Jesus said to the Pharisees: “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day. And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. Dogs even used to come and lick his sores. When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld where he was in torment, he raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. And he cried out, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am suffering torment in these flames.’ Abraham replied, ‘My child, remember that you received what was good during your lifetime while Lazarus likewise received what was bad; but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented. Moreover, between us and you a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from one side to yours or from your side to ours.’” (Luke 16.19-31)
The humanitarian and social activist for the better part of the 20th century, Dorothy Day who founded the Catholic Worker Movement and Houses of Hospitality for the poor and hungry, once said, “The Gospel takes away our right forever to discriminate between the deserving and the undeserving poor.” She lived her words, righting the plight of the poor becoming her purpose in life, making the bold assertion that “those who cannot see Christ in the poor are atheists indeed.”
She was, at least in my mind, the Mother Teresa of the United States, although she also famously said, “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.” After her conversion to Catholicism in 1927, she never looked back, fully embracing the gospel message of social justice and standing toe to toe with the powerful and the privileged who turned a blind eye to the poor. “Our problems,” she said, “stem from our acceptance of this filthy, rotten system.”
One only needs to hear the story that Jesus tells today in the selection from Scripture for this Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time to know from whom Dorothy Day got her inspiration. A few people across the ages stand out who seemed to embrace fully and wholeheartedly the message of Jesus of Nazareth, particularly in its focus on the poor and on the outcast. She was one of them, alongside the likes of Francis of Assisi, Vincent de Paul, and Mother Teresa. We owe her and this small pantheon of fighters gratitude for reminding us what the gospel is all about.
The story that we hear today is at the heart of Jesus’ message as found in Luke’s gospel, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus ably capturing the central thrust of Jesus’ mission as he made his way to Jerusalem where he would suffer and die, another victim of a system that habitually punishes the prophet among us. Not surprisingly, in the end he became the outcast with whom he often associated and for whom he fought fiercely.
The parable, as are several others, is only found in this gospel and is beautiful in its simplicity even while it is ugly in its storyline. In every way, it is a story of contrasts. First there is a rich man, described as someone who dressed in the richest clothing and who ate the finest foods. With just a few words told to us, we are able to get a picture of him as he sits at his table filling himself with the selection of foods put before him.
Next, we are presented with his polar opposite, the story turning our attention to a poor man who laid at the doorstep of the rich man. He is described in abysmal terms, the obverse of the description that we were given of the rich man. Lazarus, the poor man, is covered with sores, stray dogs licking at the wounds, and is starving, longing for just the scraps that might fall from the rich man’s table. In all likelihood, he is crippled as well. In every way, he is an outcast, unseen and forgotten by a world that caters to the rich and closes its eyes to the poor.
Swiftly, the story shifts from here to the hereafter, informing us that Lazarus was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man, by contrast, was buried and found himself in the netherworld where he is in torment. It is classic Lucan theology at play here with this stark reversal of fortunes, a clarion call that appears regularly in Luke’s gospel, reminding us that this world is inside out from God’s world.
We need only recall for a moment Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain in Chapter 6 of the gospel in which he offered his beatitudes to the crowds, the first of which is, “Blessed are you who are poor, for the kingdom of God is yours.” Likewise, the first so-called woe that follows the beatitudes reads, “But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.” The parable, then, puts in narrative form the message of that sermon, providing a snapshot of the divine reversal that Jesus promised to his listeners early on in his ministry.
In other words, we presently live in an upside down world, the opposite of the world that God wants and promises to those who follow his ways. The rich may prosper in this world, growing fat and enjoying life in the here and now while the poor starve and suffer every indignity, but in the world beyond this one it will be an upheaval, spelled out clearly in the parable. In the world to come, the rich man suffers torment while Lazarus rests securely in the bosom of Abraham.
There is much to ponder here, almost too much to mine, even though the parable is brief and precise. At its core, it is another example of the rich fool that Jesus spoke of who built bigger barns and bragged about the easy life afforded him by his wealth. That story, like this one, is a cautionary tale, serving as a warning to those who would use their wealth for their own welfare and who cannot be bothered to notice the poor who lay at their doorstep without food and without clothing.
