SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Amos 6:1a, 4-7

Psalm 146

1 Timothy 6:6-19

Luke 16:19-31

Prayer of the Day: O God, rich in mercy, you look with compassion on this troubled world. Feed us with your grace, and grant us the treasure that comes only from you, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

 “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” Luke 16:31.

To understand this parable of Lazarus and the rich man, you have to rewind to the first chapter of Luke in which Mary the mother of our Lord declares:

“[God] has shown strength with his arm;
    he has scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
   He has brought down the powerful from their thrones
    and lifted up the lowly;
   he has filled the hungry with good things
    and sent the rich away empty.” Luke 1:51-53.

The great reversal, the casting down of the wealthy and powerful with the exaltation of the poor and oppressed foretold by Mary is graphically portrayed in this parable. The rich man who feasted sumptuously every day and lived his life in luxury is cast down to hades. Lazarus, the poor man who lay sick, hungry and ignored at the rich man’s gate is in the company of Abraham. Nevertheless, the rich man still does not understand what has happened. Even in hades, he still imagines he is a big shot. He still thinks he can hobnob with Father Abraham. He imagines Lazarus is still his “boy” who can be ordered to fetch him a drink or run errands for him. Not that he deigns to speak directly to Lazarus. That would be beneath him. Instead, he tells Abraham to communicate his orders. The great reversal has come, but this dolt didn’t get the memo. The rich man in this parable is dumb as a bag of hammers.

The rich man’s particular kind of stupidity is known as “privilege.” He assumed that he was entitled to all that he had.  Perhaps, like many of us, he worked hard to amass the wealth he enjoyed throughout his life. He probably supposed feasting sumptuously every day was his right. In his view, he was under no obligation to share his hard earned wealth with anyone. He could, of course, choose to be charitable. So whatever scraps he threw from his table were more than was required of him and more than Lazarus deserved. Lazarus owed the rich man a debt of gratitude for whatever he was given, but the rich man owed Lazarus nothing.

But that is not the way it works, according to Abraham. The disparity reflected in the relationship between the rich man and Lazarus was destined to be reversed. Now that it has occurred, there is no going back. Abraham tells the rich man that “between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.” Luke 16:26. To be clear, God is not responsible for that “great chasm.” The rich man dug that trench all on his own. It began the first time the rich man set eyes on Lazarus-and quickly averted his gaze. It got deeper every time the rich man’s limo passed Lazarus without so much as slowing down as he sat at the entrance of his gated community. In the new age, the chasm he built is still there, but the rich man is now on the other side of it.

I do not believe this parable invites metaphysical speculation about the afterlife. It is not really about the afterlife. It is very much about here and now. Jesus’ prophecy has come true with a vengeance. Just as the words of Moses and the prophets demanding justice for the poor failed to move the hearts of the rich man and his family, so too those words have failed to close the gaping chasm between the few wealthy and the many impoverished around the globe today. Lazarus still lies at our southern border, in the wreckage of Gaza and in overcrowded refugee camps the world over. He can be found sleeping in public parks, begging for food in front of our shopping centers and sleeping under a cardboard box-all for which he could well be arrested in many of our cities. Privilege, however, blinds us to their presence and hardens our hearts to their pain. It enables us to feast sumptuously in blissful disregard for those longing for our plate scrapings.

Most of us do not think of ourselves as privileged and probably take offense at the very notion that we might be. On one level, I don’t view myself as privileged. I was one of four children born to a blue collar worker with only a high school degree. I was able to attend college largely because my parents made it a priority in their financial planning. For that reason, we never saw Disney World. We drove used cars and had a black and white TV that could be seen only at night when it was dark outside and we turned out the lights. When the clothes dryer broke down, we didn’t replace it. Mom used the clothesline when weather permitted and packed us kids into the car and drove down to the laundromat when it didn’t.

With support from Mom and Dad supplemented by on campus jobs, I completed college and seminary. When I resigned from my first parish to attend law school, I attended a state school because that is what we could afford. When I graduated and began interviewing, I had no relatives in the practice of law or any connections that many of my classmates had. I had to get interviews on the strength of my resume and my law school record. I was hired by a firm for a summer position only and worked my tail off to earn an offer to become an associate. I worked my way into partnership during my eighteen years before leaving the practice of law to return to ministry. So am I not rightly insulted by any suggestion that I am privileged?

