Sermon September 28 Luke 16
There is a special bicycle custom in France that is a little unusual, at least for Americans. Cyclists approaching one another along a trail, any trail, always greet each other. Bon Jour, Good day. Usually said with a Nod and a bit of a smile. Riders who are either too shy or too tired or in too much pain, might just nod their “Bon Jour.” I don’t remember anyone going by who did not greet those of us coming the other way.
Believe me, there were stretches on our riding trip when I was feeling pretty sore after too many miles. But the Bon Jour, good day, called for so often, pulled me out of myself…into a recognition that we were all in it together. I could forget how hard my bicycle seat was feeling and pedal on. Bon jour, Good day. It was more than simply seeing one another, although that would have been a gift in its own right. It was wishing one another, complete strangers, well in our journeys.
Greeting one another changed what could have been just a tough slog into something shared and possible and even beautiful.
I wish Luke had told us a story about a rich man, going to his gate, perhaps to check the weather before he decided which of his gorgeous purple clothes to wear. Seeing Lazarus, he would say “Bon jour.” Or at least nod and smile. Who knows what might have happened next? They were on a shared journey, though neither man would likely have recognized that fact. Their lives, their culture kept them invisible to each other.
The rich man, nameless in our story, and thus a cipher for the rich everywhere and at all times. He occupies himself with the likes of a Jeff Bezos-Sanchez wedding that filled Venice with lavish parties, food, clothes, and celebrities. A celebration of Wealth with a capital W – Wealth as a system of organizing our life together where having it all and wanting more drives everyone and everything. Wealth which represents here the full sum of what humans have imagined will satisfy them. Wealth, as it creates a system where those who lack means become invisible at best. Even death becomes invisible to those with means. It hides under bridges and refugee camps far removed from the pathways we enjoy.
Lazarus, whose name apparently ironically, means “God has helped” seems on the path to a sure and early demise.
In fact, they both die.
Yet, the story continues. Once again on two different sides of a gate or a chasm, the rich man and Lazarus are within shouting distance of each other.
And here’s the thing, dear friends, the rich man still cannot or will not, certainly does not, see Lazarus as a child of God. The habit of command in the world of Wealth is simply too ingrained. The rich man believes at his core that his way of life protected him and his. And not others.
But it cannot protect him from death. There’s a reason. The world we design, brilliant as it may be, is not the real world created by God. God’s world sees all creatures come into being and all creatures die. In between, we are neighbors to each other. No matter the gates we build to protect ourselves. In reality, we simply ARE neighbors. We all share the same weather.
The church lives in trust that God’s world is the real one, that our birth and our death reveal a deeper, hidden power for life and thriving. That power for life undergirds and subverts our own social architecture. Gathered in trust and hope, we dare listen to Amos and Jesus, even when they threaten our culture of protection as goal and reward of success. We are all in this together.
We come together here to hear these stories over and over again, challenging as they are, because they are God’s gift. The obscene wealth of the rich man and the wretched poverty of Lazarus are put before us to remind us of our purpose, and God’s, that together we sustain and enjoy life. These stories are gift… threat, but reminder. Both of the fragility of our own created order and of the enduring promise of God’s love for us. A promise that has included words from Moses and Amos and Jesus and all the people on the windows around us, the saints in the pews [and you watching from afar.]
The stories call us into proximity with each other… a culture of seeing and greeting one another, even when we don’t feel much like it. Perhaps especially then.
One of the most powerful moments of witness to our trust in God’s reality comes for me on Ash Wednesday. There, face to face we confess that God’s world that is bigger than ours, God’s story longer, even as we confess our own fragility. We see each other as on the same journey. It’s hard. It hurts to tell and be told that to dust we will return. Yet we dare share this truth in the presence of God. We dare share love for each other in the presence of the truth that we die and our story continues. We look at each other and see beloved community.
We do that every week, really, as we come forward to receive bread and one, the bread of LIFE we name it. It is not a sumptuous banquet as Wealth would have it, nor scraps for dogs. It is gift to each and all of us as we see each other, all invited beloved ones in God’s real world.
The pain of today’s story is that…the rich man doesn’t see Lazarus. Not in this life or the next. And because he doesn’t see, he doesn’t care. Lazarus is invisible to Mr. Wealth. It is the not seeing, the man at his very gate, the man resting with Abraham, that traps the rich man all through this story.
We are not trapped on the wrong side of the gate or the chasm. We gather for word, for a taste of Go’s banquet..
The rich and poor remain visible to God. It is for the rich and poor that God’s covenant is made and handed on. That God’s world is sustained. That all the things the rich man has and that we rightly want for ourselves and others, have been provided. All we need is here.
Jesus calls us into the eco system of God’s creation where we catch sight of a great, unwieldy, mixed bag of a beloved community. And dare to greet one another on the trail. Dare to live the journey together.