Sermon - The Rev. Leah D. Schade
Reformation Lutheran Church, Media, PA
Sermons on the Psalms: Psalm 146
Amos 6:1a, 4-7; Luke 16:19-31
Sept. 30, 2007
Why doesn’t the rich man help Lazarus? Why does he show no
pity? How can he ignore Lazarus day after day, when he is in such a
tragic state?
It’s easy to feel self-righteous when viewing the rich man from out here.
It’s tempting to criticize him for his lack of compassion, his
hard-heartedness, his thoughtless arrogance. But let’s not judge him
until we have walked in his shoes. In fact, I’m going to go
put on his shoes right now . . .
(Puts on Rich Man’s shoes)
You can’t just give money to people like Lazarus. A man on the street
like that - why, he’ll probably spend it on booze or cigarettes or drugs.
If you give money to him, you’re actually enabling his bad habits. He’s
obviously too lazy to work. It’s his own fault he’s in this
situation. I can’t be held responsible for every bum that comes looking
for a handout. If you give to one of them, they’ll all start coming to
you. These guys are just working the system. (to Lazarus) Go
down to the shelter or soup kitchen for a hand-out. Or better yet, get a
job!
(Takes off Rich Man’s shoes)
Wow. Those shoes fit a little too well on me. Maybe I’m more
like the rich man than I thought. I have to admit, I have said or thought
all of those things at one time or another when I pass the guys sitting in the
corner of the train station in Philly, or on the grassy mound along Columbus
Avenue. We’ve all seen them, haven’t we? We automatically pass
judgement on them and rationalize why they are not qualified for our
caring. We don’t know what their story is. We only know that we
don’t want to be part of it.
The angels - they see all of this. They have a different perspective on
the story. Let’s try on one of their shoes . . .
(Puts on Angel’s shoes)
You know, Lazarus does have a job. You try sitting outside someone’s door
all day long begging for something to eat. That’s a hard way to make a
living. Besides, beggars and homeless people need presence. Even if
they qualified for public assistance, which most beggars don’t, Jesus
said: “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who
wants to borrow from you,” (Matt. 5:42). Jesus wants you to show
mercy. Trust me, honey, it’s not about what Lazarus will do with the
money. The act of giving is between you and God. What he does with
the money is between him and God. Every act of giving is a hopeful sign
that you care as much for others as you do for yourself. Remember Jesus’
commandment: love others as much as you love yourself.
(Takes off Angel’s shoes)
Boy, those are big shoes to fill. I have to be honest. I fail
at that commandment. I am a selfish person. And not only that, I
feel justified in my selfishness. Let me put the Rich Man’s shoes back
on, and I’ll show you:
(Puts on Rich Man’s shoes)
I earned this money. I work hard for this money. Besides, I
don’t even make that much, really, compared to Bill Gates. I’ve got kids
to feed and clothe and save for college. I’ve got bills to pay. I’m
trying to save for my retirement. I’m trying to put a little money aside
for a vacation . . . a house down the shore . . . a cabin up in the
Poconos . . . a cruise for our anniversary . . .
(Takes off Rich Man’s shoes)
Meanwhile, Lazarus dreams of just getting the crumbs from my table.
Is this parable of Jesus actually telling me that if I refuse to give to him,
that I’m going to end up in hell? If that’s the case, then we’re all in
that handbasket, aren’t we? This is all very troubling. Let’s try
on Abraham’s shoes and see what insight we might be able to gain.
(Puts on Abraham’s shoes)
It’s all right here, just like I said. The prophet Amos warns
you: Alas for those who live in comfortable homes and sleep on
comfortable beds, and feast at restaurants, and block out the noise of the
world with their iPods, and spend money on fancy wines, and fancy perfumes . .
. and yet are not moved by the plight of Lazarus.
Heed the words of Psalm 146, all you who say you believe in God,
and yet spend more money on the luxuries of life than on helping the
poor. Your God is counting on you to practice justice for the oppressed
and give food for the hungry. 6 Your God is counting on you to set the
prisoners of poverty free, to open the eyes of the blind, lift up those who are
bowed down. Your God is counting on you to watch over Lazarus, to uphold
the orphan and the widow.
