In search of Jacob Marley
Commentary
Object:
It's quite a few weeks before Christmas, but this Sunday's sermon may evoke a pivotal
character from Charles Dickens' classic novel, A Christmas Carol.
Jacob Marley had been the friend and financial partner to Ebenezer Scrooge for many years, until his death. Marley had died on Christmas Eve, exactly seven years prior to the start of Scrooge's story, where Dickens begins to tell it. After the reader has been duly introduced to the character of Scrooge, the Jacob Marley character, appearing as a ghost, enters the story.
Marley is a tortured spirit, weighed down by a chain that was forged during his lifetime of selfishness, greed, and a merciless lack of concern for others. He appears to an incredulous Scrooge in his home that Christmas Eve. Speaking as one who had lived in the same manner as Scrooge continues to live, but who now painfully sees the profound error of his ways, Marley moans out a sober warning for his mortal friend. Scrooge remains mostly unconcerned. But Marley's visit proves to be only the beginning of a long and restless night of visitors for Scrooge, who is converted by Christmas morning.
Charles Dickens affords to Ebenezer Scrooge what Abraham -- and, by extension, God -- does not afford to the actual Scrooges of this world.
When the callous and self-involved rich man of Jesus' parable has died and is in a place of torment, he begs Abraham for Lazarus to be sent to his kin, "that he may warn them." A ghost from beyond the grave, the rich man reckons, will suffice to turn his still-living brothers from their wicked ways.
But not so, according to Abraham. "They have Moses and the prophets," Abraham observes. "If they do not listen to (them), neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead."
The immediate context of that concluding line, of course, finds its application and profound implications in the anticipated resurrection of Jesus himself. But Abraham's larger point remains an intriguing one. Namely, that even if Lazarus -- or Jacob Marley -- came back to the living to issue a warning, it would not solve the problem or change hearts.
Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
On the one hand, there is the familiar maxim: "The three most important things in real estate are location, location, and location." On the other hand, there is the familiar, jocular offer to someone who has proven himself gullible: "If you buy that, I have some marshland down in Florida I'd like to sell you."
And then there is this episode in the life of the prophet Jeremiah.
Without any reference to locations, the story is an unremarkable one. One man approaches another man about the possibility of selling him a piece of property. The two men know each other well enough, and the second man is likely familiar with the lot involved. The offer, therefore, is not random or out of the blue.
The prospective buyer, being a religious fellow, confirms that the transaction is God's will. And then the deed is done. The appropriate exchanges are made, the paperwork is completed, and the plot of land becomes the property of the second man.
Such interpersonal commerce occurs every single day in mind-boggling proportions. The occasion could seem so routine, therefore, that one might wonder why it is recorded in the scriptures at all.
Furthermore, within the context of those scriptures, we must admit that this plot of land means nothing whatsoever to the reader. The field had not been a site of any particular distinction or importance, and it does not figure largely into the story after the transaction is completed. Why, then, the account?
The key -- as in all real estate transactions -- is location. Specifically, two locations.
The first location at issue is that of the prospective buyer. He is in custody. Jeremiah had sufficiently offended the king of the land at that time enough that he had arranged for Jeremiah to be confined within the palace complex. And that is a strange location in which to be signing papers for purchasing property!
Jeremiah's personal future was entirely uncertain. He could not guarantee where he would be the next day or the next year. His life was in peril. Such personal circumstances are not the customary or ideal time to be making such purchases.
Meanwhile, the second location at issue is that of the property itself. It was a field in Anathoth, a small town in the southern kingdom of Judah.
Perhaps the property in question was a very nice place to be 200 years earlier than at the time of Hanamel's offer, or even 200 years later, but at this particular juncture of history, it was hardly a desirable location. Nothing against Anathoth in particular; all of Judah would have been an unwise investment at that time.
Our account sets the timing of this transaction as being "in the tenth year of King Zedekiah of Judah." Well, we know from the Old Testament history books that Zedekiah ended up being the last of the kings of Judah. His reign lasted about eleven years. In other words, Hanamel approached Jeremiah in what was nearly the last year of the reign of the last king of Judah. At this time, the kingdom of Judah was falling down around their ears. The Babylonians were not at the door; they were already in the door. They had already carried off captives from Jerusalem, required tribute from the kings, and played puppeteer with Judah's throne.
