Threading the Needle: The Rich Man and Lazarus

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Please repeat these words after me:

“I am not in charge… of my money.”

Once more, with feeling!

“I am not in charge… of my money.”

How did it feel to say that out loud? I think that as Christians, we understand that basic premise in rational terms. We know that all of our money is a gift from God. We know the old term “stewardship” refers to the role of a steward who cares for the owner’s money, not their own. I have used the metaphor before, but we know that Brett Veach cannot spend Clark Hunt’s money any which way he wants…Brett is a general manager, a chief steward, of the owner’s money. We know these things, but how does it feel to say it out loud? Any fear in relinquishing that power? Any anxiety acknowledging the limits of our control? Hang onto that feeling for a moment, and we’ll come back to that later.

 

Today’s passage is yet another money story from Luke. Jesus tells a parable of two men, and a series of contrasts and reversals. One is a rich man who wears the colors of power and privilege, and dines on meals set for a king…while the other is poor, hungry, and unable to get medical treatment for the tormenting sores that cover his body. Two men, living a world apart. But then, both men die and are sent to the afterlife. Again, it is a study in contrast: the poor man, named Lazarus, is carried away into the bosom of Abraham, lavished in love by the arms of the father of the faith. But the rich man is sent into torment in the fires of Hades, where he can see Lazarus, but cannot reach him, “for a great chasm has been fixed” separating them. Two men, living a world apart.

Now, last week I let the cat out of the bag that each of these “money stories” isn’t really about money. Not entirely. The first was an exposé on greed. The second an exposé on anxiousness. The third an exposé on unbalanced living, overfunctioning or underfunctioning, or both. So, let’s continue the theme. I don’t think that today’s money story is about money. Not entirely. Let me suggest that it is an exposé on privilege. There are a lot of ways to define privilege, but the way that I am using it is a mindset in which we think that people belong on a hierarchy of value. Some are worth more than others, depending on their race, or their gender, or how many possessions they have. When that mindset is laced with power, or majority rule, the result is privilege. Thus, privilege suggests that I am owed something from those beneath me on that hierarchy.

So why is today’s story a story of privilege? On earth, this rich man possessed a great amount of privilege. He could boss people around, get whatever he wanted, and choose who was in his life and who he didn’t want to see. So, when they both died, the rich man carried that mindset of privilege with him. He was in torment by the fires of Hades, so what did he do? “He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.” He told Abraham—the Father and founder of their Faith—to send down that servant to quench his thirst. And when Abraham tells him no, in response the rich man tries another errand: “send him (he doesn’t even call him by his name this time) to my brothers to warn them of what is coming.” He doesn’t beg for mercy. He doesn’t repent of his sins. He doesn’t even ask nicely. He still operates out of this imagined hierarchy…I am worth more than Lazarus, so send him to do my bidding. His privilege is the problem here, both in life and in the afterlife. This man carries his privileged cluelessness into eternity.

 

On January 21, an Episcopal priest named Mariann Budde (BUDDY) preached a sermon from the Gospel of Matthew, about opening our eyes to those who are suffering and afraid in our world, specifically the poor, LGBTQ persons, and immigrants. I thought of her sermon this week reading about Lazarus begging for crumbs from the rich man’s table. It was the kind of sermon that you might hear in any Episcopal service—or a lot of Baptist services—on any given Sunday, in front of any normal congregation. The difference is that this was not any given Sunday, nor any normal congregation. This was the National Cathedral on the day after the inauguration, and in front of her sat the newly inaugurated president and all of his billionaire oligarchs beside him. She challenged them directly to live according to the commands of Jesus to care for the poor, the hurting, the afraid. An intentional and prophetic word, unflinching in the face of power.

And as a response, the oligarchy lost their minds. They smiled and shook her hand in person and then went and hid behind the screens of social media to call her every name in the book, posted unflattering pictures of her, tried to get her removed from her position, took aim at the entire denomination. And the army of the oligarchy followed suit…she has received death threats and is in the crosshairs of cable news shows. Now, none of this is a surprise, right? She knew exactly what she was doing: this was an intentional prophetic word in the face of those in power, like Jeremiah or Huldah or Amos or Elijah. And likewise, the response is predictable: “this woman made me feel sad so we have to get rid of her.” Like the Pharisees in the verses right before today’s passage. Luke tells us that they were “lovers of money,” so they scoffed at Jesus, and of course eventually had him killed. Privilege is as privilege does.

Now, the temptation for some of us will be to imagine ourselves right there with her, standing behind the pulpit, or at least up in the cheap seats cheering her on. But I think that the story of Lazarus and the rich man demands that we dig deeper and ask about our own privilege. For example, imagine how the folks in rural Nicaragua, where our team will be in about 125 days, would hear this story. Or folks in Haiti, where we travelled and then partnered for close to a decade. In their eyes, would we be right there on that front pew with the oligarchs? Powerful. Rich. Privileged. We see a gulf between ourselves and those on the front pew, but much of the world does not. If today’s story is to mean something to us, we must ask how we are like the rich man in the story. Would we cry out, “you can’t do this to me; I’m an American!”…”send someone to help; after all, I have a doctorate!”…”Father Abraham, do something; don’t you know how big my house is?” Where does our privilege lie? Because it is one thing to look at the oligarchy and the Empire and point fingers from behind our screens and rant and rave about people who make us angry. It is quite another to address the Empire within us. To ask ourselves when and how we ignore Lazarus in our world and our community.

