In the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
“If
you died today, do you know where you’d spend eternity?” There’s a billboard in
rural North Carolina that I’ve passed several times through the years that asks
just that question. If you haven’t seen that exact billboard, I’m sure you’ve
seen one like it. I wonder how that phrase makes you feel? It saddens me to
have the love of God so misrepresented, it angers me to have the Gospel reduced
to such certainty, it frustrates me to have faith be more about what happens
after death than what happens during life, it makes me uncomfortable to be in the
judgment rather than the faith business. And yet, after hearing our gospel text
from Luke about Lazarus and the rich man, we might find ourselves wondering about
that very question. Will we be spending time with Lazarus or the rich man?
To
be fair, it’s a rather cheesy question – where are you going after you die? But
not only cheesy, it’s a bad question. For one, it puts the focus on us instead of
others. It’s a very self-centered sort of question, worrying about ourselves in
the future rather than the current plight of others. The question is also
troublesome because by posing as a question, it presumes that there is an
answer. The simple, even if unsettling, truth is that we simply don’t know what
happens after death. I am absolutely confident that God’s love transcends space
and time, as well as life and death, I absolutely trust Jesus’ promise of
Resurrection, even if I don’t understand the details behind that mystery, and I
believe that everything comes from God and will find its ultimate fulfillment
in God. That being said, it remains true that death is a horizon, and even
though a horizon is nothing but the limit of our sight, we still cannot see
beyond it.
This
isn’t so much a parable about the specifics of what happens after death. The
Bible can’t be understood without context. Remember last Sunday’s reading ended
with “You cannot serve God and wealth.” Before today’s reading began though,
Luke records “The Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all this, and they
ridiculed him.” More than giving us a glimpse into the afterlife, this parable seems
to suggest that actions, including inactions, have consequences.
When
I hear this parable, the question that comes to mind is not “Where will I spend
eternity?” but “What must I do?”. What is it that God has called me to do? What
actions does my faith demand that I take? The rich man, who interestingly is
never named in the parable, likely knew something about his sense of
obligation. Almsgiving and generosity were expected in that culture as much as
they are in ours. But what gives the rich man away is when he is in Hades he
knows Lazarus’ name. Not only does the rich man still expect to be served by
those below him by asking that Lazarus bring him relief, but the rich man knows
his name. It means that he was well aware of Lazarus’ need, and yet he chose to
ignore it.
The
parable doesn’t give us the specifics of the situation, so we don’t know how
this rich man became rich. Was he born into wealth? Did he defraud people? Did
he work hard to build wealth? We don’t know. But what we do know is that
forsook charity. When he asks Father Abraham to at least send a warning to his
siblings, the response is “They have Moses and the prophets.” And what do Moses
and the prophets have to say about charity? From Deuteronomy: “If there is
among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns
within the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or
tight-fisted towards your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand,
willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be.” The prophet
Micah writes that the Lord requires that we “do justice, love kindness, and
walk humbly with our God.” Isaiah prophesied “learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead
for the widow.” These are just a few of many examples of the need to care for those
who are in need. And, of course, we also have the benefit of someone who has
been raised from the dead who reminds us of the importance of mercy and
compassion.
What
does our faith require? When we turn our hearts and lives towards God, who else
are we turning towards? What should not be put off until tomorrow? This parable
says that mercy is something that should be done, and done today. I think that
we all have the best of intentions – we all want to be consistent in our prayer
and Bible reading, we desire to be generous in our giving, we want to be more
compassionate – but this parable suggests that judgment is based not on our
intentions, not even on our beliefs, but our actions. Don’t put off showing
love, don’t delay in being merciful, don’t hesitate to forgive, don’t
procrastinate in charity.