How would you like to buy a piece of property in that land at that time?
Think how hard it is to sell a house when something about the surrounding area has recently come into question: the safety of the neighborhood, the quality of the schools, the accessibility of essential services, or anything unusual. Think how the value of a neighborhood goes down when some desirable feature such as a park or a school is lost, or when some undesirable feature, like a penitentiary or a landfill, is added.
So how could you possibly hope to unload a plot of land in Judah in the tenth year of the reign of Zedekiah?
Imagine Hanamel coming to Jeremiah with a deed to some coastal property, even as the National Weather Service is predicting some hurricane's imminent landfall there. Only in this case, it is Jeremiah himself playing the role of the National Weather Service. He is the one who had forecasted the doom of Jerusalem and Judah.
Jeremiah buys the field. At God's behest, while still in custody himself, and with the enormous Babylonian storm cloud ominously overhead, Jeremiah buys the field.
An act of lunacy? No. A symbolic act of hope? Yes. For "houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land."
1 Timothy 6:6-19
If your service is informal and your congregation candid, ask for a show of hands this Sunday. "How many of you want to be rich?"
Sensing a trap, some may not answer honestly. But even if their hand-raising does not place them in that category, see if their choices do. Have them consider career decisions, investment strategies, and retirement plans. Ask them about the how-to books they've bought, the infomercials they've watched, and the kinds of articles they like to read. Ask them if they buy an occasional lottery ticket.
"Rich" may seem too blunt a word for some. They may prefer something more nuanced. It's not that they want to be rich; no, they just want to be comfortable. They don't want to be a burden. They don't want to have to worry about money.
Fine -- but let's be candid about this. If we want to have enough money to purchase everything we need, plus a lot of what we want, and have the ability to live where we want to live and do what we like to do, and not have to worry about money -- if that's our aim, then we want to be rich.
So, once you've gotten most of the arms raised, then you can tell your congregation that this scripture reading is for them. For Paul writes very directly about "those who want to be rich."
Interestingly, he does not cast judgment on the desire itself. In other words, he would not point at the folks whose hands are raised and say, "You are very bad people!" No, but he would firmly warn them about the risks of what they want.
The high school boy tells the coach that he'd like to go out for the football team. "That's fine," the coach says, "but before you sign up, let me tell you what's in store for you." And then, after a description of the practices, the workouts, the studying, the sweat, the commitment, the pain, and the possibility of injury, the young man is prepared to make a thoughtful decision about going out for the team.
So, too, the apostle wants to give us a complete picture of what comes with wanting to be rich.
Then Paul introduces a word of distinction: "But as for you, man of God, shun all this." Having outlined the profound risks that accompany a desire to be rich, Paul places Timothy outside those lines. He does not presume that his spiritual son will be among those who want to be rich. Rather, that Timothy should be deliberate in steering clear of such hazards.
The mandate is not merely a negative, however. Paul's word to Timothy is not devoted only to what he should not do. Instead, Paul offers a positive and bold vision of what Timothy‚ or by extension, anyone who would be a man or woman of God -- should do.
The contrast is important, for we ought not paint a false picture. The people in our pews who are ambitious, goal-oriented, high achievers should not be led to believe that the Christian alternative is a passive, meandering existence. No, Paul's imperatives to Timothy are aggressive terms: "shun," "pursue," "fight," and "take hold." The Christian is not stubbornly parked while the world rushes full speed toward its materialistic goals. No, rather, the Christian is also moving full speed ahead toward a goal -- but a different goal. The saint should be more, not less, ambitious than the worldly man or woman.
This juxtaposition, incidentally, came naturally to Paul. In the biographical material about him that is available to us in the book of Acts, we see in his conversion not a change of style, but a change of direction. Prior to his conversion, Saul of Tarsus was a passionate and devout man who took to the road in his zealous pursuit. After his conversion, the apostle Paul was a passionate and devout man, who took to the road in his zealous pursuit. He was not less ambitious than before. Now, however, his ambition was for Christ, not against him.