The rich man in this story is another fool the likes of the earlier one with the big barns. As so often is the case, the rich man, particularly in the story of Lazarus, is blind to the pain of the poor and his heart has hardened to the plight of the marginalized. That fact is reinforced even after his death when the rich man sees Lazarus as no more than a waterboy or a personal assistant, asking Abraham to have Lazarus bring him water to quench his thirst or have Lazarus return to this world to warn his brothers of what awaits them. He fails, even at this point, to see that Lazarus also is his brother, not a stooge at his beck and call.
Much like the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son whose heart is hardened towards his younger brother, this story suggests that there is little hope for the rich man’s brothers still on earth, their hearts also hardened. That is made clear in Abraham’s reply to the rich man when he says to him, “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.”
We saw the same when the older brother in the parable of the prodigal son could not be persuaded by his father’s earnest words to welcome the return of his brother and to join in the celebratory banquet. At the heart of the parable of the rich man and Lazarus then is a rejection of the invitation to see the poor person as our brother or as our sister, someone loved by God and put before our path so that we might attend to their needs, not someone to be shunned, despised, and put out of sight.
We also want to pay close attention to the fact that Jesus has just called the Pharisees “lovers of money” before he launches into this story of the rich man and Lazarus. That is not coincidental. He has been around the Pharisees long enough to know that the hardness of their heart is hidden by their outward show, the duplicity easily discerned by the keen eye.
They show no concern for the poor, for the outcast, for the leper, all the while parading the streets in overflowing garments and choosing the best seats in the house when invited someplace, arguing that a poor person’s position only proves the disfavor of God while their wealth and finery serve as proof of God’s favor, a reward given to them because of their good conduct. As we know, Jesus preaches the very opposite message.
So, in the same way that the Pharisees have rejected the poor, they have now rejected Jesus, mocking him for his warning about the evil of money. In truth, they become the rich man in this story because they also have turned their backs not only on the poor, but also on Jesus’ teachings, their hearts full of corruption and pollution.
Truth be told, of all of Jesus’ parables, this story of the rich man and Lazarus may be the one that we need the most in our own times when the divide between the rich and the poor is at historic levels, when the apathy towards and abuse of the poor is everyday practice by the those in power, and when government budgets take from the poor to give to the rich. The rich man and Lazarus is the lived experience of millions of people in our country.
Sadly, ours also is a time when the hard truths of Jesus’ message have been claimed by charlatans and crackpots who call themselves Christians but who, like the Pharisees, have in truth rejected God’s call to care for the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner. They seem to forget that “God knows your heart” as Jesus warns the Pharisees before offering them the sober story of the rich man and Lazarus.
In Jim Wallis’s new book, “The False White Gospel,” he takes to task those who claim to be Christian but whose practices are anything but Christ-like. Well-known as a peace activist, an advocate for the poor, and a voice for those suffering from racism, Wallis has been called America’s prophet and moral philosopher.
In his latest writing, he urges us to reject and to fight against the false gospel that is being preached across America today, one that idolizes strong men while denouncing virtuous men, promotes class warfare while ignoring the common humanity of one and all, and blesses hate while turning a deaf ear to Jesus’ call to love our enemies.
The bigger question is whom do we choose to follow–the Jesus of the gospels or the Pharisees who continue to mock Jesus in our midst by spouting moralistic deadwood and religious detritus that prove every day their hearts are made of stone, not of flesh and blood. It should be noted that Wallis considers Dorothy Day to be his mentor, having met and discussed with her on several occasions their common concerns for the poor and for the foreigner.
We should not be surprised by that fact, both of them understanding exactly what the gospel of Jesus spells out for those who truly want to follow him. As we end our reflection today on the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, we may want to remember two things that Dorothy Day was adamant about. First, she said, “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” She also said, “The final word is love.” Only a fool, I believe, would argue otherwise from the gospel.
–Jeremy Myers
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