Last Wednesday, Peggy asked me to conduct a family graveside service for her mother. Since we were each coming from work, and since Andy, Audra, and Samuel were coming from their home, we all arrived at different times. As soon as Andy and Audra arrived with Samuel, I took advantage of the timing to hold him for a while (there’s nothing like holding a baby to sooth one’s soul, Peggy always says – and, of course, she’s right!). He had been sleeping in the car and woke briefly as Andy took him out of the car seat and handed him to me. For the first couple of minutes he looked deeply into my eyes without blinking, as only a small baby does. It was as if he were engaged in some high-tech, biometric screening process to determine my identity – or, at least, that I was “safe.” I evidently passed his scrutiny, because he quickly fell back to sleep, contentedly nestled against my shoulder. I held him like that until Peggy arrived with her dad, at which time I handed Samuel to her (Peggy has taught me a lot about sharing!). There was the same brief process of recognition, followed by more contented nestling. It helped, of course, that Audra had fed him and changed his diaper just before joining us. Samuel was content because all of his basic needs were satisfied: his tummy was full, his bottom was clean and dry, and he was being held by people who loved him. What more could anyone want?

Of course, you and I all know the answer to that question: the older we get, the more it seems to take for us to be content. Some of this has to do with personal taste (I like broccoli and green beans, not everyone does, especially at age 3 or 4). Some of the growth in perceived “needs” has to do with our circumstances relative to people around us (when I was growing up, none of the kids in grade school seemed to notice that some of my clothes had patches over tears, some of their clothing did, too – but the kids in the larger consolidated junior high I attended later certainly noticed! Suddenly I was no longer content wearing patched clothes anymore). Most of our expanded sense of “need” is a product of advertising, and keeping up with the neighbors, however. What small child hasn’t decided that the only cereal to eat is the one whose advertisements include his or her favorite cartoon character, or whose box contains a really “cool” toy? How many adults aren’t influenced by advertisements that show young and sexy people using a particular product, or demonstrating how cool it is to drive a certain car, or how much healthier or younger looking someone is who uses a particular product? Whether we are willing to admit it or not, most of us are influenced, even when we think we aren’t!

The truth of the matter is that, the longer we live, the more influences there are that convince us that we need more or better things in order to be popular, healthy, or content.

The Gospel lesson this morning addresses a corollary to this “law of expanding expectations”: the more we think we need for contentment, the less willing we are to share.

The rich man in this parable must have been exceedingly rich, indeed – clothing made from purple fabric and fine linen would have been among the most expensive imaginable. Sumptuous feasts on a daily basis were equally beyond the means of all but the most exceedingly wealthy (think millionaire or billionaire, today). This man enjoyed both – yet seemed oblivious to poor Lazarus lying at his very doorstep, covered in ulcerated sores, no doubt dressed in rags, longing for even the smallest crumbs that might fall from the rich man’s table. (None were offered.) As Jesus told this parable, he was setting the stage for the most extreme contrast imaginable, yet hinted at the change to come from the outset: poor, decrepit Lazarus had a name, the “rich man” did not.

With their deaths, Jesus heightened the dramatic reversal of circumstances. At his death, angels from heaven were dispatched to poor Lazarus to carry him into the very presence of Abraham, the ultimate patriarch of all Israel; the unnamed rich man was simply buried and left to lie nameless in a cold, dark tomb … expect, of course, Jesus immediately added that “in Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side.” Only from his tortured existence in hell did this rich man finally take notice of the man he had passed within spitting distance as he entered or left his front door. Yet, even then, even in hell, the rich man’s only concern was for himself: “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.” There was no regret for a life-time of selfishness; there was no repentance for his lack of compassion; there was no acknowledgement that he obvious had noticed Lazarus in life – he had even known his name! All that the rich man could muster was a request that Abraham send Lazarus as a servant to care for yet another of the rich man’s needs. Even in hell, the rich man’s only concern was that his contentment be satisfied!

But, of course, it was too late: “between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.” An old, but astute adage comes to mind, “you’ve made your bed, now lie in it!”

It was not accidental that Luke placed this parable in close proximity to the conclusion of last week’s parable of the dishonest steward, in which Jesus said: “You cannot serve God and mammon.” Between the two parables, Luke noted that those who heard the first had responded with ridicule. In the mind of Luke, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus was directed at people with two characteristics: they were “lovers of money,” and they considered themselves exemplars of God’s Law. In Luke’s Gospel, it is clear that these listeners represented the antithesis of what it meant to be in the Kingdom of God; they represented selfishness and self- righteousness. Furthermore, in Luke’s Gospel it is clear that entrance into God’s eternal kingdom happens in this life; it is not a possibility in the next.

Now, of course, one of the dangers in reading this parable is that any one of us could look at this “rich man” and conclude that, “it’s not about me.” While I do not know all of you as well as I know the members of my own family, I have learned enough to conclude that none of you qualify as among the ultra wealthy, as this man was. I would be very surprised, for example, to learn that one or more of you are “dot-com” millionaires or billionaires, like Bill Gates or Paul Allen. I would be equally surprised to learn that any of you were oil and gas tycoons. It would astound me, as well, to discover that this congregation is filled with lottery winners, Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes winners, or successful diamond or gold prospectors! The danger, however, is that we might conclude that, since we are not among the ultra wealthy, we are, therefore, exempt from accountability for any failure in contentedness, or failure in generosity. Jesus did not tell this parable to establish a hierarchy of two, or to establish a reality that only the ultra wealthy have a responsibility to care for the poor among us. Jesus told this parable as a warning to anyone who ignores the obvious needs of others in order to maintain a higher standard of living.

It has been said so often that it is almost a cliché, but, the truth is that, from the perspective of the vast majority of the world’s population, we are among the ultra wealthy – and we are easily tempted to look past the needs of those around us. Oh, not all of us, and certainly not all the time. This congregation has made a generous response in offerings for the food bank this month. We had an equally generous response to our Christmas in July offerings. I’ve been told that Christmas around here includes a very caring response to the needs of others through the Christmas gift tree. I do not doubt that every member of this congregation, at some time or another, has made and will continue making generous contributions to the needs of others, both here at church, as well as through any number of other charitable organizations. The point this morning is not to somehow identify any or all of us with the grotesque selfishness and self-righteousness of the rich man in the parable – that would be both inaccurate and foolhardy. No, the point this morning is the point I believe Jesus was making: those who follow Jesus, those who seek to live in the Kingdom of God, do so in ways that are always fully conscious of and responsive to the needs of other people. Of equal importance, followers of Jesus are readily content with what they have.

That’s where the text from Paul’s letter to Timothy enters the picture: “there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment; for we have brought nothing into the world, so we can take nothing out of it; but if we have food and clothing, we will be content with these.” Imagine my amazement to realize that the most perfect example of someone living these words is my two-month-old grandson. There he is, absolutely and totally content with food in his tummy, a clean diaper, clothing appropriate for the day, and someone to hold him with love. He could care less if his clothing is new or lovingly patched hand-me-downs. Imagine my surprise to discover that the primary lesson learned from God this week was mediated by a two- month-old baby living the Word of God in my arms!

Paul challenged Timothy to be content. Jesus challenged his listeners to be more self- aware of their relative wealth and their ability to share and, therein find contentment. God’s Word this morning challenges us – all of us -- in like manner. May the Word of God set us free, truly free, to follow Jesus and find contentment in sharing!

Amen

Anacortes United Methodist Church
2201 H Avenue, Anacortes, WA 98221 USA
Mailing Address: P.O. Box 573, Anacortes, WA 98221
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