September 25, 2016
Ordinary Time 26, Pentecost 10
Holy Wisdom, Madison WI
All three of today’s readings warn of the dangers that accompany wealth. In the first reading Amos denounces the self-indulgence to which wealth led the Israelite elite. But what troubles the Prophet more than their self-indulgence is their indifference to the suffering of the workers whom they exploit to maintain their luxurious lifestyle.
The author of I Timothy reflects on the dangers to which those who want to be wealthy expose themselves. The love of money, he writes, is a root of every kind of evil and a trap that leads to ruin and destruction. One doesn’t need a revelation to acquire this insight. On the individual level, it’s obvious to any careful observer of human behavior. Examples also abound in history and in great literature, like Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. But the ruinous effects of this perverse love of money are most obvious and extreme in our corporate economic life, obsessed as it is with maximizing profit at any cost.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells a story about a rich man and a poor man to illustrate the dangers of wealth. Like all Jesus’ parables, this one turns things upside down. First of all the poor man has a name while the rich man is nameless. Tradition has given him the name Dives, but that’s not a personal name. It’s a generic Latin word for rich man. The poor man’s name is Lazarus, a form of Eleazar, which means one whom God helps. Secondly, the parable focuses on to poor man. It describes Lazarus as hungry and covered with sores. “Even the dogs would come and lick his sores,” Luke writes. In this poignant phrase Luke portrays the dogs as more compassionate than the rich man. They keep Lazarus company and lick his sores as they would their own to heal them. The rich man, on the other hand, doesn’t even see Lazarus. That’s precisely his problem. As far as we know, he isn’t abusive or mean to Lazarus. He’s simply too caught up in his sumptuous life, too trapped by the many senseless and harmful desires that wealth stimulates in him to see Lazarus right there at his very gate. Or if he does see him he’s indifferent to his suffering and passes him by, like the priest and the Levite in the parable of the Good Samaritan.
Later in this parable, after both Lazarus and the rich man have died, Jesus introduces a new image into the story —the image of a chasm. When the rich man begs father Abraham to send Lazarus with a drop of water to cool his burning tongue, Abraham replies somewhat tenderly and regretfully, “Child, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed.” This chasm did not suddenly appear when the two men died. There was always a great chasm between the rich man and Lazarus. During their lifetimes, the rich man had the power to bridge that chasm, but he didn’t lift a finger or spend a dime to do so. Abraham’s response to the rich man’s plea implies that now it’s too late. From at least the 2nd century some Christians have been troubled by the idea that it can ever be too late or that anyone could be cut off from God’s grace forever. Third century theologian Origin of Alexandria believed that even the Devil would be saved in the end and medieval mystic Julian of Norwich assures us in her Revelations of Divine Love that “All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” Perhaps they are right. Let’s leave it there, because Jesus warns us not to get caught up in abstract metaphysical questions like this, since they distract us from our calling to follow him here and now.
I think the relevance of today’s readings for us and our culture is pretty obvious. Like the culture Amos denounced, the culture our world markets as “the Good Life” is dissolute and self-indulgent in many ways. And as Pope Francis pointed out in his remarks on the eve of Mother Teresa’s canonization, our culture also seems indifferent to the suffering and destruction its self-indulgence is causing people here and all over the world. It is, he said, more concerned about the ups and downs of the Stock Market than about the hundreds of children dying every day of malnutrition and disease. Nor has the chasm between rich and poor disappeared or even shrunk. In fact, as statistics prove, it’s growing rapidly.
“What we can do about all this?” That’s the question. Though there’s no definitive answer, I’ll offer a few thoughts on the subject. We can begin with ourselves. We can acknowledge that we ourselves are not immune to the love of money that permeates our culture. We can ask ourselves the Ignatian question, “who am I in this story?” Through prayer we can become more aware of the power love of money might have in our lives, open ourselves to the Spirit of God, and ask God to free us from that power. And we may have the opportunity from time to time to help others see the danger to which love of money exposes them and, through loving words and acts of kindness attract them to something more beautiful, more enduring, and more worthy of love like forgiveness, friendship and community. We can also pray that the Church, following the examples of Amos, Paul and Jesus in today’s readings, will with humility and compassion more boldly and courageously warn the culture about the destruction to which its bsession with money is leading. Indeed I believe delivering this message to the world is an urgent and integral part of the Church’s mission today. Thirdly, as the author of I Timothy suggests, we can practice generosity as I’m sure we are already do, perhaps going a little further and being a little more generous each year. Generosity is a powerful antidote for the love of money. Finally, we can engage in political advocacy on behalf of laws to benefit marginalized groups like an increase in the minimum wage, the reform of the criminal justice system, or more affordable post-secondary education.
I’d like to close with a poem by Caroline Norton I came across in preparing this sermon
and which strikes me as a sort of meditation on today’s readings.
“Little They Think,”
Little they think, the giddy and the vain
Wandering at pleasure ‘neath the shady trees
While the light, glossy silk of rustling train
Shines in the sun or flutters in the breeze
How the sick weaver plies the incessant loom,
Pent in the confines of one narrow room,
Where droops complainingly his cheerless head.
Little they think with what dull, anxious eyes
Nor by what nerveless, thin and trembling hands
The devious mingling of those various dyes
Were wrought to answer Luxury’s commands:
But the day cometh when the tired shall rest,
Where weary Lazarus leans his head on Abraham’s breast.
SILENCE
PRAYERS: Let us pray
For all those who are suffering in body, mind or spirit, especially those who are victims of oppression, exploitation, injustice and war let us pray
For a spirit of openness, honesty and generosity in our personal lives and in our lives together let us pray
For the gifts of simplicity and the freedom to let go of those things that burden us, distract us or separate us from God and one another, let us pray
For what else shall we pray?
I invite you now lift up by name aloud or silently all for whom you wish to pray.
PAUSE
For all the prayers requested in our Book of Intentions let us pray.
Holy One, with these prayers we offer you also our hearts and lives. Fill us with your Spirit that we may love one another, even our enemies, as you have loved us, through Jesus Christ our brother and Friend.
PEACE: Let us offer one another a sign of God peace and love.