Luke 16: 19-31
Jesus said, “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and
lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered
with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.
“The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to
Abraham’s side. The rich man also
died and was buried. In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw
Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of
his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’
“But Abraham replied, ‘Child, remember that in your lifetime you received your good
things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you
are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been
set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can
anyone cross over from there to us.’
“He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father,
send Lazarus to my family, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that
they will not also come to this place of torment.’
“Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the
Prophets; let them listen to them.’
“‘No, father Abraham,’ the man said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’
“Abraham said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be
convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”
****
Will you pray with and for
me? Holy One, open our eyes to your presence with us, in us, in our friends and
family and neighbours. Open our hearts to recognize their pain, their grief,
their needs. Open our hands to share with them. Amen.
As most of you know, I work two days a week at our sister church,
MCC Detroit, over in Ferndale, Mi. Being the end of summer, there is still some
construction and road work going on, so I generally take a less direct route to
MCCD. There is one particular intersection where I often see people holding
cardboard signs saying things like"Homeless Please help" or
"Veteran in need." I've noticed that many people, when the red light
stops them beside this person, stare straight ahead, obviously pretending not
to see the person, trying to avoid eye contact with the person. Because, of
course, if they made eye contact, then
they would feel obligated to give the person some money or a bottle of
water--they would be forced to acknowledge them--to see them. I wonder whether
instead of seeing the man with the cardboard sign, perhaps they are seeing
their own vulnerability to a job loss, or the family member who periodically lives
on the streets, or maybe it is their own fears--for personal safety, for their
possessions--however unrealistic those fears are. They do not see him.
I imagine the rich man in
this parable doing exactly the same thing--walking swiftly by Lazarus on his
way in and out of his luxurious home, looking the other way, pretending to be
absorbed in a fleck of lint on his sleeve until he has walked past Lazarus,
suddenly involved in vigorous conversation with a friend...not seeing him, not
making eye contact. Not wanting to get involved. Not seeing Lazarus. He sees
instead an embarrassment,a hindrance, an obstacle.
Do you see yourself as
Lazarus or as the wealthy man in this parable? Because there are two sides to
this story, you know.This parable is powerful because we have all been on both
sides of this story. I know I have been like those drivers sometimes, thinking
as I stare straight ahead, "I am struggling financially too, I don't have
any extra to give you," when, after all, I am driving a car, I have income,
and thanks to living in Canada, I have health care.
But then there is Lazarus.
Sometimes I have felt like Lazarus, too. Have you felt like Lazarus sometimes?
Like no one really saw you?
When I was in treatment for
breast cancer, I was surprised by the reactions of friends. My family was there
for me--frequent phone calls, coming to chemotherapy with me, staying with me,
cleaning my house, sending care packages.
Some friends were fantastic--driving me to chemo and taking me to
supper afterwards, shovelling my sidewalk, sitting with me through one or
another procedure, bringing me books and magazines, sharing in my Sinead
O'Connor party, when Dani Bobb shaved my head for me, sending encouraging
emails and texts and Facebook posts, playing endless games of Scrabble with
me... One friend designated herself my Friday night cook, and called me every
Friday afternoon around three, to see what I felt like eating for supper, and
that was what she brought me--pasta salad, Chinese, fried chicken. She didn't stay
long, just brought the food and a hug and then was off. One night when I had
had a very rough day, I said I wasn't hungry and didn't feel like eating
anything. She brought me sushi, which turned out to be perfect. My clergy and
Deacon friends all took a Sunday and preached for me while I was taking
chemotherapy, in most cases doubling their work load for that Sunday.
And you know what was best
about all that wonderful care and support? No one did it so they could brag or
to feel good about themselves, they did it because they cared, because they
wanted to support me, to be there for me when I needed help. They saw me--my
needs, whether it was for a nutritious and filling meal, help with the house,
or simply encouragement.
There were others, though,
who could not, did not, see me. They had reasons, I am sure--some of them may
have lost a relative to cancer, or were survivors themselves and it just hit
too close to home for them, they were uncomfortable around illness, or were
unsettled by the sight of my bald head, or I couldn't do the things together we
used to do, and it turned out that those things were what we had had for
friendship. Others I think were not as good friends as I had thought they were.
But whatever the reasons,
they could not see me. They saw, perhaps, the cancer, or their own fears, or my
changed appearance, or a loved one who had struggled with cancer. They did not
see me.
So the wealthy man can give, and perhaps does,we don't know. But
this much is certain--he does not see the one who needs him at his very
doorstep. How many of us are willing to help with a donation or a cheque but
don't want to get involved? A friend of mine from seminary was appointed to a
large city church, in the wealthy part of town. She became very involved in a
project of the larger church, setting up summer day camps in the downtown area
of Baltimore. The congregation she served was very enthusiastic, bringing in
boxes of supplies and writing large cheques--until she asked them to come down
with her, to donate time and themselves instead of money. The support was still
there, but they didn't want to be involved, they didn't want to see the ones
they were helping, they couldn't, didn't, see them. They were willing to give
their wealth, but not themselves.
We are all busy. That goes
without saying. But can't we find time in our busy lives to see the people
around us, especially the people who need our help? Do we sometimes
figuratively step over people, stare straight ahead at a stoplight, pretend we
don't see them? Some of those people we don't see may be in our family, our
neighbourhood, at work, even our church.
When we don't take the time
to see the people around us, we miss God's presence in our lives. As each of us
is made in God's image, each person we see adds to that image of God. When we
do not see someone, we are not seeing God.
It may be our fears, it may
be our own self-doubt--but something may be keeping us from seeing our brothers
and sisters in their need. And it keeps them from seeing us.
Here's a challenge for you.
For the next week, every day see, really see, one person who needs you to
recognize the presence of God in them; recognize that presence and then give to
them as you are able and according to their need--understanding, a loonie,
forgiveness, a bag of groceries, encouragement. Your friend, your neighbour, a
family member, a stranger...See them, really see them.
In all God's names, amen.