Finally, toward the end of the passage, Paul employs one more grouping: "those who in the present age are rich." He had discouraged those "who want to be rich," and he has instructed Timothy in alternative ambitions. Now, finally, he has a word to offer those who already are rich.
After all, if he had written only verses 9 through 16, what might the wealthy person in Timothy's congregation think? Must he presume that he had succumbed to all the aforementioned risks and had abandoned godliness simply by being rich? No. Paul paints a portrait of godliness in the context of wealth -- and that may be the most pertinent passage of all. By global and historic standards, the people in our pews may very well be rich already.
Luke 16:19-31
If I am beating my opponent in chess, but then we turn the table, suddenly I find myself losing. To turn the tables is to reverse the fortunes of one, or several, people. That is the picture Jesus paints in this week's gospel lection. In this case, however, the tables are not game tables; they are dining tables.
At the start, we meet an anonymous rich man and a poor man named Lazarus. If this teaching of Jesus is a parable, it is the only one in which he gives a character a name. And, if so, we may ponder the symbolism of that choice. Perhaps it is a deliberate contrast to the respective fame and anonymity of the rich and the poor in this world. To be important in this world is to have your name known. But, in Jesus' parable, the tables are turned from the start: for the helpless poor man is named and known, while the manicured and catered to rich man is unidentified; indeed, for our purposes, he is eternally John Doe.
Jesus portrays the rich man at a table. He is not portrayed, therefore, as an industrious man, who is out in his fields or managing his business. Rather, his portrait is one of self- indulgence and conspicuous consumption. The needs of the world are, symbolically, just outside his door, but he pays no attention to them.
Students of the Old Testament will see the picture Jesus paints and be reminded of the prophet Amos. When we see the people of the northern kingdom in eighth century BC through Amos' eyes, we see a similar self-indulgence and complacency. And the prophet warns them how their tables will be turned.
The rich man in Jesus' parable is apparently indifferent to any needs but his own and any time but the present. While it may be easy for us to sit opposite him in judgment, we ought to pause long enough to consider whether we are actually seated next to him.
Goodness knows that there is much in our culture that encourages us to be preoccupied with ourselves, and to be myopically invested in present gratification. Furthermore, we do what we can to isolate ourselves from those pesky needs outside our door. We aspire to live in neighborhoods that are free from such unpleasantness, and our reflex is to refer those needs to the government's door, instead.
I don't think that I "feast sumptuously every day." Yet, in comparison to the way that much of the world's population eats and lives, I expect that my middle-class American existence could pass for royalty elsewhere. So I must be careful not to hastily assign the villain's nametag to the rich man. Perhaps my nametag would do.
Application
American Christians sometimes operate with sloppy generalizations about the Old and New Testaments. The former is comparatively harsh, violent, and judgmental, while the latter is perceived as gentle, forgiving, inclusive, and socially minded.
That may not be a distinction that Jesus himself would make, however. According to Abraham in this parable, the New Testament and the risen Lord are not essential for the rich man to be able to know how he should live. "Moses and the prophets" -- that is to say, the Old Testament scriptures -- are enough.
There is a disturbing finality and no-nonsense quality to what Jesus quotes Abraham as saying. We are fond of a gospel of second chances, but Abraham's words and tone suggest a rather severe line in the sand.
One teacher may tend to be a kind of hand-holder type, helping each student along individually to try to guarantee his or her personal success. Another teacher, by contrast, might take a harder line. "Take responsibility for yourself," he insists. He prints his syllabus and voices his expectations just once. After that, there is no constant reminding or encouraging. The students have all they need to do well.
It would be a shame if we were so soft that we needed constant encouraging and reminding -- if we need Jacob Marley to come back with his chains or a preacher with his pleas or a television ad with its grim scenes of hungry children. We have Moses and the prophets. Hence, we have the syllabus before us, and we have heard the teacher's expectations. We have all we need to live well.
And certainly we do have all we need to live well. Paul says to us -- to "those who in the present age are rich" -- do not "set (your) hopes on the uncertainty of riches," but "be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share."
