That was a wonderfully satisfying parable we heard a moment ago, wasn’t it: the story of the rich man and Lazarus. It is the tale of a wealthy man who lives a life of gluttony and excess – who is so hard-hearted and so selfish that he refuses to give even the scraps from his table to Lazarus, the destitute beggar lying at his gate. But when they both die, the tables are completely turned in the afterlife: the rich man gets his come-uppance, good and proper; whereas Lazarus is carried by angels to repose in eternal bliss with Abraham. Marvellous stuff! After all, that was exactly what that unspeakable plutocrat deserved for his mean-spirited hard-heartedness.
Except … that that is not in fact the story that the parable actually tells at all. Indeed, if we attend to it carefully, and set aside all of our assumptions about what is going on, it makes for far more uncomfortable reading. Let me explain.
You see, in the story we have just heard from the Gospel of Luke, at no point are we told that the rich man was either hard-hearted or cruel. For all we know he was a thoroughly nice chap – the kind of man who loved his children, was kind to animals, never forgot his wife’s birthday, and was a pillar of the local community.
In fact, the only things we are told about him in the story are: that he dressed in fine clothes; that he feasted sumptuously; and that a destitute man named Lazarus lay at his gate. It is not even suggested that he refused to give food to the starving Lazarus. We are simply told that Lazarus would have done anything to have the scraps from his table. I suspect that it was far more likely that the rich man didn’t even notice Lazarus there – apart from those inconvenient times when he had to step over him when going out, because he was in the way.
Once you have started to look more closely at what the story actually says rather than assume things that it doesn’t say – it becomes a far more troubling tale. Because a direct equivalent for us today of the rich man who features in today’s parable could be … me!
Compared to most of the world’ population today, I am undoubtedly rich. I have a wardrobe with some very nicely tailored clothes (and the odd designer label) in it. In other words, I too, dress in finery. And I also eat very well indeed. Indeed, one of the perks of being Rector of St Bride’s is that there are certainly weeks when I attend rather more civic, and livery, and press awards dinners than are probably good for me. I went to two of them last week.
And in addition to all of those factors (and this applies directly to me rather than to most of you …) I really do have the homeless and the destitute literally sleeping outside my gate, and pretty well on a nightly basis. Because living here, as I do, just off a major thoroughfare in the heart of the city of London, a lot of street homeless people use our passageway for shelter at night.
Once you begin to make those kinds of connections with today’s parable: Ouch! The story suddenly starts to read very differently – and it starts to feel an awful lot closer to home (as was doubtless its original intention). And when that happens, any grounds we might have thought we had for feel satisfied and self-righteous as we look on from the outside and cheer the terrible fate that is thoroughly deserved by the rich man in our story, feel increasingly shaky.
You see, it seems to me that the real point about today’s parable is not that the rich man is actively hard-hearted or cruel. Rather, it is simply that it doesn’t occur to him to look beyond his own comfort and well-being to see what is going on around him. He doesn’t do anything for Lazarus … because he would be astonished by the very suggestion that he should – after all, Lazarus is nothing to do with him. Not his responsibility.
But this is precisely where the Gospel message kicks in. You may remember that in Matthew 5: 46 Jesus says – ‘If you love only those people who love you, will God reward you for that? Even the tax collectors love their friends’. To which he could easily have added – ‘as do rich men, such as the one in the Lazarus parable.’
In other words, what Jesus calls us to do is to look outwards; to think beyond the conventional boundaries of personal responsibility as an essential part of our life of discipleship. And Jesus was astute in noting throughout the Gospels, that one of the most telling barometers of how far we are able and willing to do that, is to be found in our attitude towards money.
It has often been observed that, in the Gospels, Jesus says next to nothing about sex – but a huge amount about money – although given where the noisiest obsessions of today’s Church are currently located, one might easily assume that it was the other way round.
And money is therefore something that we probably don’t talk about nearly enough in relation to our journeys of faith. I should add here that there is absolutely nothing wrong with money in itself: on the contrary – money, properly used, can do a great deal of good. We would not be in a position to undertake the £1.4 million pounds worth of stonework repairs that are currently underway, nor to replace our piano (which really is on its last legs) with a fabulous new recital standard instrument (which we hope will be with us some time during the coming week) – without it. No, it is not money in itself that is the problem – it is the subtle and seductive power that it can begin to have over us.
A question that I try to ask myself from time to time is this: in material terms, what do I need that I do not already have? If I’m honest, I really do struggle to think of anything. Indeed, these days, when asked by my family about what I might like for a Christmas or birthday gift, I am increasingly inclined to ask for a subscription to something – such as the National Gallery or the British Museum – because I really don’t need any more stuff in my life. If anything I should be shedding stuff. Because, compared to most of the rest of the world, I am extremely wealthy. And because I recognise that I have more than I need, that frees me to give more of it away. But, as I have just indicated, the trouble with wealth is that, if we are not careful, it can take a hold over us.
I have heard it said that, if you want to understand true generosity – true generosity – don’t look to the rich, but to the poor; don’t look to those who have much, but to those who have very little. Because wealthy people like me will try and give what we feel we can afford to do without – what we won’t notice isn’t there; whereas those who have little knew the reality of giving that is truly costly. Which is rather startling – but true.
Because it is an all too recognisable human reality that the more we have, the more fearful we can become of losing it. And, particularly in the modern world, there are so many pressures on us urging us to cling to what we have, and to strive to acquire even more. There is an unspoken assumption that the only thing that really motivates people is financial gain. And we are bombarded by adverts that tell us: should we not be saving for the future? Suppose something terrible happened – surely it is not only important, but common sense to strive to protect ourselves from the unexpected?
For all they are entirely understandable, it is worth noting that such thoughts are almost invariably based on fear. And if we spend our lives in fear of what might happen … then we have not been listening to Scripture and the teachings of Jesus nearly attentively enough. It has often been pointed out that the most frequent divine command in the Bible (in both the Old and the New Testaments) is: ‘Do not be afraid.’
Do not be afraid. Decisions that are driven primarily by fear tend to be bad decisions. And if the single biggest factor governing our priorities, and our actions, is the fear of some hypothetical eventuality in the future, then we are not free. We are in chains.
Someone once said to me that, if you have something in your possession that you really cannot bear to give up – do you own it – or does it own you? So when I am able to give generously, and find myself able to do so, I know that I am free. As St Paul points out, ‘God loves a cheerful giver.’ Because giving is not a burden, it is a liberation. And those of us who have more than we need and yet know all too well the temptation to cling to it … and crave just that bit more … may not be aware of the chains that go with it.
It is worth taking a rain check on this from time to time – and reminding ourselves again: ‘Do not be afraid.’ God truly does love a cheerful giver.
Amen.