Actually, no. The truth is, I have benefited from many layers of privilege. In the first place, I had the good fortune to be born at a time when the economy was much kinder to men like my father. Dad was able to get a job at the Puget Sound Naval Ship Yard where he began as a shop worker. There he gained a number of skills that enabled him to advance to higher levels of pay. By the time he reached retirement age, he was a competent draftsperson able to secure a higher paying job in the private sector. Though his salary at the Ship Yard was modest, it was sufficient to support his family and allow my mother to stay at home with us kids during our formative years. Mom went to work during my teenage years, thereby supplementing the family income and enabling my parents to finance college for all four of us kids. Opportunities for unskilled high school graduates today are far less plentiful. For the most part, it is unrealistic to expect that such a person will land a job with a salary capable of supporting a family.

Second, I am white. The opportunities available for my parents were scarce to non-existent for people of color in the 50s and 60s. Consequently, their children, my contemporaries, were at a severe disadvantage when it came to employment, home ownership and opportunities for higher education. For those who were able to overcome these obstacles, the professional terrain was anything but friendly. When I interviewed, I never had to worry about what my potential employer might be thinking about my skin color, accent or background. I never had to worry that an interviewer might assume that I was a “DEI” law school student or that I was somehow less capable. When I was practicing law, I did not have to worry that a corporate client might not want me on the case due to “demographic” concerns or because I did not “fit in with the rest of the team.”[1]

Third, I am male. I did not have to worry that my clothing might be “too provocative,” my demeanor too meek for the practice of law or too “bitchy” for the tastes of a male dominated firm. I never had to worry about what I would do if valuable clients or senior partners tried to “hit on” me. I did not have to negotiate pregnancy or balance infant care with job responsibilities. I did not have to work overtime to prove that I was just as capable as any man to practice law and just as tough as any male litigator. I entered into what was, and to a large extent still is, a man’s world as a man.

Finally, I am straight. Though society has become increasingly accepting of same sex couples and even transgender folk, it was less so during my professional life. We still have a long way to go today and, I might add, a good deal further than I once hoped. In the corporate world, image is important. Companies fear ramifications of being represented LGBTQ+ folk and law firms are therefore reluctant to hire them. In sum, I have benefited enormously from my status as a white, straight male. Yes, I ran the race hard and steadily to arrive where I am. But there is no denying that I had a gigantic head start. For that reason, I cannot deny that I am privileged.

I hope that the church is finally coming to the conclusion that, if we are to make meaningful progress bridging the gap between ourselves and Lazarus, we need to dismantle privilege in all its forms. If there is any good news in this parable, it is that things need not be as they are. We are the ones who dug that horrible chasm plunging so many into misery and we are also capable of filling it, redistributing the world’s bounty in an equitable fashion and ending the curse of poverty. We are in the position of the rich man’s brothers. There is still time for us to hear the words of Moses and the prophets. Unlike them, we have been warned by One who rose from the dead.   

Before we can call the world to repentance on this score, however, we need to address privilege within our own ecclesiastical ranks. Like the rest of the United States, our churches are infected with the belief, sometimes subconscious and sometimes overt, in white supremacy. People of color entering our churches face awkward stares, inept efforts at welcoming and microaggressions that strike like a metal fork on a chalk board. We (and I include myself in this “we”) need to come to grips with the mythology of the white man’s “discovery” of this land, his “civilization” of the wild frontier and “exceptionalism” attributed to the United States has shaped our teaching, preaching and practice.

Our churches have made numerous attempts to address racism, including extensive anti-racism training events, educational initiatives and discussion forums. While I don’t fault these programs, I am not convinced they are as effective as we might have hoped. For one thing, they tend to draw mainly those already converted. For another, they produce little in the way of action. I would propose that, rather than hoping for radical change through a gradual process of education, let us educate by proposing concrete action. I made a modest proposal for such action some time ago in my Open Letter to the ELCA Presiding Bishop and Synodical Bishops: A Modest Proposal for Reparational Tithe. With the notable exception of one of our synods, the proposal was ignored. I am hopeful that, with the election of a new presiding bishop, our ELCA will take a fresh look at the potential for making meaningful reparations for what we have publicly confessed to be complicity in our nation’s racial injustice.

