Luke 16:19-31 · The Rich Man And Lazarus
Taking Life Seriously
Luke 16:19-31
Sermon
by W. Robert McClelland
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This parable reminds me of the time I attended an evangelism workshop offered by my denomination and which was intended to demonstrate the latest techniques for saving souls. A team of experts had come to town intent on training us to make cold calls in the community - door to door - seeking converts for Christ. I was assigned to one of the experts as an observer. I was to watch and, thereby, learn the technique. We were armed with two memorized questions which sooner or later were to be introduced into the conversation with our intended converts. The first question to be asked was, "If you were to die tonight are you assured that you would go to heaven?" "Yes," "No," or "I don't know," would suffice as an answer. The second question, however, was the important one, "On what does your assurance rest?" The only acceptable answer was faith in Jesus Christ.

We made our first stop and rang the doorbell. A gracious and charming couple were at home and invited us in. After the pleasantries were exchanged, in which we learned that the husband was a professor of psychology at a large university, I settled back in my chair to observe. I was curious to see how this was going to unfold. Eventually, the first question - the one about dying and going to heaven - was introduced into the conversation. "If you died tonight would you go to heaven?" asked the evangelist.

"I don't know," replied the woman pleasantly, "and we don't really care." This was not one of the rehearsed answers. It fit none of the anticipated categories and pretty well finished the subject. All that was left for the expert to do was either accept the fact that the matter was a dead issue for our hosts or to argue with them, trying to convince them of its importance. In any case, the second question was never asked because there was no way it could be inserted into the conversation. My companion was frustrated and we soon left.

This method of evangelism was based upon the erroneous assumption that heaven is our home and all of us must surely be homesick. Furthermore, we can only get there if we have faith in Jesus Christ. The professor and his wife, however, were focused on life in this world, and the would-be evangelist had nothing to say to someone with no interest in faith or the life hereafter.

The church frequently seems preoccupied with the next life and assumes faith in Christ is required to avoid eternal torment and gain heaven's bliss. Our first reading of this parable, therefore, focuses on the judgment after death. Good guys will win; bad guys will lose! Believers will be rewarded. Non-believers will be punished.

But this reading of the parable - like the traditional method of evangelism - misfires on two scores. First, according to the parable, faith in Christ has nothing to do with eternal rewards and punishments. Our destiny is determined, not by our faith in a savior, but by our attitude toward others. The rich man walked past Lazarus every day, but he had no compassion for him. Lazarus' needs were obvious. The rich man felt no sense of obligation in meeting them. It was not his lack of faith in Christ that got his ticket punched, it was his lack of regard for Lazarus.

Second, the parable's focus is on life, not death. As with the professor and his wife, the concern is with this world, not the next. Religion has led us to believe that life in the next world is what really matters. Heaven and hell are where the real action is. Everything else is secondary and preliminary. Our actions here are only of importance insofar as they determine our eternal destiny. We do good in order to get to heaven. As a result, Christian spirituality has often discounted life in this world and those who benefit from our charitable activities become mere pawns in the self-centered game of salvation. D. H. Lawrence labeled such apparent charity as greedy giving. We are good for ulterior reasons. Life here is only a means to a greater end.

I mean to suggest that the point of the parable is not instruction in how to make it in the next life, but living well in this one. It draws its meaning from the surrounding teachings which make it clear that Jesus wants us to live in this world wisely, responsibly, and charitably. The issues that Jesus sets before us are larger than putting stars in our individual crowns. Human suffering is not a matter of indifference to God. Indeed, it is a matter of eternal importance. God's concern for the well-being of others here on earth follows us to the grave and beyond. Old Jonathon Edwards had it right! In the last analysis a person's business is with God. But God is less concerned with our sinful bumps and warts than with the needs of those around us. The question the Bible continually asks is, "What is the focus of your life?" Do we live for ourselves - our comfort, our security, our salvation - or for others? Micah, the prophet, prompts us with the correct answer. "He has showed you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8)." That demand did not change in all the years separating the Old from the New Testaments. Jesus merely gave it visibility and clarity when he told his followers to feed the hungry, visit the prisoner, and clothe the naked. To love God is to love the neighbor. Remember? The eternal question to be asked, here and hereafter, is simply, "How are the neighbors doing?" Their welfare must be of genuine concern to us because it is to God.

