Right Under Our Noses

Good morning, and Welcome to Eliot Church on this wondrous day that God has made.
Let us rejoice and be grateful in it!

If you are with us for the first time, welcome.
If you are for the first time after a long time, welcome.
We celebrate your presence with us, as it enriches our worship together and hope that you will be touched by God’s presence in this community of believers and wanderers, seekers and questioners.
Welcome!





Right Under Our Noses
September 30, 2007
Luke 16:19-31

When living on the upper west side of New York City, my encounters with people who were homeless and/or panhandlers were often and many. There was the trio of men on the red line of the subway who would sing gospel songs in harmony for handouts. On my walk home from the grocery at 115th and Broadway there was the regular, wishing you a good day, every day, shaking his blue paper coffee cup. There were the more pathetic cases, like the occasional person who would wander the subway car, muttering to himself, drenched in the stench of his own excrement and urine, reeking so horribly that it would make you gag and hide your nose in your scarf or coat collar to filter out the offensive smells. Once, on the upper east side, on a very cold, wind-biting evening, I remember a woman, stretched out along the side of the giant Crate and Barrel near Madison Avenue, stark naked, skinny, clearly strung out on something, her body rocking against the store window showcase of gourmet kitchen tools and candles the size of a large cat and people just hurrying by, averting their eyes. I was one of those people who didn’t see her, either. She was right under my nose. And I had no clue what to do, and I was in a hurry…for something. I sucked in my breath, and kept going. Someone else who knows what to do will do something, I thought to myself. I overheard a man say the police have been called. See, someone else came through....I hurried on. The chasm was so wide between an obvious need and my important life that I didn’t even know there was a chasm. Unforgiveable.

I was haunted of that very brief scene when I first read the gospel for this morning. The story that Jesus tells is illustrates what is right under our noses, a great divide that separates us from our worlds and the Other. The multiple contrasts put forth in this masterful piece of storytelling highlight the divide with exaggerated imagery and deep questions:
The rich man (nameless), clothed in purple and fine linen,
Then, Lazarus, covered in sores and ulcers
The rich man feasts sumptuously daily, reclining at table
Lazarus, “had been thrown by the gate” (Greek translation), meaning he didn’t even get to the gate by his own volition, longed for scraps from the table

The earliest listeners of this story would have considered
That the rich man was blessed by God….
And Lazarus, unclean, sick, pathetic, was cursed by God.

(It would be hard to argue with that, even today)

In death, Lazarus is carried away by angels, to the bosom of Abraham
The rich man is buried, and is in Hades.
And the Great Chasm divides them, still, in life and in death, as their fates are reversed in life and in death (Exegetical work gratefully borrowed from Brian Stoffregen, at http://www.crossmarks.com/brian/luke16x19.htm)

So, while appreciating the fine literary merits of this tale, we still have to ask: What is Jesus getting at?

First, this story is about wealth and what we do with it. Jesus was pretty clear, along with the Law of Moses and the Prophets, along with the words from Timothy, that those who are of privilege must remember the poor. The rich are to use their wealth to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, house the homeless, and fight for the rights of the impoverished in our world and work towards economic justice. I might be slightly overstating. Or not. As good church people, we embrace this message of justice, and frankly we probably are a little appalled at the rich man’s behavior. How could he, knowing the law and the prophets, just not SEE this miserable human being named Lazarus, covered in sores, pathetically lying at the gate where he cannot even move to help himself. Only the dogs care for him by licking his wounds.

I am troubled by the rich man. I know the rich man is me. In fact, I am richer than I thought. I even checked. I went to the global rich list.com and learned that I am the 31, 974, 381st richest person in the world, in the top .53% richest people in the world. That is just in monetary calculations--I know how rich I am because of my marriage, my family, my ministry, my faith. But back to money. For $8, I could buy 15 organic apples at Whole foods or 25 fruit trees for farmers in Honduras to grow and sell fruit at the local market. For $73, I could buy a IPOD shuffle (which I did this week), or a new mobile health clinic to care for AIDS orphans in Uganda (which I did not do this week). I should have bought the mobile health clinic.
Should, should, should.
We all can do more with what is under our noses.
And we try.
And, we all can do better.
Especially me. Let’s all do better with the abundance, we have, o.k.? Let’s promise to give a little more, do a little more, advocate a little more, learn a little more. Just a little makes a huge difference (really only 73 dollars buys a whole mobile clinic in Uganda? Sign me up for at least 3!)

