Toxic Faith

Luke 18:9-14     

There is a scene in the movie Beaches, with Bette Midler. Some old friends have come to see Bette Midler’s character, CC, perform on stage, and they go backstage to see her after the show. CC just can’t stop talking about herself and her performance. But finally she turns to her guests and says, “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What do YOU think of me?

So we have another parable from Jesus today, and he tells this one for the benefit of those people who tend to think they are better than everyone else.  It’s left to us to figure out who those folks might be.  Do you think they are the Pharisees?

Maybe…maybe not.

He tells a story about two characters – one who spends his prayer time thinking about how pleased he is with himself and disparaging the other guy, the one who spends his prayer time confessing his sins.  It seems clear who the good guy is, doesn’t it?

But wait a minute – let’s try this again.  He tells a story about two characters – one who lives a clean life, is devout in prayer and worship, and is generous with his possessions; the other who is a liar and a thief.  It seems clear who the good guy is, doesn’t it?

Well it turns out it’s about as clear as mud. 

One thing we know when we read this parable is this:  Jesus wants to talk to people who think they are better than others.  And that could be anyone.  To be fair, this Pharisee may have moments of humility when he is very aware of his shortcomings. Although, maybe not at this moment. 

I can sympathize with the Pharisee.  It’s a great temptation to see your righteousness as something you earned yourself. 

And the tax collector – we can’t ignore the fact that the tax collectors were traitors to their communities.  They worked for the Roman government, the oppressor of Israel, and they didn’t mind gouging their own people, taking extra to line their own pockets.   Tax collectors were not the good guys.  Yet in this snapshot we see him with his head low, beating his breast in penitence, in a, perhaps, rare moment of honest reflection.  Real honest reflection.  Unlike the Pharisee who is pretending honest reflection.  The Pharisee is engaged in a practice that nowadays we might call the “humblebrag.” 

The humblebrag is a relatively new term for something that has been around since the stone age (or at least since people have talked); but these days when everyone with an ego has a whole array of social media accounts, we see a lot more of it than we want to. 

The humblebrag is that fine art of boasting about yourself but couching it in a bit of self-deprecation in the hope that listeners will be thinking “You’re so modest,” and not “You’re so vain.”  But most of the time, the humblebrag just makes you sound like you’re bragging. 

Here’s an example of what it might look like:  Time to start my Christmas shopping.  I’m so blessed to be able to give better gifts than I receive.  Then add: #Godisgood.” Because using hashtags is cool and adding God to it makes it sound like it’s not all about you (and you really didn’t just insult your friends and family). 

So if the Pharisee had a twitter account he might post something like this: “OMG; So embarrassed – here I am at prayer with absolutely nothing to confess!  Oh well, maybe this scuzzy tax collector next to me can do it for the both of us.  LOL #Phariseeproblems.”

And if he used Facebook and Instagram, which he surely would, he would also post a selfie of himself at prayer. Because, promotion. That’s what it’s all about.

The humblebrag: everybody does it; nobody likes it.  In this parable, we see the first-century version of it.  And he does it quite skillfully, because he works it into a prayer!  There are so many ways this is wrong.  Let me count them.

#1:  The Pharisee thinks he has nothing to confess.  He apparently has an extraordinarily large blind spot.  Yes, he lives a good, clean life, but no one ever walked this earth except Jesus who had nothing to confess. And this spiritual leader of his people ought to know better.

#2:   The Pharisee takes one look at the tax collector and thinks he knows who he is.  He dismisses him with one offhand comment.  He doesn’t regard him as a fully human being, with all the complexity that he knows he himself possesses.  He is essentially saying, “I know who you are, Taxman, and I thank God I am not like that too.”

#3:  The Pharisee expects to be praised for this.  He wants God to give him a pat on the back, for not being like this other guy, this other guy who happens to also be a child of God’s.  He wants God to reach down from heaven and give him a high five:  You go, Pharisee.  You’re awesome.

#4:  The Pharisee can’t feel good unless the other guy is bad.  This one is pretty interesting; it gets to some of the complexities of human nature.  Clearly, it is important for the Pharisee to see himself as an exemplary fellow.  But to do that he has to stomp all over this tax collector sharing space with him who is just trying to do the same thing the Pharisee is trying to do: pray.