So too, the life of our planet earth. Its creation was an act of God. But its destruction could well be our own doing. Polluting the earth with our waste. Cutting down rain forests. Killing off species of wildlife. Punching holes in the protective ozone layer. The photograph of the earth taken from the moon should make it abundantly clear that we are all part of an intricate and delicate ecosystem. This morning as I was putting on my suit, I reached into the breast pocket of the coat and pulled out a slip of paper that read, "This garment has been inspected by number 46." Even the clothes we wear are part of a social network on which we depend.

The question that the parable raises for us is, "What are we going to do with our world? How are we going to shape its history? What legacy do we leave for the neighbors who come after us?" Dietrich Bonhoeffer argues that for Christians the only ethical question is, "How shall the next generation live?" We are stewards of our time and place in history whether we construe it globally or locally. We are responsible for passing history on to someone else.

The purpose of the parable, then, is to direct our attention to the serious business of living in this world rather than pointing to the next. Indeed, the parable warns about allowing our attention to wander. We do not have all the time in the world to be about it. A sudden turn of events reminds us that we are not eternal. A serious accident. The discovery of a lump while taking a shower. Our lives are bounded by birth and by death - our death. Soren Kirkegaard proclaimed the earnest thought of death to be life's greatest ally. When we begin to do the arithmetic of life, it brings a sense of urgency to take it seriously.

A woman in the hospital was weeping after being told she was terminally ill with cancer. When a friend sought to console her she replied, "I'm not weeping because I'm dying. I'm weeping because I never lived." The awareness of limits and wasted time means we can take up a conscious stance with regard to our own inevitable mortality. It is this mature insight that will protect us from slavishly following what the culture wants us to do and squandering our time in seeking the approval of others by conforming to their rules and values.

Probably there are no words that control human behavior more than, "What will others think?" We are intimidated by them time and again. Many of us never experience the vast dimensions of our own lives or explore the potential of our capabilities because we are afraid. We are afraid that we are incompetent. We are afraid of ridicule. We are afraid to risk living for fear of what others might think if we fail; so we insulate ourselves from them, clutch our lives and our possessions, and ignore the call to live in the family of humanity.

In one of his novels, Nikos Kazantzakis speaks of the American friend of Zorba the Greek. He is reminded over and over of the adventurous life which has eluded him. He is both intrigued and threatened by Zorba's dances in the middle of the night. They lure him to leave the safe havens of prudence and custom in order to depart on great voyages to another world. Yet he is unable to respond. He sits there motionless and shivering. He is ashamed. He has felt this shame before whenever he caught himself not daring to do what supreme recklessness the essence of life called him to do. Yet never did he feel more ashamed than in the presence of Zorba. Ashamed and fearful! Two sides of the same coin.

In my younger days when I was learning to fly I had to practice takeoffs and landings. After one particularly rough landing, something on the order of a controlled crash, I commented ruefully to my instructor, "That was a terrible landing." His reply contained the wisdom of the ages. "It's a good landing if you can walk away from it."

God is not interested in the style of our landings. Onlookers may cluck and comment and roll their eyes. But not God. When we stand before our Creator to render an accounting of our lives, God's concern will not be with our sins and shortcomings. They are foregone conclusions. They are simply part of the cost of living the great adventure. No, God's concern will be with our ability to walk away from the landing with a sense of accomplishment that we have lived well; that we gave it our best shot and tried to leave the place a better world than when we came.

This parable, therefore, reminds us that life is serious business because we have only one life to live; one chance to land. As the selfish rich man woefully found out, there are no second chances. We only have a few years to make this planet a better place; or the life of the neighbor more bearable. We have three score and 10 years, the Psalmist says, or even if by reason of strength (and the luck of the draw) we have four score, yet we are soon gone. We fly away like a sigh. The lesson to be learned is that we need not be actively evil to miss resting in the bosom of Abraham, we need only to be inactively indifferent. We do not have to kick the person who is down; only step over him. We expend our allotment of years for others or we try to preserve them for ourselves.

