September 25-26, 2010
18th Week-end after Pentecost
Luke 16:19-31
Salem Lutheran Church
Sycamore, Illinois
I, for one would rather not hear Jesus' words today as especially meant for you and for me. For you and I, at first glance, are neither the rich man in this story nor are we Lazarus. To be sure, on any economic scale we're familiar with, we fall somewhere inbetween. So at first it would be easy to dismiss Jesus' words as not meant for us…
Only I haven't been able to do that for a very long time. Let me tell you why.
I was a student still. Living then in a church apartment in North Minneapolis. My room-mates and I lived there free of charge, in exchange for opening the building in the morning, checking to be sure the doors were locked late at night and taking a walk through the building and glancing into every nook and cranny to be sure no one had made their way in during the day who hadn't made their way out by night fall. Mostly all we ever encountered were bats who had been stirred out of their hiding places by the large fans in the church tower in August… but now and again a homeless person had found his way into a pew where he hoped to spend the night safe and warm.
For you see, North Minneapolis is and was not the kind of neighborhood anyone from here would much want their 25 year old daughter living. Only my folks didn't especially know that it was a neighborhood marked by poverty and crime and the kind of fear that lives in every heart when both are present.
Only we weren't there most of the time. We'd get up early and unlock the doors and head across town to school where we would spend the day learning and interacting with others preparing to be leaders in the church. And most days? Well, we'd be getting home long after the neighborhood settled down. And most significantly perhaps, long after the people in the soup line that would make its way past our front door had been fed and the pots and pans cleaned up and put away.
Most of the people who worshiped in that Lutheran Church didn't live within walking distances of that building like their ancestors did. They didn't have a whole lot of connection or commitment to their neighbors; but they did allow their kitchen to be used on week nights to be sure that the hungry were fed.
So now I tell you the truth. I was a little afraid of the people who lined up to be fed every night. My world seldom intersected with theirs and I wasn't all that unhappy most days to miss that line of children and old people, singles and families who came to have their hunger satisfied. And when on that rare occasion I did happen to come home early, usually I would take a side door in and make my way to our apartment --- avoiding too much contact with these who lived so differently than I.
Only one day, this is how it was. One of the men in line stepped out of line. He blocked my way to the side door and proceeded to scream at me using words I had seldom heard directed my way. Now I know he was probably mentally ill. Still then I only experienced surprise and fear as his outburst forced me to lift up my head and look into his eyes. And then into my own heart to acknowledge the indifference that lived there.
Now here's what I don't want you to do today. Every time I've had occasion to share this story, I've gotten a whole lot of sympathy from those who've heard it. Yes, it would be only normal to experience fear in the face of such an encounter. And no, of course, I hadn't necessarily done anything wrong to deserve this. But here's the point. Neither had the rich man in Jesus' parable done anything particularly wrong. At least we don't hear that he did. His sin was that of indifference. Of turning the other way. Of not feeling and responding to the pain of one over whom he apparently had to step on his way about his business every morning, noon, and night. His sin was that of allowing himself to be so utterly closed off from all this world God made --- from its joys and its hurts and all the variety of people God had created and placed alongside him. And to be sure, the rich man's sin was still seeing Lazarus as his inferior --- one whom he could order around --- even after their fates had been sealed. His sin was in not seeing Lazarus as the child of God that he was.
So it's no easy word that comes to us today. And it's easy to turn away from it, thinking that one person, or twelve people or even three hundred people can't begin to address the kind of need that's represented by Lazarus today. It would be easier to believe it has nothing to do with us; but then we would only be taking one more step towards sealing ourselves off into a kind of hell of our own making. One where the needs of others are felt as threats and not as opportunities to live as the whole people God made us to be. The rich man's sin was his indifference. It took a screaming, hungry, homeless person to shake me out of mine. And every single day since I find I must intentionally stand still to seek to listen to and look at the needs of the world with the eyes of Jesus and not my own. And many days still I find I must ask for the forgiveness of the One who made us all and loves us all the same, trusting that God will give me yet another chance tomorrow. And every single day I pray that God will take away my indifference, my fear, my lack of hope or confidence and help me to live as one who sees and gives and loves in this life now.
And so it happened again this week. I shared with you a while back about a conversation I had with the counselors at Sycamore's middle school… wondering with them about whether there might be hungry kids there… and wondering if we might be a part of helping meet that need. I got a call back on Tuesday. They haven't had time yet to work through all two hundred children who are on reduced and free lunches to measure their need… but one of the counselors called to tell me that she has four hungry kids. Four youngsters who are going hungry more often than not from Friday night to Monday morning: those days when school lunches aren't available. And can we help? And so Tuesday night I mentioned it at our council meeting here and by noon on Wednesday I had enough backpacks for those four kids and a couple to spare. And on Friday we packed up peanut butter and jelly, bread, pancake mix and syrup, spaghetti and sauce, some canned fruit and some soup and took them to the middle school to go home with those kids for the week-end. It's just a start and we most likely will wind up with more kids who need help, but for now God has sent us four. Four youngsters whose parents are weeping because they can't feed them. Four children of God, made in the image of God just like you and me. Four children who much like Lazarus, live just outside our gate, just down the street, whose hunger we've been called to feed.
So yes, I expect this story is about us in the end. Our prayer must be that God would do what God must do to wake us up, to stir us to see and hear and live and love more fully now… that we might not find ourselves enclosed in hells of fear and indifference of our own making even now. To be sure, we are confident that God will forgive us when we don't --- but still we give thanks that God promises to keep putting Lazarus in our paths… For the sake of Lazarus, to be sure. But perhaps even more for our own sakes as we find ourselves encouraged to live as the people we are meant to be. Amen.
