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Home , Bosom of Abraham, Rich man and Lazarus

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Lazarus and the Rich Man (:19-31)

Well, after a very challenging in last week’s reading, this week we have one that, in my view, is absolutely stunning. For a story so brief, it is vibrantly meaningful on many different levels. So I intend to do as much justice to it as I can in the short time that we have, considering how condensed its messages are. I’d like to invite you to refer to it closely in your own as I take the verses in order. You can find it in your pew on p. 61 in the section. (Luke 16:19-31)

But before we plunge in I want to mention a couple things. First, I’ll be borrowing (and quoting) liberally from one of the world’s foremost experts in the , the late Rev. Dr. Kenneth Bailey, whose work I’ve cited many times from this pulpit. So, a big hat tip to him. I find his work absolutely fascinating.

Second, I want to stress that in parables we sometimes tend to focus on things that aren’t intended to be their main message. That was the case last week with the Parable of the Dishonest Steward, where we found that cunning behavior is not actually unconditionally endorsed by our Lord. That kind of wasn’t the point of that parable.

Today we’ll see that the Parable of the has much more to do with stewardship, compassion, and repentance than a theology of the . It’s not mainly about and . In fact Ken Bailey says that this may well be a particular genre of folk parable that taps into popular images in order to make a point. Stories like these were common in the first century Middle East. Here the image of heaven and hell is used not as a precise description of the afterlife, but as a platform to make a crucial point about being a godly person. (Does that more or less of make sense?)

It also needs to be said that this parable is the third in a series. The three are back to back in Luke’s Gospel, and they have a common theme. The theme they share is of stewardship of the things God has allowed us to use in this life. In the first parable, the Parable of the Prodigal Son, an errant son wastes his father’s possessions, but is then welcomed home with a sumptuous feast when he repents. Its intent is to show God’s loving heart, and the grace that he yearns to lavish upon those who turn back toward home.

In the second parable a manager wastes his master’s possessions, but is credited for trying to correct his misbehavior. And the key transition between that parable and today’s is that blockbuster bottom line: A servant can’t serve both money and God. One must choose one or the other.

So, with that lead-in, the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is a story in which a rich man wastes his own possessions. Like the other two, it centers around stewardship and salvation. And since both greed and the afterlife figure into this story, it’s very likely that once again is directing his words largely to the rich and selfish Sadducee sect of , who did not even believe in an afterlife. 2

So let’s start with verse 19. Jesus begins his story this way: “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.” This line alone is packed with important symbols. Purple clothing was both expensive and showy. It was an attention-getter. It said, “Look at me; I’m important!

And the “fine linen” so generously translated from the Greek actually comes from a root word meaning underwear. (I love Jesus’s humor here. The rich man even has fancy shorts! He’s got a Duluth Trading Company catalogue and orders only the $25 boxer briefs. Only the best for him.)

And he feasts sumptuously every day. Here Jesus is undoubtedly taking a jab at those who don’t honor the customs of the Sabbath meal, instead preferring to live it up with yet another extravagant feast. Hey, no afterlife to worry about, so let’s party! Do you get the picture?

Now, contrast this with verse 20: “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.”

Interestingly, Jesus names the man “Lazarus”, which not only is the name of his close friend in Bethany, but which means “the one whom God helps”. This seems ironic, right, for one whose lot in life is helpless suffering within the uncaring view of a greedy man. God helps?? Really? But the story isn’t over yet… Stay tuned.

Bailey stresses here that the man’s suffering isn’t mainly physical. That’s bad enough, what with the sores and the gnawing hunger, but it’s the intentional neglect by someone who was in a position to help him that hurt the most.

Now, in the tightly-packed villages of the first century Middle East it was only a few steps from gate to front door. Lazarus undoubtedly heard the sound of laughter, and clinking tableware, and the opening of wine bottles. He could certainly smell roasting meat and baking bread from his miserable, dusty, fly-infested, sunbaked place outside the gate. This is the picture that Jesus wants his words to evoke. To one with any kind of heart, they would invite deep pity.

Now, here I’d like briefly to take us back into the present day. Bailey speaks of “compassion fatigue”, which is what happens when we see so many people in need. At every freeway onramp there’s someone with a cardboard sign and an outstretched hand. It gets to where we don’t even notice them anymore. Compassion fatigue may well be the case with the rich man. Day in and day out Lazarus lay in his same place, and he becomes an inanimate fixture to the rich man, who perhaps even steps over him to get to the marketplace or the synagogue, that is, whenever he decides to attend. The contrast couldn’t be more stark.

And Jesus says that even the dogs would come and lick Lazarus’ sores. But to be clear, the dogs that are fed the food scraps that Lazarus craves, are not party to the rich 3 man’s indifference. Licking is a way that dogs show nurturing and affection, and one might reasonably guess in this story that they are among Lazarus’s only friends.

