Last week in
our discussion following the sermon, I mentioned that parables were like
puzzles – that they were not intended to have a simple and easy interpretation,
but over the centuries there have been pat answers associated with most of
them. Or theologies have developed that color how we “hear” them and make them
less of a challenge than they were meant to be.
And to be
perfectly honest, I’ve never given the parable of Lazarus much thought, other
than that I like the Lazarus statues with him nearly naked on crutches with
dogs licking at his sores. I get a kick out of the fact that within
Christianity, there’s a honoring, or elevating of those who suffer. That we in
fact worship at the feet of a broken body on a cross has great appeal to me.
The reason I
tended to dismiss the parable and focus on the statue, has to do with my
discomfort with the way heaven and hell are used abusively by so many
Christians.
Elizabeth
Rawlings wrote a blog post called, “How to be a Christian without being a jerk
about it” Number one was: Stop threatening people with hellfire and damnation.
Nobody likes it. It achieves approximately nothing so far as spreading the
gospel is concerned. I have no idea what threats of hellfire are supposed to
accomplish. It’s like screaming at someone, “I think you’re ugly and awful!
Date me and I’ll fix all of your flaws!”
Deeper than
that, the threat of hell is used to control, condemn, break people’s spirits,
get them to do things they wouldn’t normally do. I spoke with a woman once who
clearly had a heart of compassion, she took care of people, cared for the stray
animals in her neighborhood, but had come under the influence of a pastor who
twisted the Good News into one of convincing people they were going to hell
unless they interpreted the Gospel just as he did. His interpretation was
racist and anti-Semitic. I could see the pain in her eyes as she tried to
convince me of that part of the message, it hurt her so say racist and
anti-Semitic things, but she thought the choice was that or both of us would go
to hell.
This is some
of what I had to clear from my mind to be able to see this story with fresh
eyes, to be able to look at the puzzle and see what it had to say, not just to
me, but what I could find in this story to speak of tonight. It took deep
prayer and meditation and frankly some pleading with Jesus to show me how I might
feed his sheep through this story.
With fresh
eyes, I saw that this story contained within itself a message that scare tactics
won’t work. The rich man wants to send a message to his brothers, a message
based in avoiding torment. Abraham tells him that they have Moses and the
Prophets, they should listen to them. The message should be how to be in
relationship with God, not how to avoid suffering.
So how does
this story speak to being in relationship to God? Let’s see if we can puzzle
some of it out. A parable can work on many levels; we need not and probably
cannot solve it. How does it speak to you, is an excellent question. Maybe ask
yourself who do you identity with in the story and why?
As a middle
class WASP, I certainly have been rich compared to the larger part of this
world’s population, the rich man in this story is way beyond me – we’re talking
lifestyles of the rich and famous fare here. And while I have had lean times,
and have lived with constant hunger at times, neither have I suffered on the
level of Lazarus. Honestly, though, residual fear from decades of believing I
was destined for hell has me instinctively identifying with the rich man.
Looking more
closely at the rich man, one notices a few puzzling things. The rich man
accepts his fate. He does not question why he’s tormented in flames. He doesn’t
ask to join Abraham on the other side of the chasm. He does not protest his
innocence. The only reason explicit in the story for his position is that he
didn’t suffer in life. It almost seems the story contains a, “suffer now or
suffer later” rationale.
Neither is
the story explicit about his relationship with Lazarus prior to death. Did he
ignore Lazarus completely? Did Lazarus ever get scraps from his table? Yet the
story does contain very important clues to his attitude towards Lazarus.
He never
addresses Lazarus directly. He expects Abraham to send Lazarus on errands like
a servant. Clearly he sees Lazarus as beneath him. He “others” Lazarus.
By
“othering”, I mean mentally classifying an individual or group as “not one of
us” making it easier to, or downright justifying dismissing them as in some way
less human; less worthy of respect and dignity. Someone labeled and classified
as “unclean” for example. When we practice “othering” we can easily fall into
the habit. Soon there can be no longer an “us.” Now the less than human is
everyone else. The other is now “not me.” Another piece of the puzzle is that
the rich man is alone.
And
isolation is death. I’m not speaking of introverts here. It is not a question
of “do I get my energy restored in crowds or by myself?” I’m speaking of what
happens to someone who can hear no other opinion, who can tolerate no feedback.
When we are alone in our heads we get crazy. Grievous harm to self and others
easily results.