Now that I’ve torn him down, used him as a punching bag, I want to take a step back and be as realistic as I can here.  He is not an evil guy…or a buffoon…he’s not a one-dimensional person.  The Pharisee is actually a man who is well on his way to getting everything right – but for one thing:  he can’t get past thinking it’s all about him.  He is missing humility.

And that is a recipe for toxic faith.

We could have a long conversation about toxic faith, and maybe we should someday. But for today, let it suffice to say that toxic faith is that which is more harmful than helpful. And there are two fundamental characteristics of toxic faith which are evident in this parabolic Pharisee: self-righteousness and judgmentalism.

The man seems to think he got where he is all on his own. And when he looks around him he sees a whole lot of losers.

Today is Reformation Sunday.  It’s the day every year that we remember Martin Luther nailing his 95 Theses on the church door, about 500 years ago.  Although it wasn’t what he intended to do, it turned out to be the beginning of the Protestant Church.  It all came of a moment of personal crisis for Luther.

He was caught between the tax collector and the Pharisee.  He was totally focused on trying to do all the right things, just like the Pharisee did.  And while another priest might have prayed how thankful he was to be so good, Luther could never shake that nagging feeling that he was really not so good. That feeling of being a sinner in need of God’s mercy, just like the tax collector. 

Then, in a moment of divine providence, Luther recognized grace.  He knew that there would never be anything he could do to justify himself; but God’s grace was free for the taking.

The realization gave him immeasurable peace.  We have been seeking the consolation of that peace ever since.

But while we seek the peace that comes from God’s grace, there is also this: we emphasize the way we are impelled to respond to that grace.  In response to God’s mercy and grace, we seek to become more righteous.

Righteous – but not self-righteous.  There’s a big difference.  The difference between the two is believing our righteousness comes from God and believing we did it all by ourselves. 

The attitude of the Pharisee, who thinks he did it all himself, is an attitude that can never be justified.  Because in all his self-absorption, self-adoration, he fails to do any self-reflection.

Let me leave you with this:  if you think about yourself a lot, if you have moments of thinking it’s all about you, it’s okay, because most of us do.   And, in some important ways, it really is all about you.  Not the person next to you, but you. Look inside yourself; seek the truth about who you really are, and thereby find the power to become most fully the person God calls you to be.  It takes humility.  It takes courage.  It takes strength.  Most importantly, it takes God.

To whom we give all glory, thanks, and praise. 

Photo: When you look up humblebrag in dictionary.com, this is what you see.

Not to Lose Heart

Luke 18:1-8       

Let me tell you a parable.

There was a man who had two daughters – one was Tenacious and the other was Gracious. When Tenacious wanted something she went to her father to ask for it. He would say, “give her what she wants so she will get out of here. When Gracious wanted something she would go to her father, also. However, the father was not so quick to grant her wishes, because he enjoyed her conversation so much he would prolong it.[1]

Think on that for a while.

Parables are hard, and Jesus used parables an awful lot. I think it might have been because there was a lot of competition for the people’s attention. There were other teachers around, not least of all, the Pharisees. There were other freelance prophets and wannabe messiahs wandering around looking for an audience. You know, if one man’s message wasn’t interesting enough, you could always go to the next guy who was preaching down at the next corner. The first century equivalent of flipping the channel.

Jesus used parables a lot because he was smart, and a parable is a uniquely economical way of teaching. It doesn’t require very many words. you just say it, put it out there and let it do its work. And for anyone who has ears to hear, the parable will work. It will work on your mind, your imagination, and your conscience for a long time to come, as you puzzle over and tease out the wealth of meaning there is in it.

Jesus used parables a lot because he was exceptionally good at this method. He had a good number of tools in his parable toolbox. Sometimes he would pull out this one tool, where he would say, “The kingdom of God is like…” Then he would spin a story that would draw his audience a vivid picture of some facet of the reign of God. If he had used that one in this case, the parable of the widow and the judge, he might have said –

The kingdom of God is like this crooked little fiefdom. Run by a small-minded tyrant who disrespects his constituents, particularly the ones who can’t do something for him. The poor, the orphans, and the widows are the absolute worst, he thinks. Because they always seem to need something but they never have anything to give him.

