If I were a rich man

Today’s text is one of the more familiar, and more straight forward parables in Luke’s gospel.  We see that it’s part of a greater conversation with the Pharisees about money.  Up to this point, the Pharisees have been eavesdropping on Jesus’ conversations, but now they have come forward to ridiculing him, “sneering” at the parable of the Manager and the Rich Man that we discussed last week.  Jesus, in response to their grumbling, tells the “money loving” Pharisees another story about riches…a parable that substantially raises the stakes in the critique of the Pharisees. 

This parable borrows from generations past, going all the way back to the time when the Hebrew people were under Egyptian rule.  The set-up of the parable is two worlds within two worlds, a common Egyptian literary format, and there is some debate that this parable echoes a first-century Egyptian story (found recorded on papyrus fragments) about a poor man named Setme, and a nameless rich man.  Rabbis also tell a similar story about two holy men who die and have to account for their actions (or lack of actions) while they were still living. 

We start out being introduced to the rich man.  The rich man has no name.  Is it the same rich man from the proceeding parable?  We don’t know, but the Greek pronouns in both parables do carry over from one to the other.  This rich man, we quickly see, is more than “just” a rich man.  He is dressed in purple and fine linen.  You and I can wear purple every day if we choose…but in the time of Jesus, that would not have been possible, unless you were the absolute upper tier of the ladder of social status and power.  Typically only royalty could afford to wear purple, which is why it is commonly, especially in antiquity, attributed to royalty.  So it is very plausible that this rich man was indeed someone powerful, important, and wealthy, a detail that Luke continued to stress when he added, “who feasted sumptuously every day”.  Purple and linen doesn’t resonate with me…but feasting sumptuously every day does.  This made me think of the “feast” days we observe and celebrate, usually with our families.  At Easter, at Thanksgiving, and at Christmas, my entire family gets together (and there might be upward of 150 of us), and we share a feast.  Our tradition is Prime Rib at Easter, Turkey at Thanksgiving, and Ham at Christmas.  And that’s just the focal point of the feast…it’s always surrounded by a cornucopia of complimenting dishes like potatoes, carrots, corn casserole, green beans, dressed eggs…y’all are getting the picture.  If you have ever been involved in preparing a meal like this, this opulent, grand, and extravagant, there’s two things you know:  it’s very expensive, and it’s very time consuming.  Which is why we don’t (or at least not me or anyone I know) eat this way every day.  But this rich man, he did.  Every single day.  In his home…surrounded by his fence and his gate.

Next, we meet Lazarus.  This is not the same Lazarus whom Jesus resuscitated in John’s gospel account.  I personally have never met a Lazarus, but Lazarus was apparently a common name…back then.  We are likewise informed of the same three things we just learned about the rich man in Lazarus’ life, where he lives, what he wears, and what he eats.  We see that Lazarus lives just outside the rich man’s gate; Lazarus is homeless.  He doesn’t wear purple and linens like his counterpart, rather being dressed in sores that weep with irritation, because the dogs continually come and lick them.  He has no food, eats no feasts; he was so hungry that he longed for the crumbs and waste that fell from the rich man’s table.  He is, in every way, the antithesis of the rich man.  In all ways but one:  they both die.

When Lazarus dies, he receives no funeral, no burial.  No one mourns him, no one grieves his death, no one misses him.  He is carried off in death by the angels to be with Abraham, we are told.  In a reversal of events, Lazarus was shed of his old life of homelessness, hunger, and misery and is now clothed in peace, love, and mercy.

When the rich man dies, his death mirrors his life; when he died, he had a proper funeral (which was a big deal in that culture.  It was a closely held value that each and every person, regardless of how they lived, had a proper and respectable burial).  I would imagine that the proper funeral was scaled to match his life.    But, this is where life’s amenities end for the rich man, for when he awoke, he found himself in a place called Hades (Greek term).

At this point, the rich man calls out to Abraham for mercy, and asks him to send Lazarus to bring him water…even just a drop.  Abraham tells the man that there is a great chasm (a vast separation) between them that cannot be crossed.  The rich man would know no mercy, relief, or reprieve from his agony.  Then the man (in a way) steps outside of himself and begs Abraham to send Lazarus to his five brothers, so that they may be warned and avoid the same eternal future; again, Abraham denies the request of the rich man. 

The juxtapositions are deep:  rich and poor, heaven and hell, superior and inferior.  There are so many working parts to this story which leaves the reader with so many questions:  If the rich man could see Abraham and Lazarus, and Abraham could see the rich man, could Lazarus also see (and hear) the rich man?  What happened to the five brothers?  What am I supposed to do?  How much am I supposed to do?  When I see homeless people maybe I’ll give them a couple of dollars, but every homeless person?  I can’t help every homeless person.  What if they’re going to buy alcohol, or drugs with the money I give them?  And what if they’re not homeless, but panhandling for money instead of working when they live in a nicer house than me and drive a nicer car than me? 

So what do we do?  How can we keep from suffering the same fate as the rich man is what we’re all wondering really, isn’t it?  Well of course it is…because we want to make sure to avoid making the same mistake(s).  So we think back over the rich man’s life…and we don’t have much to go on.  So is he in Hades because he is rich?  Is he in Hades because of something else he did that we don’t see here? 

I think…we don’t see what he saw but didn’t see.

You got that…right?  We don’t see, what he saw, but didn’t see.  So what is it?  What did we not see?  What did the rich man see but not see?  Well, it’s Lazarus.  He saw Lazarus with his eyes, he saw him when he passed him on the walkway, when he went through the gate into his house, and as he gorged himself on his feasts; even after death continued to see Lazarus.  But, how did he see Lazarus?  Not as a person.  Not as someone created in the image of God.  Not as the least of these.  We know in life his wealth made him blind to Lazarus, and in his eyes this elevated him above this poor man.  He had the ability to help Lazarus and did nothing.  He refused to see.  In death, his views of Lazarus didn’t change; in all of his pleading with Abraham, the rich man never once mentioned his own actions, rather continuing to objectify Lazarus asking Abraham to “order” Lazarus to do his bidding. 

So was the rich man’s deadly infraction blind objectification?  I believe so.  In his heart of hearts he refused to see Lazarus as a fellow human.  This led me to a lot of questions that swirled around in my head, and with each question came another question.  And I’ll admit here that I don’t have the answers, but one thing I know I will do is see as much as I can, the good, the not so good, and everything between.  I’ll open my eyes and see those who live their lives without shelter, and won’t stop to judge whether or not they “want to be there or choose to be there” or not.  I’ll choose to see past the decisions that brought them to this point, and see them where they are, and go to them.  I’ll choose to not focus on the  abstract possibilities (if I give them money, what will they do with it), and I’ll focus on what I’m called to do.  I’ll open my eyes to all the unseen ways I objectify all of creation:  the women and children who labor in sweatshops and remain invisible behind the labels I buy, the suffering of animals in factory farms who are invisible behind the fast food I eat, the suffering of the suspect who is tortured behind locked doors out of sight to calm our fears, the systems that feed upon the suffering of others while keeping these sufferings invisible. 

You and I have an upper hand here; you and I have an opportunity that the rich man did not have.  We have a chance to change.  We aren’t in Hades, looking back on our lives, seeing the missed times do to things differently.  We have the here and the now to do things differently, because when we know better we do better.

Change is scary.  Change is not natural to us.  Change is the one thing we will resist with every fiber of our being.  I once asked someone wiser than me, “then how do we change?”…and her answer was “changes begets change”.  We change by changing, and this type of change starts outside of us.