This morning's Gospel stirred
some of my elementary school memories. I now realize that some of our religious
education in those days had the effect - perhaps the intent - of instilling
fear and guilt for nearly every moment of our lives other than time spent in
correct prayer. The story of Lazarus and the rich man was told frequently, such
that we children understood we were likely to suffer the destiny of the rich
man cooking in hellfire. As I recall, not only were all affluent people
condemned by our teachers, but almost every-one else as well -unless they were
missionaries, clergy, monastics, lepers or martyrs.
Is today's Reading from Luke a
denunciation of honest people who earn a good living? Is its message that if
something is enjoyable, it must be sinful? Are we being taught that only
innocent, suffering victims are worthy to be in the communion of saints? Are we
being commanded to rescue every destitute person? Such simplistic implications
are incorrect; there is something far more profound here.
One of the misguided ways by
which our culture encourages us to establish our most basic identity, who we
truly are in the deepest sense, is by how much we have. We notice bumper
stickers, such as "He who has the most toys wins!" - slogans somewhat humorous,
yet declaring that the most admirable individual is the ever-accumulating
possessor.
Today's counterparts to the
Gospel's rich man are some women and men who see the results of their labor:
comfortable surroundings, good food in restaurants as well as at home, their
cars, a summer cottage, their vacations, and so on; such contemporaries should
be content. Nonetheless, within them simmers a gnawing sensation of
dissatisfaction; perhaps, a larger house, an additional car, more expensive
leisure activities, more extensive vacations, and a guest apartment for the
cottage - why not add these items to their belongings? Then they might
be satisfied with who they are, their self-worth, and their "good life."
However, soon after their more lavish resources are acquired, a disquieting
returns. Each probably imagines, "I will really have arrived, I will
indisputably be somebody, when I have just a bit more" ...and more ... and
more.
Regrettably, you and I are
frequently encouraged to allow financial worth and luxury determine who we are,
our basic worth as persons; likewise, we are prevailed upon to regard others
according, to what they possess. "I am what I have" becomes an article of
faith. "More is better" is taken for granted. These values, a devilish part of
the American dream, lead to diminished lives destined to superficiality and
chronic discontentment.
No wonder the rich man
portrayed in the Gospel was not given a name; he had no identity beyond his
possessions. The power and significance of his name as a child of God, a
descendant of Abraham, and an heir of the biblical Covenant were forfeited by
his shallow choices and addiction to his wealth. We have no indication that the
rich man was guilty of criminal wrong-doings; he is apparently a well-to-do,
law-abiding citizen. Yet, he was a royally dressed, self-absorbed servant of
affluence, preoccupied with his own life as an ongoing feast; he was
indifferent to the needs of an innocent victim, a fellow of his own religious
community at his front door. We may speculate that this moneyed individual
wanted to live in a secure, correct, enclosed world where everyone was just
like himself, and all outsiders were either the enemy or disposable
losers-by-choice. Ironically, the rich man's final destiny was as a condemned,
nameless outsider, sentenced forever to a tormented existence.
This ancient, self-indulgent
chap brings to mind so many contemporary idols who are often here today and
gone tomorrow, heroes whose pathetic, deadly lives are diminished by such
problems as ongoing substance abuse and shallow or broken relationships. Rich
and famous, self-centered, worshipping themselves and their resources, lonely
in their crowds, seeking recognition through extravagance, exiles from a
genuinely good life, they are often chosen as our ideals. Sadly deluded, we
admire them among entertainers on stage and competitors in stadiums, among
people in business and in the professions.
In one of my courses, I
recently referred negatively to the publicized unstable, pitiful excesses of a
current superstar's life, and a student stomped out of the classroom. A
classmate told me that I had clearly offended the retreating student, who -
unknown to me -had copied as closely as possible the appearance and mannerisms
of the star. I was informed that I had met a genuine "wanna be." It is
fashionable anywhere to criticize cultural scapegoats, but not wealthy
celebrities - however toxic their lives - because so many teenagers and
adults also "wanna be" just like them in their half-alive, frustrating,
glitzy heavens!
Just who was Lazarus to the
rich man? He was a fellow Jew, a child of God whose name means "God cares;" he
was poor, sick, needy, and (given his arrival at the side of Abraham)
righteous; he was an ignored neighbor right at the rich man's gate.
And, who is Lazarus to you and
me? In recent years numerous Christian congregations have reached out sometimes
in ineffective, knee-jerk fashion and often significantly to needy people well
beyond their own doors, indeed to destitute human beings far away. Yet, I
wonder how many churches overlook their own Lazaruses - individuals and
families within their own congregations who have acute spiritual, emotional,
and material needs. Quite frankly, it is easier to serve impoverished strangers
in the nearby secular community and worldwide than it is to uphold victimized
companions among ourselves. Would that we were as generous to needy people
within our own communities of faith as we are to casualties elsewhere! Perhaps
Lazarus is among us this morning; as awkward as it can be, local churches need
to be watchful and to act to meet critical needs of people in their midst.
Let me be clear: although not
evil in itself, wealth ought not to be the central, addictive focus of anyone's
life; possessions, whether many or few, should not be a self-diminishing basis
of who one is. Either a rich or more ordinary individual, as a named
child of God, a descendant of Abraham, can be a faithful and contented member
of the Covenant community. A well-to-do person can be an affluent servant, a
faithful steward, a compassionate neighbor - indeed, one who has learned who
they are from Moses, the prophets and Jesus! You and I, whatever our resources,
named fundamentally as children of God at our Baptisms, "are to do good, to be
rich in good works, generous, and ready to share" ... so that we "may take hold
of the life that is really life." Why settle for less than the truly
satisfying, good life we have been given together in the Name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit?