by Mark Scandrette
Gospel Reading: Luke 16:19-31
For Sunday, Sept. 29, 2013: Year C—Lectionary 26
I live in the Mission District of San Francisco, a historically working class inner city neighborhood of immigrants, bohemian artists and people caught up in the struggles of displacement, addiction and poverty. Since the dot.com boom of the late ‘90‘s it has become a mecca for young affluent techies, which has resulted in stark contrasts between wealth and poverty. Last year 10 people died by violence within 6 blocks of my house, and last year billionaire founder of facebook, Mark Zuckerberg, bought a house in the neighborhood where people regularly stand on street corners begging.
Many have noted the growing gap between wealth and poverty in our country and most of us, whether we live in a city, suburb or out in the country, now see homeless neighbors begging on a daily basis. We all live, to some extent, in the uncomfortable tension between the rich man and Lazarus.
Most Like The Rich Man
I’m typing these words at Coffee Bar, a cafe where Instagram was launched and tech billionaires wearing hooded sweatshirts sip coffee over casual meetings to discuss venture capital investments in disruptive new startups. It’s not an expensive place. Coffee is only two bucks, which is why I come here—and there are families, older people and an occasional homeless neighbor sitting amidst the sea of shiny silver laptops.
I’m not the richest or the poorest person here, but I do make more than thirty-four thousand dollars a year, which puts me in the top one percent of global wealth. Somehow it’s easier to compare myself with those who have more than with those who have less. If I’m honest with myself, I’m most like the rich man in the Jesus’ story.
And this is Jesus’ story-telling at its best, with Lazarus in such a grotesque and pathetic state that dogs are licking his open sores. When we see someone begging like poor Lazarus, it makes most of us feel uncomfortable or we have to step back because of the smell.
Avert, lest Advantage is Taken?
There are rare occasions when I make a “heroic” effort to look the begging person in the eye and recognize them as the child of God that they are, offering conversation and some help. But more often I avert my eyes and walk on.
A friend of mine recently told me about an experience he had. After the gathering of his faith community he walked outside to find a man begging for spare change. “What do you need the money for?” he asked. The man replied, “I’d like to buy a beer.” “Sorry,” my friend said, “I can’t give you money for that.” Then my friend went on to a pub down the street with his church friends and bought a round of beers for everyone. Reflecting on this incident he said, “I guess I felt justified judging the begging man, assuming that he was an alcoholic, even though I would never do that with my friends.”
I take my friends and family out for meals. When people come to my house I always offer them a cup of coffee or something else to drink and invite them to stay for dinner. I naturally and unconsciously give to people I consider to be my friends. So why do I face hesitation and resistance when the person is poor or unknown or smells bad. Maybe the honest truth is that I don’t consider these people to be my friends or even potential friends the way I do people who look more like me or appear to be less needy. I don’t think my friends are taking advantage of me when they stay at my house and eat my food or ask to borrow my car.
A Bit of Karma
In the story, Jesus never uses the words heaven and hell. In a lifetime of reading the gospels I’m surprised by how often I’ve inserted those constructs into the narrative. The rich man is in the place of the dead, removed from the gathering of ancestors that included father Abraham.
There’s a bit of karma going on in this story. The rich man ignored the pleas of Lazarus the beggar, and now he is the one begging for a glass of water and is denied. As a master teacher, Jesus told stories like this to awaken longing in his listeners, to help them turn the switch on, to desire to be people who see the beggar at the gate and to embrace the miracle of love. In the gospels repentance often involved a change in how a person viewed and used money.
The Hardest Question
What is the great chasm between the rich man and Lazarus, the gap between the place of the living and the dead? Do we create these chasms when we think of anyone as less worthy of compassion than we are?
