To Fight the Widening Chasm

This sermon was preached by the Rev. Maggie Foote in response to the lectionary passages assigned for the Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Luke 16:19-31.

What is this story actually about?

Or rather, what is it that Jesus needs me to hear? I have preached on this text a handful of times over the years, and in fact, I have occasionally cited it as one of my favorite stories. It’s a huge middle finger to the exact kind of people that I think are wrong about just about everything: rich people who don’t care about the poor, and can somehow walk right past the suffering people in their own communities without a second thought. If I was going toe to toe with someone who used the Bible to justify the oppression of others I would turn right to this passage and start reading.

But something so utterly disturbing stood out to me when I read the passage this week that has me re-thinking everything.

I often think of death as the great equalizer. But in this story, even in death the chasm is so wide between Lazarus and the rich man that it can’t be overcome. Even as the flames of hell are literally lapping at his heels, the rich man still sees Lazarus as nothing more than an errand boy. Bring me some water. Or at the very least go and warn my brothers about what awaits them if they don’t change. Go help them so they don’t suffer like I am. Not because it’s the right thing to do.

What how has it gotten this bad? How has the chasm grown so deep and so wide that it cannot be crossed even in death?

I’m sure there are many answers to this question, but the one that jumps out to me is the image of the rich man walking around Lazarus every day as he leaves his home. Maybe he steps over him some mornings if Lazarus is still sleeping. Maybe he uses a different door just to avoid seeing him. Maybe he wonders over dinner what can be done about the homeless “problem” in his community.

In the repeated exposure to and ignoring of Lazarus, the rich man becomes desensitized to his plight. He stops seeing him as a human being who is suffering, and his own indifference starts to add to the chasm that already exists between the rich and the poor of society.

Day after day he sees Lazarus so often that somewhere along the line he stops seeing him.

And this, friends, is what I find so disturbing about this passage this week.

Because how many times, just this week, did I ride my bike past people living in tents and just roll by? How many times a day do I scroll past TikToks asking not for money, but just for my attention for one minute to help someone pay for their education?

In this world where we are constantly inundated with every kind of suffering, not only in our own communities but around the world, through the news and social media. I can feel it happening to me. I can feel myself starting to look at it so much that I fear I’m not really seeing it. I’m contributing to that widening space that’s ever growing between me and the people that Jesus calls me to love.

But what if the antidote to the buildup of our resistance actually lies in refocusing on our own front step. What if instead of stepping over the proverbial Lazarus outside our own front door, we actually stopped to look at him with the love that Jesus calls us to. What if all it takes to fight back against this widening chasm is to look at and truly see the suffering of those around us. Maybe that is the only way we could ever build up enough humanity to have the capacity to care about the rest of the world. If we are so deeply in solidarity with those around us, how might that help us open our eyes to the humanity of all people?

What would that look like for you? What would it look like for me? What could it look like for St. Lucy’s?