Scripture Reading: Is. 58:6-11; Js. 2:1-5, 12, 13; Lk. 16:19-31
Reflections from a Monk
Many popular Blues songs grew out of the tradition of black spirituals. They draw in everyone present, very powerfully, a lot like what happens in the churches they grew out of. I found a Bobby Bland tune from the 1960’s that seems just right after hearing the parable of Dives and Lazarus. It goes like this:
Forget about your troubles,
Forget all about your sorrows,
You’re a beggar today, a king tomorrow.
Baby, don’t you worry when things go wrong,
Lift up your voices
And help me sing this song!
You got to reap just what you sow;
That old saying is true; and again
You got to reap just what you sow;
That old saying is true;
Like you mistreat someone,
Someone gonna mistreat you.
Experience and religion and spirituality all describe this law of balance in nature: Go to one extreme and you bounce back to the other; the pendulum swings, back and forth, back and forth. Where can we find a middle way, “Stasis,” a meeting point of the opposites?
In the Gospel parable we’ve just listened to certainly none of us identify with poor Lazarus: ironically his name means God has helped, from the original El-eazar. But then, can we really identify with Dives, whose name is only a word that means a rich person. Or somehow are we partly each of them?
Sometimes maybe we do feel rich and blessed with royal abundance. Other times we might have felt like the world is against us and we can barely make it.
Maybe Lazarus felt somehow what those blues lyrics describe—not being able to do anything about life’s ups and downs—as he sat there in a heap on the ground, along with the dogs. And for his part, Dives certainly had other things on his mind. He probably was tough-minded in business and politics. Dressing formally and banqueting were part of his life-style, and he loved it, which is just fine! And maybe he felt he deserved his life of plenty and success,
When the time of reckoning came, though, he found himself begging for water. “Tell Lazarus to serve me just a drop of water!” — What is going on here? Dives is burning up and alone and isolated by his own fault because he ignored Lazarus, who was sitting there at the gate in full view. He doesn’t say “I’m sorry!” He doesn’t ask for forgiveness for his hard-heartedness, and for ignoring the word of God. Still the great manager, he thinks of his own brothers: “Tell them before it’s too late!” But they, like he, are deaf to the messages they already have.
A theologian recently said, “Sometimes it takes a catastrophe to wake us up!” Waking up means seeing how it really is, opening our eyes and minds.
It’s really up to me, as the song says:
“Like you mistreat someone,
Someone gonna mistreat you.”
Whether we experience times of abundance or destitution depends on an infinite number of things. But what do we do with what we have? When we are rich in any way in talents, skills, money, things, luck, success, and honor: do we hoard them only for our own reward and enjoyment? Do we greedily hold onto these graces and gifts only for our own security, or do we let them flow through us for the benefit and good of our neighbor, or children or stranger or alien? Do we even see these people and respect them? No more judging by appearances, or separating those who deserve our love from those whom we can ignore.
To hear the message and see means the light goes on for us, we rise from sleep, we truly live, the Holy Spirit enters, the arms of Abraham open, paradise is regained, the new Jerusalem descends, life more abundant is revealed, the butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, the mind changes, the heart is transformed.
When I hear about Lazarus with the dogs hanging around him and cleaning his sores, I think of the Psalm where the wild dogs tear at the holy prophet’s dead hands and I think of the crucifixion outside the walls of the city — not a sight for polite company.— Then I think of the purple garments of Dives, reminding me of the crimson robe of Christ during his passion and death; and the banquet of the rich man—is this a stretch—reminds me of the Eucharistic banquet but in a very different context, where everyone is invited! I think of all who became followers of Jesus and the disciples — the slaves and the poor and the marginalized, together with those who were wealthy and leaders and notables who followed him.
The Eucharist that we all have been a part of is the miracle that brings opposites together. It is the flowering of Christian community. In Christ all are meant to be united; at our Eucharistic assembly we become one body and blood. This is what takes us beyond the ups and downs of fate, because in Christ all are rich and poor, well and sick, family and stranger. This is truly living and sharing in authentic love and respect for one another.
This event enables us to say “Christ is in our midst!”
Photos of the fire