But there is good news in the parable as well! Unaddressed privilege doesn’t have to be the end of the story. German scholar Joakim Jeremias suggests that this should be called “The Parable of the Five Brothers,” because just like the rich man’s five brothers, there is still hope for the rest of us! In the end, this is a parable of hope…for change, and transformation, and repentance.

When the man asks Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers, Abraham said no. Not out of spite or anger, but because it was redundant. The rich man’s brothers had all of the tools that they needed to dismantle their own privilege. They had the law. Commandments about caring for the stranger in their midst. Laws about giving alms to the poor. Requirements to care for the widow and orphan. Rules about leaving enough in the field for others to glean in an early welfare system. The commandment to reset the debt structure every 50 years in the Year of Jubilee. Commands to give their first fruits and their tithes. All of these were tools that they already had, that would help them participate in God’s kingdom. Meanwhile, they had the prophets. Poetic narratives about those who stood up to the powers that be, proclaiming that a society that fails its most vulnerable has chosen to reject God, regardless of how much they talk about him.

Abraham laughs at the rich man when he wants to send Lazarus, as if they would change their ways if someone rose from the dead. Of course, Jesus telling the story, on the way to Jerusalem to  be crucified, knew that if they didn’t listen to these commands and prophets, why would they listen to a man risen from the dead? They already had all they needed. The good news of the parable is that no one needs to reinvent the wheel or navigate some complicated ambiguous morality. “You already have the tools to dismantle your own privilege. Use them.”

As do we. Margaret Marcuson, our contemporary guide through these money stories, has something to say about this: “Pray about the Money.” It is her last chapter, but she writes it could have been the first. The reality is that our transformation comes not just because we try harder. It comes because we learn to acknowledge our own brokenness, our own privilege, our own sin. And ask God to give us a new way of living. How does it happen?

Pray about the money:

• Marcuson’s first step is one of gratitude. Instead of worrying about what we do not have, she reminds us to be thankful for what we do have. “All money is manna,” she writes. A gift from God. Shifting our prayer life from “I need” to “I have” can make a huge difference. It doesn’t mean we cannot ask God for our needs, but if we start with gratitude, the whole prayer changes. It is interesting to note this parable is the only one in the Gospels with proper names. It always about an unnamed “master” or “a father” or “two sons” or “a certain judge.” Even in today’s story, the rich man is simply, “a rich man.” But notice Lazarus’s name…the only parable in which Jesus does this. It feels significant, then, that the meaning of the name Lazarus is “God has helped.” An acknowledgement that God is the giver of salvation, of every good and perfect gift, of every dollar and possession that we have.

• Step two: “discover your self-worth.” This one is kind of an extension of the first. Have gratitude for you. When we begin with a mindset of scarcity, we start by thinking not only do we not have enough, but that we are not enough. Marcuson tells stories about folks who feel like they need to achieve some level of success or financial comfort or net worth before they are worthy. But when we ask God in prayer to remind us that we are created as worthy, in God’s image, it changes the mindset. This one feels counterintuitive to the point about privilege, right? Those with an abundance of privilege sound like they think they have plenty of self-worth. But remember that it is based on a hierarchical mindset that exterior things define that self-worth. If they knew on the inside that they were valuable, and that every person is just as valuable, that privilege begins to chip away. If you think that outside things are the currency of self-worth, your values are upside down. But when you believe that God is granter of self-worth, then it isn’t about our race or gender or nationality or bank account. We are worthy because God says so. Because God created us in God’s image.

• Step three: “take an infinite view of money.” She writes that we can play the finite game or the infinite game. The rich man chose the finite game; he made sure he succeeded in this world, ignoring others in order to maintain that level of finite success. But Lazarus was rewarded infinitely. What do we do with our money and how do we treat it according to the infinite game that God is playing?

• Step four: Embody your prayer.

Marcuson writes that our bodies can become vessels for our anxiety, especially about money. How often does an uncomfortable topic come up, often around money, and our bodies tense up: a tightened jaw, constricting back or neck muscles, suddenly rigid shoulders.

In contrast, she suggests that there are things that we can do to embody a prayer of gratitude and self-worth and an infinite view. This morning, I want to end with an embodied prayer that practices this.

• First, notice your body. Are there places where any anxiety resides? Don’t feel guilty about it, but notice it for a moment.

• Second, ground yourself. Put your feet on the floor. Your back against the chair. If you are at home at a table, you can place your hand flat on the table and feel its sturdy grounding. It can be a prayer of grounding in God’s presence and stability.

• Third, breathe deeply. Breath prayers are a long-held tradition of the church, and as we breathe in and out we can imagine the Holy Spirit entering and going forth from our bodies.

• Finally, pray this prayer again, but with a new grounding and hope: “I am not in charge…of my money.”