Alternative Application
Luke 16:19-31. "A Global Parable." Set aside for a moment the many other layers of Jesus' marvelous story of the rich man and Lazarus, and focus your attention on one snapshot taken from the story: Lazarus "longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table."
The rich man sat down every day to a personal smorgasbord. Imagine his table: the variety of foods and drinks, the meats and vegetables, the fruits and nuts, the breads, the delicacies. He had the means to eat whatever he pleased, and his waistline bore witness to exactly what he did. He would eat until his stomach was satisfied; and then he would eat still a bit more for the sake of his less satiable eyes and tongue. While others may be dutiful about cleaning their plates, that was an impossible task for this man -- for there was no end to the food -- leftovers galore!
Meanwhile, Lazarus died slowly outside the rich man's door. Gaunt and pathetic, he would have thought himself fortunate to eat in a week what the rich man ate in a day. Indeed, the mere crumbs -- the food that fell unnoticed from the cornucopia of the rich man's table -- would have been enough for poor Lazarus.
We observed earlier that Jesus does not give the rich man a name. Perhaps we can fill in that blank. Let's call him "our country" or "our society."
Please be assured that I am not bashing the United States or the West. Not at all. I merely observe that we resemble the rich man -- if not individually, then certainly collectively. Most of us have refrigerators, cupboards, and pantries that are well stocked with food. Some of us even have an extra freezer in the basement. Most of us live within minutes of food -- grocery stores, convenience stores, restaurants. Our supermarkets boast long, broad, well-lit aisles full of every sort of food we could possibly need or want. It's there and available 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Finally, if we don't want to leave home, the majority of us live in areas where we can call a restaurant and have food delivered to our door.
I am not saying that we are, like the rich man, heartless or indifferent. I'm merely saying that we, like him, live in the midst of a smorgasbord; meanwhile, huge portions of the world's population are gaunt and pathetic. They would be fortunate to eat in a week what we eat in a day. They, like Lazarus, long for the scraps that fall from our tables.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16
Go ahead. Take a coin from your pocket. Hold it up and look to see where it says, "In God We Trust." It is quite a statement. Trust itself is something when it is actually accomplished. Think, for example, about the number of people in your life who have your full, unqualified trust. If you're like most people, the number is not high. Trust is hard. It requires vulnerability, and no one likes feeling vulnerable. Yet, the path of faith is the process of becoming vulnerable, not to a person, but to God.
Christians are sticklers about believing. The question du jour for many folks has to do with whether or not someone believes in God or believes that Jesus is the Messiah. But the rubber really hits the road on the trust issue. In fact, in the New Testament, the Greek word that is translated often as "believe," is actually pistus, which means trust. Trusting someone means that you look to that person for security, for safety, for consistency and reliability. The Peanuts cartoon comes to mind, where good old Charlie Brown keeps trusting Lucy not to remove the football as he rushes up to kick it. Lucy, it turns out, is not trustworthy. But God? God is worthy of our trust.
It's worth considering the question of our trust in God. Do we trust God? If so, our life is going to look and feel a little different than those who choose not to trust God. Do we trust in God to provide? Do we locate our sense of security and safety in God? Do we lean into God's providence, even, or especially, when things are going badly? Or do we trust God merely when things are going our way? Actually, it's trusting in God when the chips are down that really counts. Someone once said that being a pacifist between wars was like being a vegetarian between meals. It is precisely when life's challenges confront us that our trust in God is most critical.
Trusting in one thing reflects a choice. It means that we choose not to trust other gods. Choosing the God of Israel as our God means that we do not place our trust, for example, in money. This is perhaps the thinking behind whoever decided to put the statement upon our money. We may spend money every day, but our trust is elsewhere. If we place our trust in God, and lean into God for our security, then we do not -- indeed we cannot -- trust in weapons of war to protect us. If we trust in God, then we need not worry about the vagaries of this world. See how the gospel of Matthew reflects the call of this psalm to trust in God. Read carefully Matthew 6:25-34.
"So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today" (Matthew 6:34).
Perhaps Jesus reflected on this psalm? Perhaps with him, we can lean into this sacred trust. Perhaps in him we can walk together in faithfulness.
Jacob Marley had been the friend and financial partner to Ebenezer Scrooge for many years, until his death. Marley had died on Christmas Eve, exactly seven years prior to the start of Scrooge's story, where Dickens begins to tell it. After the reader has been duly introduced to the character of Scrooge, the Jacob Marley character, appearing as a ghost, enters the story.
Marley is a tortured spirit, weighed down by a chain that was forged during his lifetime of selfishness, greed, and a merciless lack of concern for others. He appears to an incredulous Scrooge in his home that Christmas Eve. Speaking as one who had lived in the same manner as Scrooge continues to live, but who now painfully sees the profound error of his ways, Marley moans out a sober warning for his mortal friend. Scrooge remains mostly unconcerned. But Marley's visit proves to be only the beginning of a long and restless night of visitors for Scrooge, who is converted by Christmas morning.
Charles Dickens affords to Ebenezer Scrooge what Abraham -- and, by extension, God -- does not afford to the actual Scrooges of this world.
When the callous and self-involved rich man of Jesus' parable has died and is in a place of torment, he begs Abraham for Lazarus to be sent to his kin, "that he may warn them." A ghost from beyond the grave, the rich man reckons, will suffice to turn his still-living brothers from their wicked ways.
But not so, according to Abraham. "They have Moses and the prophets," Abraham observes. "If they do not listen to (them), neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead."
The immediate context of that concluding line, of course, finds its application and profound implications in the anticipated resurrection of Jesus himself. But Abraham's larger point remains an intriguing one. Namely, that even if Lazarus -- or Jacob Marley -- came back to the living to issue a warning, it would not solve the problem or change hearts.
Jeremiah 32:1-3a, 6-15
On the one hand, there is the familiar maxim: "The three most important things in real estate are location, location, and location." On the other hand, there is the familiar, jocular offer to someone who has proven himself gullible: "If you buy that, I have some marshland down in Florida I'd like to sell you."
And then there is this episode in the life of the prophet Jeremiah.
Without any reference to locations, the story is an unremarkable one. One man approaches another man about the possibility of selling him a piece of property. The two men know each other well enough, and the second man is likely familiar with the lot involved. The offer, therefore, is not random or out of the blue.
The prospective buyer, being a religious fellow, confirms that the transaction is God's will. And then the deed is done. The appropriate exchanges are made, the paperwork is completed, and the plot of land becomes the property of the second man.
Such interpersonal commerce occurs every single day in mind-boggling proportions. The occasion could seem so routine, therefore, that one might wonder why it is recorded in the scriptures at all.
Furthermore, within the context of those scriptures, we must admit that this plot of land means nothing whatsoever to the reader. The field had not been a site of any particular distinction or importance, and it does not figure largely into the story after the transaction is completed. Why, then, the account?
The key -- as in all real estate transactions -- is location. Specifically, two locations.
The first location at issue is that of the prospective buyer. He is in custody. Jeremiah had sufficiently offended the king of the land at that time enough that he had arranged for Jeremiah to be confined within the palace complex. And that is a strange location in which to be signing papers for purchasing property!
Jeremiah's personal future was entirely uncertain. He could not guarantee where he would be the next day or the next year. His life was in peril. Such personal circumstances are not the customary or ideal time to be making such purchases.
Meanwhile, the second location at issue is that of the property itself. It was a field in Anathoth, a small town in the southern kingdom of Judah.
Perhaps the property in question was a very nice place to be 200 years earlier than at the time of Hanamel's offer, or even 200 years later, but at this particular juncture of history, it was hardly a desirable location. Nothing against Anathoth in particular; all of Judah would have been an unwise investment at that time.
Our account sets the timing of this transaction as being "in the tenth year of King Zedekiah of Judah." Well, we know from the Old Testament history books that Zedekiah ended up being the last of the kings of Judah. His reign lasted about eleven years. In other words, Hanamel approached Jeremiah in what was nearly the last year of the reign of the last king of Judah. At this time, the kingdom of Judah was falling down around their ears. The Babylonians were not at the door; they were already in the door. They had already carried off captives from Jerusalem, required tribute from the kings, and played puppeteer with Judah's throne.
