lives cease to be neighbor-numbed that Jesus’s parable finally gets its happy ending.

Let us pray: