Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
Some parables are challenging to preach because their meaning is so elusive. Others, like the one before us today (Luke 16:19-31), are challenging because their meaning is all too bluntly obvious. Unique to Luke, this parable contrasts a lavishly wealthy man and Lazarus, the diseased beggar who lies day after day at his gate, hoping for crumbs that are never given. The parable performs the very reversal of fortunes between rich and poor of which Mary sings (Lk 1:53), a trope echoed by Jesus in Luke 6. There, Jesus predicts future blessings for the poor and hungry, but woe to the sated and well-regarded. They have received their “consolation;” sorrow and emptiness awaits (Lk 6:20-26).
The parable presents two lives in close proximity, one a life of immeasurable wealth, the other a life of unimaginable suffering. In the afterlife, from afar, the rich man recognizes Lazarus resting in “Abraham’s bosom;” he has known all along who Lazarus was as he stepped around him day after day. If he knew that Jewish law taught that the wealthy were obligated to take care of the poor, he had found a reason not to help. Maybe he took Lazarus’ name, meaning “God helps,” literally. Surely one could never be too careful around open sores and stray dogs, no matter how sad the man’s case.
Our listeners may harbor an instinctive protest that life works differently today. We seldom, if ever, encounter human desperation on our doorstep. Yet the faces of sufferers are perhaps as close, or closer, to us today than to that anonymous rich man; they appear nightly on our televisions and flash across our phone screens. We cannot claim we are not in a position to see or know about people living in desperation. Another tempting exit ramp is to point out that, since we are neither fabulously wealthy nor abjectly poor, this story isn’t about us; therefore, Abraham’s sad judgment that the rich man has experienced all the comfort he will ever get doesn’t apply to us. Isn’t this just a moral fable? A clue that it is more than that is the rich man’s five living brothers. The rich man is worried for them and urges Abraham to send Lazarus to warn them (assuming, of course, in death as in life, that Lazarus is an inferior of the sort one sends on errands). Abraham says no. If the brothers do not heed Moses and the prophets, as he did not, neither will they listen even if one should rise from the dead.
Congregational context needs to be considered in preaching this parable. This is not to say that, if prosperity fills our pews, we should soften the sting of this parable. It invites a reckoning. It asks us to consider how our well-funded lifestyles render us deaf and blind when human distress flickers in our peripheral vision. Measured against global wealth, middle class Westerners are, in fact, well off compared to many in the world. Just a few dollars given, or hours spent, can change life for a person or family that struggles with scarce resources or health issues. Finally, it is a near-certainty that some in our pews, particularly senior citizens or persons relying on disability benefits, live month to month on a fixed income. People we greet weekly at coffee hour—in other words, some “at our gates”—endure monthly financial anxiety. The good news of this parable is that we are those five living brothers. Like them, we’ve heard Moses and the prophets. Unlike them, Jesus has alerted us. We have enough—and some to share. Blessedly, for us there is still time: time to see, to care, and to act.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 