Because it almost sounds like this is what he is saying in the parable of the widow and the judge. Are we to understand that God is like the judge in this story? It isn’t the first time that we’ve heard this kind of comparison in his parables. Remember the Parable of the Friend at Midnight, where a man receives unexpected guests, arriving late one night. Because they were not expected, he has nothing in the house to offer them – no bread for them to eat. This is an acute embarrassment to him, and an inconvenience for his tired guests. So the man dashes over to his nearest neighbor’s house, knowing he can rely on his friend. He knocks on the door, quietly at first. But no one answers so his knocks get louder, and he resorts to shouting at the door, hoping to rouse someone inside so they will give him what he needs. He knows they are in there. They’re just enjoying their beds too much.

In this case, are we, perhaps, to understand that God is like a neighbor who can help you if he wants to, but he’s sleeping and would prefer not to have his sleep disturbed?

These are challenging parables – not only because they offer us a portrait of God that is not entirely likeable. They challenge us also because this portrait of God doesn’t seem in keeping with the other messages we take away from God’s word.

Take the matter of widows, for example. The law of Israel has many things to say regarding the care of orphans and widows – the most vulnerable members of society. In a world that valued women for their fertility, a widow had nothing to offer. Having been the property of some man who was no longer living, she was nothing.

The law of Israel makes clear, however, God demands that special consideration be given to the most vulnerable ones, including the widows. Therefore, it seems unlikely to me that God is like the lazy friend at midnight, or the nasty judge confronted by the widow.

The judge in this parable seems to be indifferent toward the needs of widows – but not only that – he seems to be indifferent toward justice. Because we are told that this woman comes to him day after day pleading her case for justice. Justice – that wrongs should be made right. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, that every valley be lifted up and mountain brought low, that the crooked be made straight and the rough made smooth. Justice is a central concern for the God of Israel. No, I can’t really see this crooked judge in the image of God.

But then, I must admit, Jesus didn’t actually say that God is like this judge.

This time, he pulled a different tool out of his box, one that draws not on similarities but on differences. It goes like this:

If even you, who are sinful, would do this good thing, is it too hard to imagine that God in heaven would do this and more?

If you, imperfect parents that you are, know enough to not give a snake to your child, is it too hard to believe that God in heaven gives good gifts?

If you, weak and frail vessel that you are, can be roused to get up and give your neighbor what he needs, is it too hard to believe that God in heaven will answer your pleas? And,

If even a crooked judge, one who doesn’t honor God, one who disdains his neighbors, will eventually relent and give justice, can you trust that God in heaven will also grant justice to those who are patient?

This still isn’t an easy parable to deal with – and maybe there is no such thing as an easy parable – because here we still need to wrestle with the notion of how we finally find justice. Will God not grant justice to those who cry out to him day and night? So is the message, then, that like the widow we must return again and again and again, without fail, to make our case, to plead for justice before a merciful God?

Will God delay long in helping those who cry out to God day and night, faithfully, persistently, passionately? Here is a message we mustn’t let slip away. There are two things I want to highlight.

First, the cry is for justice. Were I to cry out night and day for a cashmere sweater set or a Mercedes Benz – well, these matters are not high on God’s agenda.

But even more, it is what lies behind the cry that really matters, it is what drives the widow to return again and again to make her case – the faith, the passion, the perseverance. Do we care enough about justice to make our voices heard? Again and again and again.

 “When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” Because that is what it will take. Let me tell you another parable.

During the time of the Civil Rights movement in this nation, there was a Black woman living in a southern state who wanted to register to vote. She walked down to the courthouse and told the clerk what she wanted. The clerk turned her away. She came back the next day and asked again, but again she was turned away. The woman returned to the courthouse every day with her request, and every day was turned away. Until one day when she walked in and made her request and the clerk said to her, “I’m gonna let you register to vote just so I don’t ever have to look at your ugly face again.” Such as it was, she received justice.[2]

This one is actually true.