No one was other
to Jesus. All the commandments that Jesus broke are in the purity category; the
laws that are designed to “other” people. Pharisees (who are likely the
audience that Jesus is addressing this story to) were using these laws in
similar ways that preachers (such as I mentioned above) use to justify racism
and anti-Semitism. But also sexism, heterosexism, ageism, ableism and the list
goes on. These laws can also be used against oneself, to “other” oneself in the
presence of God.
When I speak
of “othering” yourself, I’m speaking of beating up on yourself, of taking on
the shame our culture so easily dishes out, of hopelessness and despair, of
denying the possibility of redemption; of thinking of yourself as less than
human. We need to remember, no one was less than human to Jesus.
As humans,
however, there is a certain truth to our being other in the presence of God.
Not less than human, but absolutely less than God. God is the Wholly Other,
outside of creation. We do not have to make ourselves sub-human to approach God
with fear and trembling. As described in an article on Rudolf Otto’s thought,
this can be a: “Sense of unworthiness and need for "covering."
I want to
emphasize that unworthiness in the presence of God speaks to the fact that we
are totally dependent on God, that our very life and the world that sustains us
is God’s and not ours. “God richly provides us with everything for our
enjoyment.” There is nothing we’ve done or can do to earn our existence. “We
brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it.” We are
who we are because of God. That does not in any way imply there is anything
wrong with who we are (not fundamentally anyway – we all fall short ; not one
of us is without need of improvement.)
But Otto uses
another key word besides unworthiness, “covering.” Otto says we need a
"covering," or a consecration or grace, "that renders the
approacher ‘sanctified,' frees him from his unworthiness," so that he is
no longer unfit to relate to the Wholly Other.” The word covering is in our
prayers and scriptures tonight as well. The psalmists have faith God will do
this for us, God will cover us with his pinions, and under his wings we will
find refuge. In the Kontakion to Archangel Michel today, we ask the angel to
protect us with his immaterial wings from all visible and invisible enemies.
In the
Nicene Creed we begin with “We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen.” The angles are
spirit, invisible, immaterial. In a kind of reverse sense of othering, we speak
of spirit in material ways, give them wings, depict them as looking like us.
This is not a bad thing as long as we hold these mortal concepts lightly,
understand them to be the poetic allusions they are.
With that in
mind, in reading up on Michael, I found that in some traditions the angel has a
Valkyrie-like aspect, being the angel that escorts the souls of the dead.
Perhaps it was Michael who carried Lazarus to be with Abraham. In other
translations, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. I’d be
curious if when I asked, who do you identify with in the story, if any of you
imagined yourself in the bosom of Abraham, comforted after a hard life.
There are
devotional statues of Lazarus as I mentioned. It points to a wonderful aspect
of our faith. We venerate those who have been “othered.” The meek, the poor,
the hungry, the mourning are all to be blessed. I know for sure that many of us
here tonight have been othered, I suspect all of us have been and in ways I
haven’t even considered. I know in my own journey I have othered myself to the
point of cutting myself off from God.
And from the
comfort God can provide. God doesn’t step in and feed Lazarus or bind his
wounds. God sends angels to bring him to Abraham’s bosom. But this comfort is
not just in heaven. In times of trial, God will cover us with his pinions, and
under his wings we will find refuge. Remember what I said about poetic
allusions, visualizing these images of comfort can bring you into the spiritual
reality of them. When I was troubling over this text and spoke to Jesus, I let
myself in my imagination be resting on his bosom. Ideas come to me that way
that I don’t think would have if I simply just conversed.
I have faith
that that comfort, and the strength and lifting up I receive from it is from
beyond me. That it is intimacy with the Wholly Other. Certainly there are times
that encounter with God challenges us, makes us look deeply at where we need
change. I’m not speaking of staying in our comfort zone here. But when the
challenges of our life, our growth, our culture, our livelihood, our faith, or of
our relationships bring pain and suffering, reach for the intimacy and comfort
available to us.
God’s comfort
is the Good News; through Jesus, the seen and the unseen have been combined.
“Christ Jesus alone who has immortality and dwells in unapproachable light,
whom no one has ever seen or can see; to him be honor and eternal dominion.”
Christ Jesus spoke constantly of the love and intimacy he had with the Wholly
Other, who he called not father, but Abba similar to Poppa
And if one
can truly find and connect with this intimacy with the Wholly Other, how can
one continue to “other” anyone else? How can we not see all God’s beloved
creation in this context? Acting out of this infusion of love and care and
being cherished, out of these riches follow the good works. This is the treasure
to be stored up , that allows us to take hold of the life that really is life, it
is to no longer be isolated and to find intimacy with the Wholly Other through
all others.
Readings for this sermon:
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