How would you like to buy a piece of property in that land at that time?
Think how hard it is to sell a house when something about the surrounding area has recently come into question: the safety of the neighborhood, the quality of the schools, the accessibility of essential services, or anything unusual. Think how the value of a neighborhood goes down when some desirable feature such as a park or a school is lost, or when some undesirable feature, like a penitentiary or a landfill, is added.
So how could you possibly hope to unload a plot of land in Judah in the tenth year of the reign of Zedekiah?
Imagine Hanamel coming to Jeremiah with a deed to some coastal property, even as the National Weather Service is predicting some hurricane's imminent landfall there. Only in this case, it is Jeremiah himself playing the role of the National Weather Service. He is the one who had forecasted the doom of Jerusalem and Judah.
Jeremiah buys the field. At God's behest, while still in custody himself, and with the enormous Babylonian storm cloud ominously overhead, Jeremiah buys the field.
An act of lunacy? No. A symbolic act of hope? Yes. For "houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land."
1 Timothy 6:6-19
If your service is informal and your congregation candid, ask for a show of hands this Sunday. "How many of you want to be rich?"
Sensing a trap, some may not answer honestly. But even if their hand-raising does not place them in that category, see if their choices do. Have them consider career decisions, investment strategies, and retirement plans. Ask them about the how-to books they've bought, the infomercials they've watched, and the kinds of articles they like to read. Ask them if they buy an occasional lottery ticket.
"Rich" may seem too blunt a word for some. They may prefer something more nuanced. It's not that they want to be rich; no, they just want to be comfortable. They don't want to be a burden. They don't want to have to worry about money.
Fine -- but let's be candid about this. If we want to have enough money to purchase everything we need, plus a lot of what we want, and have the ability to live where we want to live and do what we like to do, and not have to worry about money -- if that's our aim, then we want to be rich.
So, once you've gotten most of the arms raised, then you can tell your congregation that this scripture reading is for them. For Paul writes very directly about "those who want to be rich."
Interestingly, he does not cast judgment on the desire itself. In other words, he would not point at the folks whose hands are raised and say, "You are very bad people!" No, but he would firmly warn them about the risks of what they want.
The high school boy tells the coach that he'd like to go out for the football team. "That's fine," the coach says, "but before you sign up, let me tell you what's in store for you." And then, after a description of the practices, the workouts, the studying, the sweat, the commitment, the pain, and the possibility of injury, the young man is prepared to make a thoughtful decision about going out for the team.
So, too, the apostle wants to give us a complete picture of what comes with wanting to be rich.
Then Paul introduces a word of distinction: "But as for you, man of God, shun all this." Having outlined the profound risks that accompany a desire to be rich, Paul places Timothy outside those lines. He does not presume that his spiritual son will be among those who want to be rich. Rather, that Timothy should be deliberate in steering clear of such hazards.
The mandate is not merely a negative, however. Paul's word to Timothy is not devoted only to what he should not do. Instead, Paul offers a positive and bold vision of what Timothy‚ or by extension, anyone who would be a man or woman of God -- should do.
The contrast is important, for we ought not paint a false picture. The people in our pews who are ambitious, goal-oriented, high achievers should not be led to believe that the Christian alternative is a passive, meandering existence. No, Paul's imperatives to Timothy are aggressive terms: "shun," "pursue," "fight," and "take hold." The Christian is not stubbornly parked while the world rushes full speed toward its materialistic goals. No, rather, the Christian is also moving full speed ahead toward a goal -- but a different goal. The saint should be more, not less, ambitious than the worldly man or woman.
This juxtaposition, incidentally, came naturally to Paul. In the biographical material about him that is available to us in the book of Acts, we see in his conversion not a change of style, but a change of direction. Prior to his conversion, Saul of Tarsus was a passionate and devout man who took to the road in his zealous pursuit. After his conversion, the apostle Paul was a passionate and devout man, who took to the road in his zealous pursuit. He was not less ambitious than before. Now, however, his ambition was for Christ, not against him.