On the other hand, when I get through my guilt of privilege, I do know that being responsible and biblical about my wealth is a priority for me. And I know this is true for all you here today. Certainly, if any of us had dying person oozing with sores and starving from hunger, any person at Eliot would laying on our doorstep, we wouldn’t hesitate to help. You would take him to the hospital, pick up a filet mignon, baked potato and a salad with blue cheese dressing on the way, and visit him every day in the hospital. You would, because he doesn’t have health insurance, figure out a way to pay the hospital bill and pay for his prescription drugs. You would be so angry about this, you would write your congress person to do something about affordable health care in our country. You would also make phone calls, maybe even to CAN-DO or Habitat, or to your neighbor with an empty apartment in her two family home, to make sure he had a place to live when he was well enough to be released from the hospital. You would be with him as he looked for meaningful work, finding ways for him to receive vocational training or other education so that he could actually land a job. You would even serve as his reference. And you would bring him here, to church, so that he might discover the joy of being with other seekers, believers and questioners…AND if he were an evangelical, or liked a different kind of worship style with trap sets and hand-raising, you would find a socially conscious and gay friendly praise church that he could go to.
You would do that.
This I Know.
I have only been at Eliot six months, but I know that.

But this is the rub--that doesn't really happen. This is the Great Chasm. I looked out my window in the front yard. No dying people laying there. I looked out beyond the deck, by the fence in my back yard. No lurking sore infested people being licked by a pack of mongrels there, either. The problem with privilege is that it removes us from the rest of the 6 and half billion people in the world that are less privileged than we are. Our homes are glass towers, even if they are 100 year old over priced Victorians with bad insulation and 40 year old boilers that don’t really work in New England. It’s a roof over our heads, complete with a feast every night for dinner, even if it is just sodium infused Chinese take-out. To top it off, we are busy. Busy, trying to juggle working (we are a NATION of performers, we love to work, we are workaholics) or retirement (dang, we earned it!) and loving our families and staying on top of it all. For some of us, the chasm is our busy-ness.

In the story of Lazarus and the rich man, there is no hope for the chasm to even be remotely narrowed. The rich man, you see, just can’t help himself to “save” himself in life, because he didn’t choose to listen to the law and the prophets or notice what was right under his nose. Really, he had all he needed in life—and the treasure wasn’t purple silk or linen or grocery cart full of smoked salmon and gourmet chocolate. His true treasure was the law of love and the teachings of the prophets. But he forgot it, or put it on a shelf. He didn’t live in that love…and thus created a chasm between the reality of the world’s hurt and pain and suffering, right at his gate.

And even in his death, from an imaginary burning hell, he still doesn’t get it. He tells Abraham, to send Lazarus to help him out…how ironic is that? The one he didn’t even supposedly see in life, now can be useful in death…but only as a servant to cool his tongue, and as messenger to warn his living brothers (what about his sisters?). He still acts from his place of privilege. He still doesn’t really get it in spite of the reality right under his nose…or over his head, if you will. News to rich man: If people have all they need from the law and the prophets, they aren’t going to be moved by someone returning from the dead, Abraham reports. The great chasm is fixed. (Mary Luti, “Send Lazarus” in Christian Century, September 9-16, 1998, page 819)

But the chasm between our lovely lives and the needs of the world is not fixed. However, the neediness of the world isn’t going to come knocking at our doors, or even be tossed out back near the trash barrels. We, in the midst of our busy-ness and fullness of our lives, must reach beyond the divide—and build a bridge of relationships—with people, organizations, places—that narrows the chasm.

So, even though we know we aren’t going to solve the problem of homelessness and hunger today when the youth and tweens prepare lunch for the people of the Common Cathedral, it at least is an effort in practicing what we have learned from Jesus: Feed and clothe my hungry sheep. These piles of coats are going to keep a lot of people warm this winter. The chasm narrows, just a little.

Even though planting 50 trees in Newton Centre isn’t going to solve global scorching, a couple hours getting your hands dirty is a reminder to honor God’s creation. A brick in the bridge is added.

Again, I ask, “really?” Only $73 buys a whole mobile health clinic to treat AIDS orphans in Uganda? A great divide can be crossed.

Abraham says to the rich man, “Child, remember….”
When we are comfortable, and extremely busy, to remember is probably the deepest spiritual challenge and practice most of us will undertake bridge the divide. Remembering takes a little slowing down. Remembering means stopping to pay attention to that chasm right under our noses, and remembering, calls us to be intentional and generous.
We are called to intentional remembering— to remember what we know, to remember what we have, and to remember the law, the prophets, and the words of Jesus: Love your neighbor. And who is your neighbor? She and he are just down the road, a little bit. You won’t have a problem finding them.
Sisters and brothers, with God’s help, let us remember, to be present, be open, be ready. The opportunities for generosity, loving, and narrowing that great chasm will be right under our noses.
Amen.