By Sister Rebecca
Just prior to our Gospel reading today, we are told
that Jesus cried out, “You cannot serve God and money,” to some of the
Pharisees and Scribes who were listening.
They were known to be lovers of money. They turned up their noses to him
and mocked him. But Jesus did not back
off. He told a very disturbing parable
so that those who were possessed and blinded by their riches might open their
eyes. This story is an incredibly
upsetting one. It describes a harsh and
cruel situation. The story is about a
nameless rich man and a poor beggar, Lazarus, whose name in Hebrew means “God
helps.” Saint John Chrysostom adds, “God
helps the one who cries out.” But this
man’s “cry” is a silent cry; he utters not one word. Jesus breaks the silence—but not only the
silence of this man. Throughout Luke’s Gospel,
Jesus takes a stand for the silent suffering ones, the dispossessed, the sick,
the marginalized—in short, those who have no voice.
Jesus
also breaks through indifference. In our
story we hear of a rich man and Lazarus, who live near one another but are
separated by an abyss that exists between a life of abundance and ostentatious
opulence and the extreme misery of a poor, sick man, Lazarus.
In describing
these two persons, Jesus strongly points out the contrast between them. The rich man goes about dressed in regal
purple and the finest linen, while the poor man is clothed with nothing but his
wounds. The rich fellow sets up
grandiose banquets, not only on festive days but every day, whereas Lazarus,
lying at the mansion gate, cannot even bring to his mouth whatever falls from
the table of the rich man. Only the dogs
get to feed on what he longs for. The
dogs alone see this man and give him some relief by licking his wounds.
Nowhere
do we hear that this rich man has exploited, mistreated, or despised the poor
and miserable. He is not a bad man;
there is no mention of him doing evil things.
He is simply indifferent to the needs of others. His entire life seems to us inhuman, since he
is egotistically concerned only for his own comfort. There is a total disconnect between himself
and the poor man right under his feet.
He ignores Lazarus because he is so utterly self-absorbed. He has no conscience because he is not
conscious of anything beyond himself and of his own pleasure. He has a heart of stone.
We
must not deceive ourselves: Jesus does not only denounce the Galilean situation
of his times. He attempts to stir up the
conscience of our own Christian community.
As
followers of Jesus, and hearing this story anew today, we can ask ourselves: What
words stand out in our own minds? The
readings this morning from the Book of Deuteronomy and the Epistle to the
Romans give us insights into the path: “The Word is near you—it is in your
mouth and in your heart so you may practice it.” What “Word” of life is Christ striving to get
through to us? What is he stirring us to
reflect upon? The Word of God is on our
lips and in our hearts so we may listen to it and practice it. Surely, the Word of God to each one of us
today is not as individuals to try to eradicate poverty or bridge the gap
between the haves and the have-nots.
Even Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you.” One of the three great temptations of Jesus
in the desert was to use his gifts to turn stones into bread and do just that: eradicate
hunger. Rather, his mission was to teach
and turn hearts of stone into hearts of love and compassion.
But when
we read the Gospels and the Epistles we note that there are all kinds of poverty,
suffering, and misery that are not just about food and clothing. Most of those who are listening to this Gospel
today are both rich and poor. The story
depicts what is blatantly obvious of what rich and poor look like, might feel
like. This is real. Yet, like all parables, this one needs to be
unpacked at a personal level. These
stories are meant to strike our imagination as metaphor and lead us to a deeper
level of listening to what Jesus is calling each of us as his followers: Listen
to the silent cries of not only those close to us but of our very own hearts.
We
all have riches, different levels of riches: talents, knowledge, health in mind
and body, skills that are proper to each of us.
We received them in order to steward them for the good of others. Are we really sharing the ones that are needed
by those in our midst or part of our social lives? Are we sensitive to a particular need of the
one closest to us at any given moment? Are
we so “possessed” or blinded by one or another
of our personal riches, a particular gift that might so absorb us that we fail
to see the bigger picture of our community lives, whether here at the monastery
or in our families and workplaces?
What Jesus really points to is the
great chasm—the sin of the world that has created relational chasms all over
the place. For example, is there is a
chasm between us and God, between us and them, between us and ourselves,
between us and creation? That is what hell
is like. That is the darkness from which
we are all called to realize that we need to be saved. Is there a silence that needs to break through
in our lives, or an unfeeling indifference that creates gaps among us? Do we act sometimes like the indifferent rich
man but also like a silenced “Lazarus”? We absolutely need to cry out for God’s help as
we are called to break through the barrier of an unhealthy and painful silence.
We need to communicate at a deeper level
and close the gap that may exist between us and with one another. Anthony the Great said that life and death is
in your relationship with your neighbor. Love bridges the chasm between life and death.