Finally, toward the end of the passage, Paul employs one more grouping: "those who in the present age are rich." He had discouraged those "who want to be rich," and he has instructed Timothy in alternative ambitions. Now, finally, he has a word to offer those who already are rich.
After all, if he had written only verses 9 through 16, what might the wealthy person in Timothy's congregation think? Must he presume that he had succumbed to all the aforementioned risks and had abandoned godliness simply by being rich? No. Paul paints a portrait of godliness in the context of wealth -- and that may be the most pertinent passage of all. By global and historic standards, the people in our pews may very well be rich already.
Luke 16:19-31
If I am beating my opponent in chess, but then we turn the table, suddenly I find myself losing. To turn the tables is to reverse the fortunes of one, or several, people. That is the picture Jesus paints in this week's gospel lection. In this case, however, the tables are not game tables; they are dining tables.
At the start, we meet an anonymous rich man and a poor man named Lazarus. If this teaching of Jesus is a parable, it is the only one in which he gives a character a name. And, if so, we may ponder the symbolism of that choice. Perhaps it is a deliberate contrast to the respective fame and anonymity of the rich and the poor in this world. To be important in this world is to have your name known. But, in Jesus' parable, the tables are turned from the start: for the helpless poor man is named and known, while the manicured and catered to rich man is unidentified; indeed, for our purposes, he is eternally John Doe.
Jesus portrays the rich man at a table. He is not portrayed, therefore, as an industrious man, who is out in his fields or managing his business. Rather, his portrait is one of self- indulgence and conspicuous consumption. The needs of the world are, symbolically, just outside his door, but he pays no attention to them.
Students of the Old Testament will see the picture Jesus paints and be reminded of the prophet Amos. When we see the people of the northern kingdom in eighth century BC through Amos' eyes, we see a similar self-indulgence and complacency. And the prophet warns them how their tables will be turned.
The rich man in Jesus' parable is apparently indifferent to any needs but his own and any time but the present. While it may be easy for us to sit opposite him in judgment, we ought to pause long enough to consider whether we are actually seated next to him.
Goodness knows that there is much in our culture that encourages us to be preoccupied with ourselves, and to be myopically invested in present gratification. Furthermore, we do what we can to isolate ourselves from those pesky needs outside our door. We aspire to live in neighborhoods that are free from such unpleasantness, and our reflex is to refer those needs to the government's door, instead.
I don't think that I "feast sumptuously every day." Yet, in comparison to the way that much of the world's population eats and lives, I expect that my middle-class American existence could pass for royalty elsewhere. So I must be careful not to hastily assign the villain's nametag to the rich man. Perhaps my nametag would do.
Application
American Christians sometimes operate with sloppy generalizations about the Old and New Testaments. The former is comparatively harsh, violent, and judgmental, while the latter is perceived as gentle, forgiving, inclusive, and socially minded.
That may not be a distinction that Jesus himself would make, however. According to Abraham in this parable, the New Testament and the risen Lord are not essential for the rich man to be able to know how he should live. "Moses and the prophets" -- that is to say, the Old Testament scriptures -- are enough.
There is a disturbing finality and no-nonsense quality to what Jesus quotes Abraham as saying. We are fond of a gospel of second chances, but Abraham's words and tone suggest a rather severe line in the sand.
One teacher may tend to be a kind of hand-holder type, helping each student along individually to try to guarantee his or her personal success. Another teacher, by contrast, might take a harder line. "Take responsibility for yourself," he insists. He prints his syllabus and voices his expectations just once. After that, there is no constant reminding or encouraging. The students have all they need to do well.
It would be a shame if we were so soft that we needed constant encouraging and reminding -- if we need Jacob Marley to come back with his chains or a preacher with his pleas or a television ad with its grim scenes of hungry children. We have Moses and the prophets. Hence, we have the syllabus before us, and we have heard the teacher's expectations. We have all we need to live well.
And certainly we do have all we need to live well. Paul says to us -- to "those who in the present age are rich" -- do not "set (your) hopes on the uncertainty of riches," but "be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share."