What
is it that God is calling you to do? There’s a poem by Mary Oliver called “The
Journey” in which she writes “One day you finally knew what you had to do, and
began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice.” It
certainly can be challenging to live for God. It won’t make sense to some,
others will say that you’re too soft, some will say that it’s too risky, that
you might get hurt or used. Maybe the voices that shout bad advice are your
fears, doubts, and excuses. We don’t know why the rich man didn’t ever allow
himself to be moved to compassion when he saw Lazarus, but we can assume that
there were voices of some sort that told him that it would be a bad idea. Part
of following God is leaving those voices behind.
Later
in the poem, Oliver writes “But little by little, as you left their voices
behind… there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own,
determined to do the only thing you could do.” Once we are able to quiet those
other voices, we discover our sense of call and vocation. There’s very likely
something in your life that you are being nudged towards, something that you
believe God is calling you to do. It could be volunteering, it could be seeking
treatment for an addiction, it could be committing to a prayer routine. In another
poem, Oliver asks “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and
precious life?”
This
isn’t about giving you more to do, or inducing any sense of guilt over not
doing more. Truly, I am inspired on a daily basis by members of this
congregation who are overwhelmingly generous with your money, with your time,
with your skills. Many of you clearly have heard God’s call to generosity and
mercy and are acting that out on a daily basis. So this isn’t about adding more
things to your already full plate. Some of you perhaps have felt a nudge to be
more involved, so let this text be your invitation to do so today. Some of you
are already following that call, so let this be your invitation to invite
others to join you. Maybe you’re already responding faithfully to our the needs
of our community, but you haven’t thought about the spiritual dimension to your
actions. It could be that you can invite God into your actions of charity – so that
each time you write a check, or make a meal for someone who is sick, or attend
a committee meeting, or show up for a workday at the church you might say to
God: Make me a faithful servant, let my work glorify you, help me to remember
your love for me which is the basis for this gift of my time, or talent, or
money.
While
the parable can border on disturbing, it certainly makes the point clear that
our actions have consequences and that God’s Kingdom is built through
relationships. Relationships are meant to be nurtured, built, and cherished. It
is interesting that in the parable, heaven is not the reward for faithful
living, but rather is assumed as the default. Heaven cannot be earned or
gained, rather it only can be lost. The time is now cross the chasms of sin, race,
poverty, hatred, political persuasion, religious beliefs. Don’t put off
reconciliation or mercy until tomorrow, for today is all we have. If we’re
going to put things off until tomorrow, let’s hold off on judgment and let’s
delay disagreements. Instead, today, choose mercy. When we hear this parable,
it may remind us of the billboard that asks “If you died today, do you know
where you’d spend eternity?” But that’s a bad question that only leads us to
bad answers. Instead, a better question to ask in response to this parable is “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”.*Addendum, added during the announcements:
I also want to say something about Charlotte. You likely noticed that I didn’t say much about it in the sermon. Had I said more, some of you would have been frustrated. And I’m sure some of you are disappointed that I didn’t say more. The reason why I didn’t address it more fully in the sermon is because I simply don’t know what to say.
The facts aren’t all in, the emotions are raw, and the issues are complex. And I think that as a white male, I need to be listening more than I need to be offering my take on it from the pulpit. If you want to read something worth reading, check out The Rev. William Barber’s op-ed in the New York Times. Because of our proximity to Charlotte, we’re facing issues that we’ve been watching on the news for the past few years. It’s different when it’s happening in our backyard. But today, I just don’t have the words to speak in the name of God on the subject. While I may not have words to say, I do have words to pray.
What follows is the Holy Eucharist – a meal rooted in brokenness and betrayal, and yet one that also symbolizes hope and love. The Eucharist unites people on every side of the issue in breaking bread together and drinking from a common cup. It is a powerful symbol of unity given the tensions of this week. The Eucharist unites us to God and all who have gone before in faith.
This table is the place where we are fed, where we can find peace in the mysteries of God which surpass our understanding, where we find strength to work for justice and peace. So with us a longing for peace, understanding, and reconciliation in our hearts, may we gather around God’s table.
