Proper 21 C Psalm 146:4, 6-7, Luke 16:19-31 September 26, 2004 The Rev. J. Brian Ponder, Chaplain Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi Happy are they who have the God of Jacob for their help! whose hope is in the Lord their God; … Who gives justice to those who are oppressed, and food to those who hunger. The Lord sets the prisoners free; The Lord opens the eyes of the blind; The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down. Psalm 146:4, 6-7 In the Name of God: Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. Amen. Today's gospel story or parable (some would argue just which it is) is quite remarkable. Indeed this is the only parable in which a character is explicitly named - thus there is some question over whether it can actually be called a parable at all. Story or parable, our encounter with the rich man and Lazarus offers us some profound insight into relationship in our daily experience. It is as relevant today as it was some two thousand years ago. Lazarus, a poor man, lays at the gate of an extremely wealthy man. Daily he is overlooked by a rich man - a man of great import, a man surely of great wealth and standing within his own community and in his own day. But oddly enough, it is the rich man who is nameless, faceless, unidentified. The rich man is anonymous. But I'm willing to bet that Lazarus knew just who he was. I'm sure Lazarus knew the man's story, or at least had some idea as to whom this man was, or what was his profession. If nothing else, Lazarus knew that this man was better off in life, or else he would not have positioned himself in front of the rich man's gate. Perhaps Lazarus may have been somewhat consumed by thoughts of what it must be like to be this man, living in a fine house, dressed extremely well, filled to the gill with food - living not just in abundance but in excess. To Lazarus, the man was not nameless, nor faceless. Lazarus saw him pass by day in and day out. And I'm sure not just once daily, but at least twice - once at his leaving and again at his return. It stands to reason that the rich man had at least two opportunities daily to interact with "the other" - Lazarus - yet he failed to ask the question, "Who is my neighbor?" But is this even accurate? Was Lazarus completely unknown to the rich man? There is some evidence within the account which suggests that the rich man knew Lazarus. After both men had died, the rich man calls for Abraham to send him "Lazarus" that his thirst may be quenched, even if only slightly. I need not retell the entire story here, but there are quite a number of details in today's lesson that peak my own interest and intrigue me. Jesus' teachings were meant and are meant to get his audience thinking - not just thousands of years ago, but today … here … now. I often speak of my days at summer camp and have related to you on occasion just what that place has meant to me over the years. Many of you may know that for quite a number of years, I was involved in Bratton-Green's special session camps for those with physical, mental and emotional disabilities. My first year on special session staff, I was assigned four relatively high functioning campers of varying ages - most of them in their early forties. Within our cabin, there were a host of people with varying conditions, some with very complex medical problems. Though he was not one of the campers assigned to me, it was during this particular camp experience that I first encountered Moses. Moses must now be in his early to mid sixties. He stands a little taller than me, is very strong yet is one of the most gentle people I've ever known. Moses' favorite activity at camp is mealtime - he loves to eat - and his counselors have to watch his intake of food, making sure that he never over-does-it. A close second for Moses is "wooing" the ladies of camp, always becoming interested in two or three counselors or staff members and asking them over and over, "Who's your boyfriend?" "What does your daddy do?" "Are you gonna marry me?" You get the point. Now I couch all of this with one BIG correction … above all else, Moses is perfectly content with a blown up balloon. A balloon can calm any fear or frustration with Moses. Other than these three things, it is not often easy to tell just what "makes Moses tick," so to speak. His meds generally make his eyes glazed over and he routinely fades in and out of dazes. My impression of Moses back then was that I never really made any difference whatsoever in his camp experience - that I was just another face amongst the crowds at camp. Other than short interactions during at camp over the following four years and about every-other-year being assigned as a counselor in his cabin, I never thought for once that I would or could break through his shell, that Moses would be concerned with me, let alone know my name. There are those campers that everyone on staff always wants to connect with in some way. Moses continues to be one of those campers. After a four or five year hiatus from camp, I returned as a cabin leader the summer before going to seminary. I was a little nervous about being on staff again, wondering if I'd get back into the groove of things, understand again just how things run at special session. Staff training came and went. Planning sessions had been held, applications had been read to understand more fully campers' needs and we were ready to greet the campers on the day of check-in. At the height of excitement over arrivals, there's always a little fear over whether or not you'll be able to handle the week ahead, the situations that may or may not arise. The joy and excitement far outweigh the second-guessing, but still, that anxiety is there. One of the very first vans to arrive carried Moses, his brother Jack and a host of others I had come to love and enjoy spending time with in summers past. As he stepped out of the van, amidst the cheers of welcome and hugs that are part of the campers' arrivals at special session, I noticed one of Moses' trusty balloons - in hand squeezed to the point of almost bursting. Within a couple of minutes, as bags were being unloaded from the vans, Moses' glanced over at me and rushed over. I was expecting to have to direct him to the restroom, or give him some other bit of advice, when he stammered: "Brian! Where've you been?" And as soon as he had said it, and without time for my reply, he rushed on at the promise of a new balloon from another staff member and the year's camp session for him was underway. I have never been able to fully put into words the joy that was mine in that moment - simply being remembered and noticed by Moses … for nothing in particular that I had done or said, or meant, for nothing other than some connection that had been made long before and not forgotten … but remembered. That my absence had been noticed maybe even more so than my presence. While my story of Moses is quite different from the account of Lazarus and the rich man, I hope that it speaks to a truth that is being revealed to us even today in this gospel passage. Our gospel lesson tells us that it is in the here and now that we are called to be bridge-builders, rather than bridge-burners, that it is in the here and now that we are called to recognize the humanity of "the other," and recognize one another. What are the chasms we face daily? What are that chasms that divide and separate us … As individuals? As employers or employees? As students and faculty or faculty and staff or staff and administration? What are the chasms between us as neighbors? As the invited and the uninvited? Our gospel, perhaps, suggests that it is better to be the uninvited than it is to be the ignored, because to be uninvited, there must at least be some recognition of one's humanity. What are the chasms before us within our larger community? As Americans, indeed, as citizens of the wealthiest and most powerful nation in the world? Or as the People of God? The Church? As Christians? The sinfulness of "otherness" is that in it "the other" (deemed so for whatever reason, or unacknowledged because of the disparity of situation) denies full humanity to those who have been differentiated from us, or me, or you. In the distinction of "the other" we deny not only another of his/her full humanity, but that of ourselves as well. This is what I think for me is most important in our lesson today. "Otherness" denies our baptismal promise to respect the dignity of every human being. It denies that there is something outside of ourselves, or our circle of friends, or our community of faith, or our world. Whenever the plight of another is not our own, we deny the vision of that perfect day when the whole worlds are reconciled and restored. Where are we making connections with the forgotten, or the overlooked, or better yet, the ignored? Where and how is that we, as individuals and as a community, can be moved further to meet and welcome the stranger, the oppressed, the hungry, those yearning to see more clearly, or break the chains that bind them, or help raise the heads of those that are bowed down? One place where we begin to do just that is here in this place and at this table. We must make known that first and foremost this is not our house, but God's, and that this table is not so much for us who come here week in and week out as it is for those who may have never stepped foot through the doors of Resurrection, or an Episcopal Church, or any church at all, for that matter! It's from this point that we can understand and discern as much who's absent, excluded, uninvited or ignored as we can who's present. It is here that we can all gather as the Body of Christ, and be re-membered as a body, not forgotten and certainly not forsaken. It is here that we begin to understand more fully just what it means to respect the dignity of every human being, for at this table we are all equal, we are all precious, and we are all welcome. In Jesus' Name. Amen.