I believe that systemic changes are essential. These involve more than just moving around the bureaucratic furniture. Perhaps the most urgent need for change is in the way we train and prepare pastoral leaders. If we really want the inclusive church we keep talking about, then I believe we must find a better model than the standard four years of college followed by three years of seminary training with a year of internship thrown in. College has been put cruelly out of reach for all but well-heeled families of the upper middle class. Adding three years of seminary on top  of that along with the prospect that there may be few churches able to employ a pastor full time makes the call to ministry a strain even for these families. Just what shape future training for ministry should take is beyond the scope of any article such as this. Suffice to say, the present system is a roadblock for all but the privileged and ultimately unsustainable in any event.

Needless to say, Jesus’ parable confronts us with the stark reality of our privileged life and forces us to confront the price our neighbors on the other side of the divide must pay for us to enjoy it. There are those who would tell us that wealth and poverty have characterized our existence from the beginning of time and there is nothing we can do to change it. Moses, the prophets and, most importantly, Jesus tell us otherwise. Seeing Lazarus is perhaps the first step toward the kind of compassion capable of bridging the chasm dividing him from us. Here is a poem in which poet Denise Levertov truly sees the poor and the difficulty of their lives.

The Wealth of the Destitute

Source: Poems 1972-1982 (c. 1975 by Denise Levertov, pub. By New Directions Publishing Corporation, 2002) Denise Levertov (1923–1997) never received a formal education. Nevertheless, she created a highly regarded body of poetry that earned her recognition as one of America’s most respected poets. Her father, Paul Philip Levertov, was a Russian Jew who converted to Christianity and subsequently moved to England where he became an Anglican minister.  Levertov grew up in a household surrounded by books and people talking about them in many languages. During World War II, Levertov pursued nurse’s training and spent three years as a civilian nurse at several hospitals in London. Levertov came to the United States in 1948, after marrying American writer Mitchell Goodman. During the 1960s Levertov became a staunch critic of the Vietnam war, a topic addressed in many of her poems of that era. Levertov died of lymphoma at the age of seventy-four. You can read more about Denise Levertov and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.

[1] In the corporate world, nobody ever explicitly discriminates on the basis of race. But when terms like these are used, we all knew what they meant.

FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

Exodus 32:7-14

Psalm 51:1-10

1 Timothy 1:12-17

Luke 15:1-10

Prayer of the Day: O God, overflowing with mercy and compassion, you lead back to yourself all those who go astray. Preserve your people in your loving care, that we may reject whatever is contrary to you and may follow all things that sustain our life in your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.

“Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” Luke 15:7.

“Which one of you,” Jesus asked, “having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it?” Luke 15:4. Well, I for one. Understand that in First Century Palestine sheep were not cuddly little pets. They were commercial commodities-like turnips. You wouldn’t expect a truck driver carrying a load of turnips to pull his rig over to the side of I-95, leave it parked precariously at the side of the interstate and walk back more than a mile to pick up one turnip that might have fallen off the truck and that has probably already been squashed. And the woman who lost the coin? Why the drama? Coins, unlike sheep, don’t wander off. The missing one is doubtless somewhere in the house. It will most likely turn up in the next thorough house cleaning.

If these stories do not make much practical sense, it is because they are not supposed to. The reign of God is not a load of turnips. Human beings are not fungible commodities. Each one is unique, essential to God’s creative intent for the world and irreplaceable. The jigsaw puzzle of God’s creative vision can never be complete without the full number of component parts. Anyone who has ever completed or tried to complete a jigsaw puzzle knows that you can’t just shrug off a missing piece or two. The missing piece must be found and incorporated into the whole if there is to be a whole. God’s new heaven and new earth are like a jigsaw puzzle in this respect: 99.9% is not good enough.  

These parables were unsettling to Jesus’ opponents because they suggested that “sinners,” those people excluded from the community of the faithful, were actually essential to making the community whole. I must confess that they are equally unsettling to me. There are some sheep I hope will never be found and returned to the flock. Who wants to see Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell brought into the reign of God to dwell among their victims? Closer to home, I can think of many people who throughout my lifetime have deeply wronged me, my family and friends. I hope that I have forgiven them. I know that I do not wish for them to suffer eternal punishment. But I do not want to see them again or have them be any part of my future. I cannot imagine enjoying God’s gentle reign of justice and peace with them in it.