Justice will take some time. It will take all the time that is needed for enough people to see injustice and condemn it, to devote themselves to the cause and demand it. Justice will arrive when our faith is strong enough to give us the political will to work for peace, to ensure that no one goes without their basic needs met. Justice will arrive when we, all of God’s people, are ready for it.

I want to tell you one more parable – this one is also true.

Mother Theresa was visiting New York to speak with some high-powered executives about her work among the poor in Calcutta.  Unbeknownst to her, the executives had agreed with one another before the meeting that they would not give her any money.  She made her plea to them, but they said, “We appreciate what you do, but we just can’t commit any funds at this time.” Mother Theresa said, “Let us pray.”  They bowed their heads and she asked God to soften the hearts of these men.  When she finished her prayer, she asked again if they would consider donating to her work.  They said once more that they were sorry but could not commit any funds at this time.  Mother Theresa said, “Let us pray.”

Pretty soon, they pulled out their checkbooks.[3]

These stories tell us God cares powerfully about justice and wants us to care powerfully about justice. And they also seem to tell us that when we do, God may even work through those who don’t care about justice much at all. God works in mysterious ways.

Indeed. Don’t lose heart.

Photo: Registering to vote in Albany, Georgia

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[1] A parable of Rabbi Eleazar, called The Tenacious Daughter. The Parables, Brad H. Young, p.51.

[2] Heard on National Public Radio’s Story Corps Project.

[3] As told by Pastor Tom Long, quoted on http://cep.calvinseminary.edu

One Foot In, One Foot Out

Jeremiah 29:1, 4-7   

Luke17:11-19

In one of our recent Bible study classes at the church we talked about all the many words we have to express being on a trip, a journey. How many ways to be a traveler: Sojourner, migrant, immigrant, vagabond, refugee, pilgrim, fugitive, exile. So many, and all meaning something different.

Aren’t we all, somehow, travelers on a journey to or from somewhere, anywhere, or nowhere?

In our travels we encounter borders, lines which, when crossed, tell us we are no longer in one place but now in another. Some people, with a spirit of adventure, want to cross borders while others do not.

Some want the border lines to be erased while others want them fortified with impregnable walls or fences. There are others, still, who prefer neither of those things. They like the borders and they like to be able to wander back and forth across them. Perhaps even stand right at the threshold. To have a foot in two different worlds at the same time.

Christians throughout the ages have had different ways of regarding Jesus as a traveler. In a way we think of him as just passing through while he was here on earth. We imagine that he was out of his comfort zone, maybe longing to be reunited with the Father in heaven. Some depictions of Jesus show him as a man who was never really fully inhabiting his skin. These skin and bones were just borrowed clothes for a rather brief sojourn among mortals.

Yet, I have some trouble with that notion of Jesus, because I see him as the model of mindfulness, a man who was always present wherever he was. He was attentive, compassionate, generous with whoever he was with. He gave of himself fully, in a way that only someone who is fully present, fully experiencing, fully committed can do. Jesus was not just lightly touching down like an angel or a spirit – he was fully immersed.

During the years of his ministry he traveled seemingly nonstop. The gospels portray a man who was always on the move – on foot or in boats – going from one place to another and back again in roundabout ways.

Jesus’ movement makes me think of a labyrinth, those large designs that you sometimes find on the floors of cathedrals or other spiritual places. They look like mazes, but differ in that there is only one way through. Labyrinths are not puzzles; you simply follow the path – there is only one.

The interesting thing about labyrinths is that the journey they take you on is anything but direct. You enter a labyrinth and the path seems to take you toward the center, rapidly at first, but then you discover that, no, you will have to visit other nooks and crannies of the labyrinth – actually all the nooks and crannies – before you can enter the heart of it. It is inefficient, if the goal is to get to the center. It is inefficient, as was Jesus’ life. Inefficient, if the goal was to get from Point A to Point B. But if there was a different goal…

There might have been a different goal.

His journeys sent him across borders, over and over again. It was almost as if he saw his ministry as being not just for Israel but for the whole world. One day he was in the region between Samaria and Galilee. That is, he was at the border. Samaria, the land of a foreign people, a separate people who wanted to be included. But Israel did not see them as deserving of inclusion. The Samaritans were outsiders.