Alternative Application
Luke 16:19-31. "A Global Parable." Set aside for a moment the many other layers of Jesus' marvelous story of the rich man and Lazarus, and focus your attention on one snapshot taken from the story: Lazarus "longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table."
The rich man sat down every day to a personal smorgasbord. Imagine his table: the variety of foods and drinks, the meats and vegetables, the fruits and nuts, the breads, the delicacies. He had the means to eat whatever he pleased, and his waistline bore witness to exactly what he did. He would eat until his stomach was satisfied; and then he would eat still a bit more for the sake of his less satiable eyes and tongue. While others may be dutiful about cleaning their plates, that was an impossible task for this man -- for there was no end to the food -- leftovers galore!
Meanwhile, Lazarus died slowly outside the rich man's door. Gaunt and pathetic, he would have thought himself fortunate to eat in a week what the rich man ate in a day. Indeed, the mere crumbs -- the food that fell unnoticed from the cornucopia of the rich man's table -- would have been enough for poor Lazarus.
We observed earlier that Jesus does not give the rich man a name. Perhaps we can fill in that blank. Let's call him "our country" or "our society."
Please be assured that I am not bashing the United States or the West. Not at all. I merely observe that we resemble the rich man -- if not individually, then certainly collectively. Most of us have refrigerators, cupboards, and pantries that are well stocked with food. Some of us even have an extra freezer in the basement. Most of us live within minutes of food -- grocery stores, convenience stores, restaurants. Our supermarkets boast long, broad, well-lit aisles full of every sort of food we could possibly need or want. It's there and available 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Finally, if we don't want to leave home, the majority of us live in areas where we can call a restaurant and have food delivered to our door.
I am not saying that we are, like the rich man, heartless or indifferent. I'm merely saying that we, like him, live in the midst of a smorgasbord; meanwhile, huge portions of the world's population are gaunt and pathetic. They would be fortunate to eat in a week what we eat in a day. They, like Lazarus, long for the scraps that fall from our tables.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 91:1-6, 14-16
Go ahead. Take a coin from your pocket. Hold it up and look to see where it says, "In God We Trust." It is quite a statement. Trust itself is something when it is actually accomplished. Think, for example, about the number of people in your life who have your full, unqualified trust. If you're like most people, the number is not high. Trust is hard. It requires vulnerability, and no one likes feeling vulnerable. Yet, the path of faith is the process of becoming vulnerable, not to a person, but to God.
Christians are sticklers about believing. The question du jour for many folks has to do with whether or not someone believes in God or believes that Jesus is the Messiah. But the rubber really hits the road on the trust issue. In fact, in the New Testament, the Greek word that is translated often as "believe," is actually pistus, which means trust. Trusting someone means that you look to that person for security, for safety, for consistency and reliability. The Peanuts cartoon comes to mind, where good old Charlie Brown keeps trusting Lucy not to remove the football as he rushes up to kick it. Lucy, it turns out, is not trustworthy. But God? God is worthy of our trust.
It's worth considering the question of our trust in God. Do we trust God? If so, our life is going to look and feel a little different than those who choose not to trust God. Do we trust in God to provide? Do we locate our sense of security and safety in God? Do we lean into God's providence, even, or especially, when things are going badly? Or do we trust God merely when things are going our way? Actually, it's trusting in God when the chips are down that really counts. Someone once said that being a pacifist between wars was like being a vegetarian between meals. It is precisely when life's challenges confront us that our trust in God is most critical.
Trusting in one thing reflects a choice. It means that we choose not to trust other gods. Choosing the God of Israel as our God means that we do not place our trust, for example, in money. This is perhaps the thinking behind whoever decided to put the statement upon our money. We may spend money every day, but our trust is elsewhere. If we place our trust in God, and lean into God for our security, then we do not -- indeed we cannot -- trust in weapons of war to protect us. If we trust in God, then we need not worry about the vagaries of this world. See how the gospel of Matthew reflects the call of this psalm to trust in God. Read carefully Matthew 6:25-34.
"So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today's trouble is enough for today" (Matthew 6:34).
Perhaps Jesus reflected on this psalm? Perhaps with him, we can lean into this sacred trust. Perhaps in him we can walk together in faithfulness.
