Lazarus Gets to Heaven:

A reflection on doing vs being.

The last Sunday’s lectionary included one of my favourite scriptures from my favourite Gospel of all time, Luke. It was the day for the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31). The Sunday sermon focused on the responsibility of the Rich Man, to help the poor. But Monday morning, I woke up and was suddenly struck by this from the story: Lazarus Gets to Heaven.

The very Lazarus whose religion we do not know. Of whose faith or belief system we have no indication finds himself smack dab in heaven. That is GRACE.

In this familiar story, there is an (unnamed) Rich Man, who dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. The Rich Man seems to be an Israelite as he appeals to “Father Abraham” when he finds himself in Hades, or what we would commonly refer to in modern parlance as “HELL”. He begs for Father Abraham to have pity on him.

Lazarus is the named character in this story. He is identified as a sore-covered beggar, who laid at the rich man’s gate. His longing was humble: to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.

It seems when he dies, he goes straight to heaven as Luke tells us the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. It seems, in death, Lazarus is elevated from the lowest position to the mountain top: Lazarus Gets to Heaven.

Jesus goes on in this parable to tell of how, the Rich Man, finding himself in torment, makes an appeal to Father Abraham. In this appeal he doesn’t ask Abraham himself to provide a drink, but rather asks Abraham to instruct [send] Lazarus to dip a finger in water and cool his tongue, because he, the Rich Man, now finds himself in agony in the fire of hell.

Abraham reminds the Rich Man, saying ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’

Lazarus receives what, in liberation theology is understood as the preferential option of the poor or the oppressed. Those who are oppressed are lifted up. Those who were sore-covered and dog-licked, hungry beggars in life are lifted up to the high places in eternal life. Those who were oppressed by the blindness of those who could intervene in their suffering, those who were conveniently ignored by those who lived in comfort and luxury - the oppressed and suffering are lifted up.

And between the place the oppressed occupy and the space the privileged occupy in heaven, there is an uncrossable chasm.

There is some further back and forth in the gospel story between Abraham and the Rich Man. A bit of a play on people who return from the dead (cue: Jesus adjacency) yet cannot convince the living. And every single time I have unpacked this Gospel reading in a congregational setting I have always focused on the arrogance of the Rich Man. I preached righteously on the arrogance of the Rich Man who never even noticed Lazarus in life, but would have the gall to ask that Lazarus be directed to serve him in the afterlife.

Which is an arrogant stance for me to take.

But Monday morning this week, my eyes were opened to the deep, deep GRACE in this parable: Lazarus Gets to Heaven.

We know nothing of Lazarus having done anything good, anything that would have earned him a place in heaven. He could have been sore-ridden and dog-licked from being a needle drug user, or a sex-trade worker, or someone who would otherwise have been judged for whatever actions caused him to be in that condition. He could have been someone with the dastardly bad fortune to be born into slavery, or born into a poor family who could afford nothing. He could have been a gambler, a good-for-nothing scoundrel - we do not know. What we do know: Lazarus Gets to Heaven.

By the infinite GRACE of a Creator who not only SEES but LIFTS UP the oppressed, Lazarus Gets to Heaven.

It really doesn’t matter what discussion Abraham and the Rich Man engage in. It doesn’t matter that a messenger returning from the dead would leave the living unconvinced. Because the oppressed, the downtrodden, the sore-ridden dog-licked - those who suffer, those who go unseen and unattended in life - the Lazaruses - maybe the plural Lazari Get to Heaven.

This makes me think about how ministry often becomes about doing: doing, doing, doing. I hear from parishioners and pastors alike - how they are feeling tired, burnt out, exhausted from trying to get out in front of injustice and wrongdoing, in front of the things that slow down this machine that the church has become, this Rich Man who dresses in purple and fine linen and lives in luxury all day long. Things like insurance and canons and layers and layers of administration and bureaucracy, that act like thick ick slowing down the slicing clarity and capacity of the Gospel that seeks to travel in this vehicle we call “church”.

Perhaps we have lost the capacity to sit at the doorway and simply be …

• be humble.

• be trusting.

• be joyful and joyous in the knowing ….

That every Lazarus will Get to Heaven. Which is the very meaning of GRACE.

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first Photo by Boudewijn Huysmans on Unsplash

second Photo by Alexandra Mirgheș on Unsplash