Galilee, the land where Jesus spent his childhood, we think of as a Jewish land. But Galilee was not quite Jerusalem. Ask any resident of Jerusalem. They would tell you. Galilee was a backwater, the land of the hicks. The Galileans, when they visited Jerusalem stuck out like sore thumbs. Think Jed Clampett in Beverly Hills. They had a right to be there, but did they really belong there?

So when Jesus was in the border region, between Samaria or Galilee, he was in an awkward space. Then, making things even more awkward, he saw ten lepers. They seemed to be in a group, and as a group they moved toward him – but they kept their distance.

The lepers had to keep their distance. It was required by law. They had to stay away from others, they had to announce their presence when they were anywhere near non-leprous persons by crying out as they went, “unclean, unclean, unclean.”

Lepers live across a border that may be invisible, but it is a strong border, nonetheless. No one wants to be near them, to risk being touched by them, for fear of contagion. Lepers are, in a certain way, strangers wherever they are. Unwelcome strangers.

But Jesus recognizes them, acknowledges them. He does not turn or move away from them. Instead he speaks to them, saying, “Go and show yourselves to the priest.” As they went they were made clean.

Jesus healed them of their leprosy. In doing that, he erased the border that separated them from everyone else. This is no small thing. When Jesus removed their leprosy he invited them in.

But one of these men, these lepers, was different from the others. One was a Samaritan.

Would the Samaritan man have been welcomed by the priest? He would not. Would he have been welcomed in the places the other nine were going? He would not. Maybe that is why he turned back, peeled off from the group of newly healed, newly clean men.

That would be understandable. Before, the Samaritan’s difference was irrelevant, but now it matters. It would be understandable for him to return. But to praise God? To return to Jesus, prostrate himself, and give thanks? That is unexpected.

It is unexpected because he, of all these ten men, is still an outsider. He has been cleansed of his leprosy, but he has not been cleansed of his Samaritanism. How does the one who has every right to feel bitter about his exclusion from God’s house give thanks and praise to God? It is unexpected that he should do that.

It is unexpected because the other nine should have known, as well as this Samaritan, that it is right to give our thanks and praise. These words we say every time we share Holy Communion, in our great prayer of thanksgiving. It is right to give our thanks and praise – It is indeed right and salutary that we should at all times and all places give thanks to the God who has given us our lives and everything in our lives.

It is unexpected that the nine Jews failed in this way.

Why is it that those of us who have the most to be thankful for are often the least likely to give thanks?

The nine Jewish men who were healed of their leprosy made their way to the temple in Jerusalem, presumably, and were accepted. If they were Galilean Jews and had that terrible Galilean accent that made the priest roll his eyes whenever they spoke, at least they were clean. They now had their Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. They were in.

Would they remember what it was like to be an outsider? Would they remember what it had been like for them to huddle with Samaritans in the hinterlands, because their shared exile made their differences seem irrelevant?

Would they remember that in some very significant ways they are still outsiders, still in exile?

In those days, the Jews held an uneasy truce with the Roman Empire. They were allowed minimal control over their religious places and rituals, but they were never allowed to forget that they were not in control. That their God was not in control, because the emperor was in control. In a certain way, they were living in exile.

Just as we are living, in some important ways, as exiles.

As Christians, we live in what is often called the between times. We are between Christ’s first and second coming. The church teaches that he came 2000 years ago to usher in the reign of God, but a reign that will not be fully realized until he comes again. Whenever that is. Thus we are, my friends, living in that in-between time, waiting for that beautiful day the book of Revelation speaks of, when there is a new heaven and a new earth and God shall make God’s home among mortals.

When Israel was ruled by kings, thousands of years ago, they might have thought they were living in the reign of God. But it wasn’t so. The Assyrian army conquered and vanquished the northern tribes, then the Babylonian army came for the southern tribes. They captured and destroyed the holy city of Jerusalem, and they took the people into exile. We have the record of their songs of lament – their sorrow, their fury, at being thrown out as they were. The Psalms are full of these laments.

They certainly had a right to their sadness and their anger. But the prophet Jeremiah has another suggestion for them.