But that is the point of parables, isn’t it? They are designed to unsettle us. They rattle our assumptions, question our deepest convictions and reveal to us the poverty of our imaginations. Parables challenge us to see beyond the limitations imposed by our biases, our grudges and the pain we bear from wounds we have incurred at the hands of others. I might prefer a world populated by people with whom I am compatible. I can say to my credit that such a world would be well populated. I have been compatible with nearly all the people I have met over the years. There have been only a few people in my life, so few that I can probably count them on the fingers of one hand, that I have found impossible to endure. Problem is, those are the ones about whom Jesus is particularly concerned. As much as I would like to lose these folks, Jesus is bent on finding them. Therefore, much to my annoyance and contrary to what the late Tim LaHaye would have us believe, no one gets “left behind.”  

Another reason why these parables are so disturbing is that they run contrary to our proclivity for haste and ease. It is faster and easier to resolve difficult congregational issues by taking a vote, no matter how many people are left angry and alienated, than it is to take the time necessary to work through conflicts, seek common ground and build together a less than perfect solution with which we can all live. It is easier to drive troublesome members out of the church than to listen to their concerns, understand the source of their hostility and attempt to reconcile them. War is the most horrifying manifestation of human impatience and our willingness to take shortcuts to achieve a measure of peace. Military logic holds that the exercise of might on the side of right resolves conflict quickly, finally and absolutely. Although lives must be sacrificed in the process, the loss of a sheep or two is a small price to pay for securing the safety and welfare of the flock.

Military logic is not the logic of Jesus. The oneness Jesus seeks for his church and which God seeks for the world cannot be achieved simply by discarding, eliminating or forcing into submission people who are obstinate, resistant or simply do not fit in with our notions of what the reign of God should look like. However much it may vex our impatient, result oriented souls, God will take whatever time God must take to reconcile all things in Christ to God’s self. God will spend as much effort, as much searching and as much time as required to find that one missing sheep, that one lost coin, that one obstinate soul. And whether the rest of us like it or not, neither God nor God’s people are going anywhere without them.

Saint Paul reminds us that “our struggle is not against blood and flesh but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.” Ephesians 6:12. However much we may despise hateful ideologies and the violence to which they give rise and compelled though we are to speak out against and resist them, Paul would have us remember that people who espouse them and live by them are not the real enemy. They are enslaved by evil and as much victims of it as those they oppress. By directing our anger toward them, we are merely doing the bidding of the malicious evil we claim to hate and, in the process, being transformed into its likeness. Regardless who prevails on the battlefield, the devil is the only winner in every angry, violent and spiteful conflict.

In times like these when racism, homophobic bigotry, misogyny and xenophobia loom so large on the horizon and violent rhetoric floods the headlines, airwaves and cyberspace, the temptation for many of us is to give up on reconciliation and to fight fire with fire. It is easy to forget that people are more than what they appear to be when we see them at their worst. It is easy to forget that, however marred and distorted by sin, every person is a being that bears our Creator’s image. Sunday’s gospel reminds us that God hates nothing that God has made, that God will not settle for anything less than the reconciliation of the whole human family, that God gives up no one for lost. To the contrary, it is for the lost that Jesus comes. Our challenge is to learn to miss what is lost and long for its redemption with our God’s passionate love.

Jesus has no interest in obliterating his enemies. Rather, he seeks to reconcile them and draw them with his persuasive love under the gentle, just and peaceful reign of God. Like the tormented father in the parable of the Prodigal Son, Jesus stands on wounded feet between his warring siblings, reaching out with pierced hands to reconcile them and draw them together into the celebration of the angels over the lost who have been found. That is where Jesus’ disciples are called to stand as well.

Here is a poem reflecting the potential for reconciliation and restoration of a relationship seemingly lost, but reborn in unexpected friendship. One can perhaps see in it a parable of redemption and new creation.

Enemies

Source: Poetry, July, 1930. Agnes Lee (1868 – 1939) was an American poet and translator. She was born in Chicago, but educated at a boarding school in Vevey, Switzerland. Lee wrote a collection of children’s verse and published her first poem in 1899. She subsequently wrote several other books of poetry and translated Théophile Gautier’s Enamels and Cameos and Other Poems in 1903. In 1926, Lee received the guarantor’s prize from Poetry Magazine. You can read more about Agnes Lee and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation Website.