I know what you’re thinking. You’ve listened to the lesson from I Timothy and the Gospel of Luke, and you’re saying to yourself, “Do we have to listen to scripture about wealth and poverty and money again? Another sermon about wealth and poverty and money?” Well, the answer is, yes. I’ve got no choice because I preach the gospel and we’re working our way through the Gospel of Luke. On the other hand, we’re Episcopalian, so we don’t come to church every Sunday, and we’ve missed some of those sermons….

The parable we have before us today challenges us. It raises questions for us about the afterlife and about what Luke (or Jesus) understood to be the behaviors or perspective necessary to achieve heaven. It confronts us with the reality of the wide disparity of wealth in first-century Palestine. Perhaps most significantly, it confronts us with the wide gap that separates our selves, our world, and our churches, from the people and churches with whom the gospel writer was familiar.

Let’s look more closely at the story. A rich man is dressed in finery and has a sumptuous table. There’s a poor man, Lazarus, who lies at his gate with sores. The Greek suggests that he was dumped there. Both die. The rich man ends up in Hades; the poor man in the bosom of Abraham. Their fates have been transformed, reversed, but the parable offers no clear reason for the reversal. The rich man pleads with Abraham to have the poor man come and minister to him in his agony. Abraham refuses. Then the rich man asks that Lazarus be sent to his brothers on earth, to warn them of what would happen to them if they continued their behavior. Again Abraham refuses, replying that the brothers have all they need to lead just and righteous lives—the law and the prophets.

The story leaves us with questions. What is the relationship between the two men? One assumes they know each other; the rich man seems to recognize Lazarus when he sees him reclining in Abraham’s bosom. It’s important to note that there is no suggestion in the story that the rich man is in any way responsible for the poor man’s plight. It may even be that his presence at the rich man’s gate is nothing more than happenstance. If that’s the case, however, then why does the rich man urge Abraham to send Lazarus to him, and then to his brothers? Indeed, one might suppose that he had never really noticed the poor man lying at his gate; that he certainly didn’t think he was responsible for him.

The relationship between the two is interesting, because the rich man acts toward Lazarus in a fashion completely consistent with what has gone before. He doesn’t address him directly. He addresses Abraham as an equal and it’s clear that he sees Lazarus as someone he can use for his own benefit. One can imagine that he recognizes Lazarus as the man who lay in his gate, having passed by him countless times without speaking to him, let alone easing his suffering. He simply didn’t get it.

So, too, now he doesn’t get it. The request he makes of Lazarus is bizarre—that Lazarus would dip his finger in water and cool his tongue. Given the agony he is in, this would hardly seem to ease his suffering. But although it might seem ineffective, at the same time, the intimacy of the gesture seems to underscore the rich man’s understanding of Lazarus. A futile act such as this one only reinforces the asymmetry of their relationship.

Or should I say, that they have no relationship whatsoever. The appeal to Abraham is an appeal from an equal to another; an appeal to turn Lazarus into the rich man’s body servant. But Abraham’s response precludes that. He points out that their statuses have been reversed, and that they can have no relationship—a great chasm has opened up between them.

It is just the sort of chasm that existed between them while they were alive—the chasm between luxurious wealth and abject poverty. It is a chasm we don’t really understand in spite of the fact that we are surrounded by poverty and homelessness. As real and as deep poverty in America is, the gap that separates rich from poor in the US is nothing like the gap that separates Americans from those in poverty in the third world, in countries like Haiti, for example.

Lazarus ends up in the bosom of Abraham, not in a city paved with gold. That in itself should tell us something about the values expressed in the parable, the values of Jesus and of Luke, the writer of this gospel. It’s not so much a rejection of wealth. It may be a rejection of ostentatious luxury, but not of comfort. Rather, it’s a rejection of the attitude and assumptions we all have that wealth promises security, happiness, and meaning. Lazarus was not rewarded with a mansion, a lavish lifestyle, or riches. Rather, he found himself in Abraham’s bosom. In short, he found himself in a relationship that nurtured and gave him life and meaning.

The lesson from I Timothy underscores this point. Full of ethical and moral advice, the author reminds his reader that we bring nothing into the world and we leave the world with nothing. We should be content with food and clothing. He continues with that famous admonition: “The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.” It is harsh language that few of us take to heart. We want financial security, especially in these uncertain times.

The parable is about relationship—the relationship between Lazarus and the rich man. It is also about how wealth can insulate us from relationship. It’s easy for us, when we encounter homeless or poor people to blame them for their plight. If only they would quit drinking, or clean themselves up and get a job. They’re just lazy, we may say to ourselves. One of the truisms of American philanthropy is that as you move up the scale in income, people give less proportionately to charity. It’s easy for us to use the chasm that separates us from those in need as protection against feeling compassion for others. It’s easy for us to close the blinds on our windows so we don’t see the need down on the street.

But when we open those blinds, when we begin to respond to the needs of others, we begin to recognize our common humanity, the needs, hopes, and fears that we all share as children of God. We also begin to see our own vulnerability and our own dependence on God. Compassion, suffering with others, reaching out to others in love is not just our responsibility as Christians, it is also a means for us to experience God’s grace in Jesus Christ.

The parable ends with Lazarus at the side of Abraham—in the bosom of Abraham—as the old spiritual put it. The rich man was in suffering, his brothers in peril, but Lazarus was at rest, embraced in God’s love. When we open ourselves up to that same love, and reach out in love to others, we show forth God’s grace in the world and encounter the love of the crucified one in the face of those among whom we serve. Amen.