Jeremiah, the prophet who had been warning Israel for years about this, would have been justified, perhaps, in saying now, “I told you so.” But when they were herded away on their journey to a strange land, Jeremiah instead offered them this:

When you get to Babylon, build houses. Plant gardens. Marry your children, procreate. When you get to Babylon, the place of your exile, live your lives. and seek the welfare of this city where I am sending you, for in their welfare you will find your welfare.

Surprising as that is. Although Babylon is your enemy, they are now going to be your hosts, so do your best for the land in which you now live. You do not own the land, you do not own the culture, but it is where you are, so live the best life there you can live.

And so it is that we also are exiles in our time and place. There may have been a time in America when Christians felt as if we owned this land, owned the culture; the fact is we never really did. The fact is we are always in a foreign land. We are always traveling…between places.

The goal is not to get from here to there but to live all along the way. To understand that wherever you are you are in between.

So do your best for the place to which God has led you. Cultivate righteousness in your little corner of the world. Keep one foot in the kingdom of God and one foot in this place. Never forget you are a resident of both.

Hope for the Rich

Amos 6:1, 4-7    

Luke 16:19-31

Some years ago I was talking with some people about what the Bible says about wealth. We had just read a passage from Luke where Jesus says, “Woe to you who are rich.” We wondered if he really meant that. Because, is it really that bad being rich?

Most of us who are not rich would like to be, if we had the chance.

I can hear your objections already. “I’m not interested in being wealthy. I’m not the kind of person who wants big fancy houses and yachts and cars.” And maybe you are not. But it seems to me the most appealing thing about having wealth is to not have to worry about money. The thing that most of us would probably like the most is to never have to worry about whether we have enough money for the things we need or want.

In that conversation about wealth, one woman said this. “There was a time when I was poor, but now I am not. I thought about money a whole lot more when I was poor than I do now.” It is a privilege to not have to think about money all the time. Of course, you still can if you want to. Kim keeps a close eye on our retirement funds, for which I am grateful. You are free to spend as much time as you like thinking about your money; you can even be like the old cartoon character, Scrooge McDuck, who enjoyed taking a daily bath in his money. But, the point is that you don’t need to if you don’t want to, when you have wealth. You don’t have to think about whether you have enough to pay for the prescription or the groceries or your child’s school supplies. And that is a privilege.

But today I am suspending that privilege and, once again, asking you to think about money, along with Jesus and the Pharisees.

Last week we heard a parable Jesus told to his disciples, which was intended to be overheard by the Pharisees and scribes, sinners and tax collectors. We know they did hear him, because immediately after he finishes the parable of the dishonest manager, ending with the words, “you cannot serve God and wealth,” the Pharisees ridicule him. The text doesn’t say how. I had to imagine what they might have said. I figure it was maybe something like this: “Oh! Look who knows so much about wealth now! Mr. Big Shot!” And I’m not saying it was that. But, you know, it might have been something like that.

In any case, at that moment the Pharisees put themselves back in the game – right back in the bullseye, in fact. Jesus turns to them and says something like, “Well, you know the law and the prophets, right? Leviticus and Deuteronomy? Isaiah, Jeremiah – you’ve heard of them? Amos? You are familiar with them, are you not? Or are you using something else, some alternative scriptures, to justify yourselves?”

Are you using some alternative scriptures to justify yourselves? Interesting question.

And then he launches into another parable. This one is for the Pharisees. It’s about the rich man and Lazarus. Guaranteed to make them – and us – feel uncomfortable.

There is a rich man who lives in a great house, wears fine clothes and eats sumptuously every day. And there is a poor man named Lazarus who lies outside the rich man’s gate.

Normally, Jesus doesn’t name the characters in his parables. It is unusual that he does here – he names Lazarus.

But the rich man does not have a name. He is merely a rich man; it seems that that’s enough for us to know. You may have a vague recollection that you heard somewhere that he does have a name, that his name is Dives. But Dives is simply a Latin word that means rich.

This is all interesting because usually it’s the important people who get to be named in any story. Jesus has decided that this poor man – Lazarus – is important enough to be named; that he’s someone worth knowing.