You must find a way - now - to bridge the chasm between you and
Lazarus. Once you are dead, it is too late. If you do not listen to
Moses and the prophets, neither will you be convinced even if someone rises
from the dead.”
(Takes off Abraham’s shoes)
That’s it! Who is the one who rose from the dead? Jesus! Jesus
is the one who can help me bridge this chasm. I need to put on Jesus’
shoes - that’s what will show me the way. But we have no Jesus character
here. (to actors) What’s the matter with you drama
people? You have a parable from Jesus, but you don’t have Jesus in your
skit? Where is Jesus in all this?
(Lazarus nudges and says: Try these on for size.)
Oh, I get it! Very good. Jesus did say, “Whatever you do for
the least of these, you do for me.” I have to put on your shoes to see
Jesus’ perspective. Lazarus is the one person who’s shoes I have not yet
walked in. Well, here it goes . . .
(Puts on Lazarus’s shoes)
I am the man who lost his job because it went overseas. I lost
my health insurance, and when I got cancer, it wiped out my savings. I
lost my home. I live in my car. I’m trying to get back on my feet.
I am also the woman whose husband died in an accident. I
have three children, and the money we got from the settlement did not go
far. I work two jobs, but I can’t seem to make ends meet. I
couldn’t pay the rent, and we went to a shelter. I’m trying to get back
on my feet.
I am also the child who lives with my grandparents, because my mom is in
prison, and I don’t know where my dad is. My grandparents are trying to
take care of me, but their Social Security check doesn’t go far. I’m
thinking of quitting school and joining up with a gang - because they always
seem to have enough money for Mickey D’s, and cool clothes and guns. I’m
trying to get back on my feet.
I am also an entire nation in Africa, sitting at your doorstep, begging for the
scraps from your table, the .8 percent of your GDP. We are plagued by
AIDS and drought and civil war. But are trying to get back on our feet.
I am Lazarus - and I am every man, woman and child, every group of people who
is in need, who is lacking the basics, who is hoping against hope that someone
will help.
(Takes off Lazarus’s shoes)
Well, I have to admit - these shoes don’t fit me. But at least I
understand where you’re coming from. And when I hear your story, I start
to care a little more. I start to imagine what it’s like to live from
paycheck to paycheck, always living in fear that the rent will go up and I’ll
have no place to go. Or that I’ll get sick and it will suck up all my savings.
I can start to see things from your perspective, Lazarus, on the other side of
the chasm, where I have no options, no choices left.
And I can imagine what it would be like to help you. To respect you
enough as a human being to assist you, the way I would my own father or mother
or child. That’s why, when I was a seminary student, and you came onto
our campus through the Interfaith Hospitality Network, I signed up to stay
overnight with you and the rest of the homeless families, and hear your stories,
and feed you a warm meal, and at least be a presence of hope for you, if only
for one night.
It’s why, when I was a college student walking in the city of Chicago, I saw
you sitting on one of the subway grates, with the underground steam billowing
up around you. And for some reason, I went into the nearest coffee shop
and bought you a cup of coffee and a donut. And I remember what you said
when I handed it to you. You walked away, shouting, “Thank you,
Jesus! Thank you, Jesus.”
And you know what? That’s probably who it was. It was Jesus
who helped you. Because that’s when I realized what it’s like to take off
my shoes, and give them to Jesus. To let Jesus walk in my shoes, direct
my footsteps, open my mind, my heart, my hands. To help me look at how I
spend my money, and where I can hold some back from what I spend on me, and
direct it toward Lazarus. Abraham was right - I can’t bridge the chasm
between us. But God can.
And I know I can’t solve all the problems of the world. I can’t save all
the Lazarus’s. I can’t give up all my possessions and give all my money
to the poor. I know that. And Jesus knows it. But I can at
least offer . . . my shoes. Amen.
With thanks to Kristen Johnson Ingram, "The Two Faces of Caring,"
Weavings, Vol. XX, No. 5, Sept./Oct. 2005