But Jesus warned, "If you save your life, you will lose it. Only if you give it away, will you find it." We can debate the economics or logic of his teaching but we ought to be clear that this is what he believed and taught. It is in this dying-living, living-dying that we find meaning for our lives.

As human beings we can choose how to live and, sometimes, how to die. The cross of Christ reminds us that he chose to die. He was not a victim of circumstances, nor was he a tragic hero. He could have died in bed of old age. But instead, Jesus chose to die. "My hour has not yet come," he kept saying during the days leading up to his final journey to Jerusalem. Finally, during the last meal with his disciples, Jesus uttered the words that must have popped their eyes open, "The hour has come (John 17:1)." The words burst forth, not as a death knell, but the glorious climax to a life intentionally lived. When Jesus invites us to take up our cross and follow him he invites us to live for a cause and die for a reason. We only go around once, and Martin Luther King Jr. put it well when he said, "Until we are willing to die for something, we're not fit to live for anything."

The Christian offers his life for others, not because heaven follows, for that would imply that this life is not as important as the next, but because it is the only opportunity we will have to responsibly live in the time and place in which we have been placed. Kurt Vonnegut has written some superb lines which catch the amazement and delight of life's miracle.

"God made mud ...God got lonesome ...So God said to some mud, 'Sit up! ...See all I've made,' said God, 'the hills,the sea, the sky, the stars.' ...And I was some of the mud that got to sit upand look around ...'Lucky me, lucky mud.' "10

But with our lives comes a sense of responsibility for fulfilling the unique opportunity to live them. We realize that no one can do our living or our dying for us. Feelings of inadequacy and guilt inevitably come from trying to live them. Especially when we compare our lives to others or look to external standards of conduct and achievement. "Sin" is a word often used by religious authorities which underscores these feelings. The church frequently plays on our feelings of guilt and fear, using them as leverage to gain conformity. The promise of heaven is used as the carrot. The threat of hell is used as the stick. But it is a sick guilt, and it immobilizes us. It is what Archibald MacLeish calls "the sick scent of dung under our fingernails."

Healthy guilt comes from our failure to discover the miracle of our own unique life and taking it seriously. The cup of opportunity that life hands me to drink is, of course, different from the one that it hands you. Lazarus was not sitting at your door or mine but someone else is! I cannot drink the rich man's cup, but I can drink mine. Indeed, no one can do it for me. True guilt, healthy guilt, motivates us rather than incapacitates us. It comes, not from comparing cups, but from the realization that we have failed to drink the cup that is ours.

"But heaven! What about heaven?" someone is probably asking.

In Jesus' view, heaven is the projection forward, into God's time and space, of a life lived wisely, responsibly, and charitably here. Apparently, self consciousness survives death and we live either with regrets over our lack of responsible stewardship for the years alloted to us, or with joy at new opportunities offered. To be found trustworthy in our custodial responsibilities is to be promoted to larger responsibilities. To whom much is given, much will be expected. The point is graphically made by Jesus in the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30). To one person ten talents are given, to another five, and to another one. The distribution is not equal yet each is expected to invest their resources for the benefit of the landlord. Those who do, are put in charge of greater wealth. The one who fails in his stewardship by hiding his wealth discovers that even that which he has is taken from him. The good news is that if God finds us trustworthy in carrying out the caring concern of the Creator for the planet and its people we are entrusted with even greater responsibilities in the life to come.

More than that we dare not say. It would be nice if we could add, "And they all lived happily ever after." But Jesus - always the realist - was not in the business of telling fairy tales or parables with happy endings. He knew that we live by the choices we make. The ending of the story, therefore, is ours to write. Jesus simply said, "Those who have ears to hear, let them hear!"

C.S.S Publishing Co., FIRE IN THE HOLE, by W. Robert McClelland