The rich man, however, call him Dives if you like, seems to treat Lazarus as though he were not worth knowing. Every time he goes in and out through his gate, Lazarus is there: weak, covered with sores, starving. Every time Dives passes Lazarus, he neglects to give him anything at all. As he dines at his sumptuous table, he doesn’t seem to give a thought to Lazarus outside. He acts as though Lazarus is nothing. Nobody.

But we are surprised to learn he does know Lazarus – he knows his name! When the two men die, Lazarus is gathered up in the arms of Father Abraham, but Dives is sent to Hades. Hell, if you wish.

And from where he is in Hades he sees Lazarus way above him, up in heaven, and he calls out for help. “Father Abraham, send Lazarus to bring me water. I am in agony here in these flames.”

But the answer he receives from Abraham is not what he hoped for. “You have received your good things already.”

And this is enough to make anyone who has enjoyed any material wealth in this life squirm.

Most people in America, if you ask them whether they are rich, will say no. We all like to think of ourselves as middle class. That’s why politicians are forever and always talking about the middle class. We all want to be middle class, even while we also want riches.

I never hear anybody call themselves rich. Maybe they will say, “We’re comfortable,” or “We do alright.” But not rich.

Yet, we have to know that, by the world’s standards, Americans are rich. We, who call ourselves middle class, are rich.

And there is nothing inherently sinful about being rich. But this is where it gets tricky.

The scriptures, both the old and new testaments, have a lot to say about wealth. Aside from the parts where Jesus says, “Woe to you who are rich,” you can also find many scriptures that will tell you wealth is a reward for faithfulness.

But the scriptures will also tell you that how you use your wealth is critical. It is quite clear that the God of the Old Testament cares how Israel treats the poor, the outcast, and the aliens among them. The law of Israel is repetitive on this subject, in fact, lest the people of Israel ever forget just how much God cares about the poor, the outcast, the alien in their midst.

Wealth, the Bible says, is a great blessing – a blessing that comes with great responsibility. Jesus doesn’t trouble himself to say that wealth is a blessing, because that is something they already know. He is more concerned with what they might have forgotten.

When Jesus reminds the Pharisees that he is preaching the very same law they are concerned about, he seems to be suggesting that they might have forgotten what that law really says. It seems so easy to forget what the scriptures say about the responsibilities of those who have wealth toward those who do not.

In the parable, Father Abraham reminds the rich man that he was not duped, he was not tricked unfairly, because he had the law – it was not hidden from him. He had the law and the prophets, as do his brothers who are still alive. And if they do not heed the law and the gospels, what else can be done?

Because the law is clear, if we are willing to see it. And the prophets are clear, if we will listen. In our passage from Amos today, we hear these words: Alas to those who are at ease in Zion. Alas to the Dives of the world, who lie on their couches, eat, drink, and make merry.

Amos was speaking to a nation that had found wealth and forgotten the law. In their newfound comfort, in their elation over their prosperity, they had turned their backs on the poor among them. In this way, they had turned their backs on God. Alas, things will not go well, in time, if you fail to appreciate the humanity of those who suffer want.

This is a truth that the world has seen borne out in many times and places. When comfort steals away our compassion for others, our empathy for those who suffer, we are at risk of losing our souls as well – our very humanity. We find ourselves back at, “Woe to the rich.”

Is there any hope at all for the rich?

Wealth is complicated – a double-edged sword. It is both blessing and burden.

The truth is that all we have received is a gift from God. We find ourselves in the position of being stewards of the rich resources of this world. God has entrusted the management of these riches to us, and has expectations that we will manage them well. But God does not leave us without guidance to do so.

For, as Abraham tells Dives, you always have the law and the prophets to tell you what is right. The law and the prophets can show you the way.

And they will show us that the poor ones who lie at the gates of the wealthy, desperate for a small kindness, are worthy of being seen. The Lazaruses of the world, are worthy of our attention.

Some like to say Jesus came to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. If you are feeling afflicted right now, take comfort in the assurance that there is hope for the rich. It is the gospel – the very gospel that gives Lazarus a name.

Photo: Scrooge McDuck diving into his treasure