The Chasm – Lent 2014 – Week 3

Luke 16:24-26:  And, when he had called, he said, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus that he might dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; because, I suffer in this flame.  But Abraham said, “Child remember that you, you received the good in life and Lazarus, likewise, the bad.  But now he is comforted, but you suffer pain.  And, besides, in the midst of us and you a great chasm has been established that even those who want to pass from here to there are not able; nor, those there cross over to us.

While I love the movie “The Shawshank Redemption” I’m not a fan of the novella upon which it was based.  One reason for this is that it lacks, I think, the sense of justice that makes the movie so satisfying.  Those who received the bad now receive the good, and those who enjoyed the good things…well, let us say that by movie’s end they suffer pain.

In this twenty-first century world, Jesus’ parable has a ring of justice to it.  Oh I know, and the commentaries remind me, that the first-century hearers of the tale would have been shocked by the rich man’s suffering.  During that time, it was believed the prosperous on earth were showing outward signs of God’s blessing.  But here, some twenty centuries later, it is not shocking but satisfying.  The mean man who ignored poor Lazarus all these years is getting his.  Let such justice roll down like waters, I find myself thinking.

Do not think here that I’m going to critique the desire for justice in the world (this one or the next one).  Such a desire is a good thing.  It can wake us up to notice who is at the feast and who is begging for crumbs.  It can cause us to act on behalf of those who are receiving all the bad.  And, on the best days, it can help us ease the suffering in this life.

But it can also create a chasm between us.

Too often when I hear a story on the news of some money-grubber who has tricked the elderly out of their savings or some heartless monster that has treated dogs or cats like things rather than the beloved, fuzzy part of God’s creation, I want justice.  I want due punishment meted out.  I want them to find themselves looking from afar at the aged and animals gathered around and cherished at Christ’s table.

Rightfully so that I or any of us desire to see criminal acts stopped and restitution made.  But what that desire, unchecked, does to me is not so right.  I, of course, see myself at Christ’s side, looking far off at this one, this monster that has treated one of God’s beloved in such an inhumane way.  I laugh at them as the flame rises, burning away everything they had.  I feel a deep satisfaction as they begin to cry out in the pain they have brought upon themselves.

Before I know it, a chasm deeper and wider than the eye can comprehend has formed at my feet.  If left unattended, its sides will continue to steepen and its gulf widen.  Who knows how long it will take, but sooner or later that separation, that great difference between myself and this one upon whom I so long for justice to roll down will be impossible to cross.

And, at that point, who knows which side of that gorge I will find myself upon.

The Chasm – Lent 2014 – Week 1

Luke 16:19-21:  And there was a rich man.  He dressed in purple and fine linen celebrating all day sumptuously.  And there was a poor man named Lazarus—thrown at the entrance—covered in sores, desiring to be satisfied with the fallings from the rich man’s table. Even as the dogs came, licking his sores.

Lent is a time to think about separations, the things that divide us from one another.  First among those thoughts are those things that separate us from God.  But as the two commandments—love God, love your neighbor—are connected, so are our thoughts about what separates us from each other—the people who surround us and come in contact with us each day.  In this Lenten season, I invite you on a journey with me through a story that, I find, is all about separation.

You’ve heard this story before, and if you haven’t I imagine you’ll immediately pick a good guy and bad guy out of these first two verses  With just two descriptive terms, Jesus has given us free reign to picture this Rich Man—nameless, faceless to us—just as we like.

To me he’s one of those big bank people.  He made out like a bandit during the housing crisis a few years ago, was probably one of those responsible for the subprime loans and other financial shenanigans that caused your 401K and mine to lose half their value.  Oh yeah, I know this guy.  He’s got two or three houses, a private jet, clothes that cost more than my car.  He’s probably got friends who call up Congressmen every time a new tax comes up just to make sure he doesn’t have to give up one penny of his fortune.

He’s greedy, willfully blind to the need in the world around him, and I can’t help but snicker a little that one day he’ll be begging across the length of some deep, vast chasm.

At least, I do until I remember that’s not what this story is about.

Lazarus, we are told, deeply desires to be satisfied from the fallings from the rich man’s table.  The “desire” here is the same the prodigal son feels when he is starving and coveting what the pigs are fed.  We know for what his heart longs, for what would bring him joy.

But what is the desire of the rich man?  We know he has blinded himself to the suffering and need of Lazarus just outside his door.  Day after day he maintains the separation, the chasm that separates himself from Lazarus.  But who remains separate from him?  Who is blind to his suffering and need?  From whose table would the fallings—the crumbs—be enough?

I have no idea if this Rich Man or any of the nameless, faceless wealthy in our world today are longing for something.  But I do know that when I let my prejudice, my anger blind me, I will not ever reach out across the divide that separates us.  And I will never know if it is my table from which they long to fill themselves.