But now we come to the pivoting point of the story. Jesus says that the poor man died and was carried by the to . (Here the King James Version is actually more helpful, as it speaks of the “”. What this actually referred to at that time was the place of honor next to the host of a feast. For instance, at the John was said to be at Jesus’s bosom, a special position in a very special dining room. So here’s the manifestation of his name, “the one whom God helps”. In the afterlife he’s in a place of honor beside Abraham.)

Meanwhile, the rich man also died. But he wasn’t borne away by angels; he was buried. He went the opposite direction. His life “went on”, but it was a life of torment. Here, the typical symbol of fire is used to describe its anguish. In the story he looks up and sees Lazarus beyond an impossible chasm, alongside Abraham. (In reality the rich man wouldn’t really be able to see Lazarus from his vantage point, but in this kind of story it’s essential to the message. Remember, this is a teaching story by Jesus, not an actual historical event.)

The rich man cries out, “Father Abraham, (my father Abraham as the Aramaic would have stressed. He’s invoking his Hebrew kinship), have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.” OK? Send Lazarus to me to relieve my suffering.

Now, let’s stop here, because this really is astounding. From the realm of this man who had utterly neglected the most basic human kindness toward a horribly suffering man now wants this man to be his messenger boy to bring him relief from his suffering. Nice guy, right? Despite experiencing the just consequences of his inaction, he has no apparent conception of the suffering he caused Lazarus, much less any inclination whatsoever to say “Sorry!”

He doesn’t even speak directly to Lazarus, instead going “over his head” to Abraham to dispatch the “errand boy” to help! The rich man is completely insensitive and utterly unrepentant. He’s the very picture of one who damns himself through his cruel obstinacy. The caste system is fully operational for him, even in his miserable state. Yet Bailey says that he longs to be Lazarus, the one whom God helps, but it’s too late. Bailey says, “He saw Lazarus with his eyes, but never with his heart.” This could serve as the rich man’s epitaph. Probably cured him of his atheism, though. or least his disbelief in an afterlife.

It’s like time C. S. Lewis was walking through an English cemetery with a friend, and they came across a tombstone with the epitaph, “Here’s lies and atheist, all dressed up and no place to go. To which Lewis replied, “I’ll bet he wishes that were true…”

Well, Jesus’s story concludes with Abraham informing the rich man that, even if Lazarus wanted to go “from here (heaven) to there (Hades)” he couldn’t, because a great chasm 4 has been fixed between the two realities. That is, between the realm of good and its consequences, and the realm of evil and its consequences. (And by the way, Jesus’s wording of this message seems at least to hint that Lazarus, in his patient mercy, desired to do exactly that—to relieve the rich man’s suffering, but he couldn’t do it.)

So the rich man says, OK then, at least send Lazarus to my brothers to warn them to avoid this awful place. He still is asking Abraham to dispatch this lower caste beggar to do his bidding. He just doesn’t get it! And through this clueless character, Jesus is trying to get the attention of others who just don’t get it. This is about how we use what God gave to us, and it’s all about repentance. The rich man is unrepentant and has basically made his own bed to sleep in. Clueless.

This is an especially astonishing kind of cluelessness. And in response to the rich man’s claim that, if someone appears to his brothers from the dead, they’ll repent, Abraham replies, “If they don’t listen to Moses and the prophets [that is, if they don’t hear and heed Moses and the prophets], neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” Like , for instance, who Jesus raised from the dead and it only ticked off the and that much more.

Jesus’s warning here is very pointed. He’s doing them the favor of informing them that obstinate heartlessness has consequences. His implied question is: So do you want to be like the one who returns with a penitent heart to your Father, or the one who damns himself with cruel apathy to tragic separation from God, and from all that’s good?

Here the tables are turned on the oppressors. Yet through it all, Jesus’s protagonist, Lazarus, remains patient and quiet. He doesn’t read out the rich man, railing at him for his cruelty. Rather, he appreciates the grace he’s been shown, and models the heart Jesus speaks of when he says, “Love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind even to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”

As such, the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus is a parable for us. It urges us to exercise the kind of stewardship that shares our bounty with those in need, and respects all people with the dignity afforded those made in the image of God. And that is everyone. And when we fail to do this, whether through judging others, or compassion fatigue or just plain apathy, it encourages us to repent, and to return home to our Father.

And the glorious and beautiful thing is that, when we consider today’s parable in tandem with the Parable of the Prodigal Son, we receive not only of forgiveness, but the ecstatic love of a father, and a festive celebration, and a warm and joyful home where giving is contagious and its rewards spread ever outward and upward in a radiance of gratitude and compassion. It’s a taste of heaven on earth.

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That’s the golden kingdom of which Jesus so often speaks. That’s what it looks like. And we, here in this place, by God’s loving grace, are citizens of it now and forever. May the Lord help us always to bask in the joy of that grace, and then to share it with everyone we meet. Amen.