First Friends Meeting
Luke 16:19-31
‘The Gate’
Doug Gwyn

About ten years ago, on a bitterly cold winter night in Philadelphia, a bag lady died on the front steps of the American Friends Service Committee offices. It made the local papers, not because such deaths are unusual. If the poor woman had died on the front steps of many office buildings, nothing would have been made of it. But the AFSC is renowned as a humanitarian organization. It was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1947 for relief work in Europe after the war. AFSC staff and local Quakers anguished over the death of this obscure woman. Some staff had tried to help her in the weeks before her death. But few had even seen her, because she came there mainly at night. Apparently, she found it a safe place to sleep. She knew nothing of AFSC or its Nobel Peace Prize. She just wanted a safe place to spend the night.

But her death is a cautionary tale. It was not the result of a lack of caring, compassion. The AFSC is all about caring for the world’s hurts, compassion for those who suffer. It’s all about working for peace and justice. It has service, relief, and social change programs in places around the world. And yet, even with the most enlightened world vision, we can miss someone suffering right in front of us.

The rich man in the parable Olive has read is not exactly an AFSC-type, not a reformer. Jesus draws the strongest possible contrasts between him and the poor man, Lazarus, who lies at his gate. The rich man covered himself in fine linen and purple, the color of aristocrats and government officials. Lazarus was covered with sores. The rich man feasted sumptuously every day. Lazarus would have been happy to eat what fell from the rich man’s table during those gourmet frenzies. That’s all we know of the two of them, except that Lazarus lay at the gate of the rich man’s house, which was no doubt a fine place. So the rich man must have passed Lazarus every day, when he passed in and out of his gate.

Now, the laws of Moses required him to give alms to the poor. It was part of Jewish religion. There could be no more obvious poor person in his world than Lazarus at his gate. The name ‘Lazarus’ means ‘he whom God helps’. Of course, the rich man probably never spoke to Lazarus, never bothered to learn his name. And if he did, maybe he decided, well, God’s going to help him somehow – it’s in his name, isn’t it? Apparently, the rich man never considered that he might be the means by which God would help Lazarus.

When I was on an archeological dig in Israel/Palestine, I made several trips to Jerusalem. One of the eastern gates into the old city, the Damascus Gate, had several beggars. They had all kinds of deformities and diseases, including some awful sores. The first time I entered the city by that gate I gave one of them some coins. But after that, I got more used to seeing them. Then I didn’t really notice them so much. I recall vaguely wondering, these guys do this every day? Don’t they have anyone to help them? Are there no government services here? Somebody ought to do something for these people. In our secular, impersonal society today, Lazarus might not be named ‘he whom God helps’ but ‘somebody ought to do something here’.

In any case, that’s all we hear of the rich man and Lazarus in this life. They lived worlds apart, even though they saw each other every day at the gate. Now we hear that both men died. Lazarus went to be with Abraham. Abraham, the father of Israel, was remembered for his hospitality to strangers. So we know that Lazarus is finally in comfort and at peace with Abraham. But the rich man is now in torment, with no peace. Jesus draws the scene from the common stock of ancient stories about the afterlife. There were many ancient folktales, Jewish and other, like this one, contrasting people’s lives in this world with their fate in the next. As Jesus develops it, the rich man is in torment in Hades, but he can see Abraham far away in heaven, with – who is that? -- it’s that beggar Lazarus at his side!

Now Lazarus is someone the rich man wants to know. First, he asks Abraham to send good old Lazarus on an errand. Have him dip his finger in some cool water up there and come here and cool my tongue with it. That’s not asking much! But Abraham answers, remember, you had all the good things in life, and Lazarus had all the bad. Now it’s the other way around. And a great chasm is now fixed between you and Lazarus. Even if Lazarus wants to help you, he can’t get there from here. And you can’t get here from there. Sorry!

So, where once there was an open gate between them, there is now a great chasm. Once there was opportunity for them to connect. But now there isn’t. Once he could have helped Lazarus. Now Lazarus can’t even help him.

Now the rich man thinks of another errand for good old Lazarus. At least Abraham could send him back from the dead to speak to his five brothers. Warn them, so they don’t end up here with me in torment. It’s not spelled out here, but the warning seems to be, help the poor while you can. The consequences of your moral failure are too terrible. But Abraham replies, they have Moses and the prophets, they should listen to them. The laws of Moses make it clear that we must help the poor. The prophet denounced the rich and powerful for not aiding the widows, orphans, and strangers in the land. It’s clear enough. But once more the rich man implores, if someone comes from the dead to warn them, surely they’ll repent. But Abraham answers, if they don’t listen to the Scriptures, they won’t be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.

It’s a chilling end to the story. None of us should feel too comfortable here. What does it take to make us repent, to turn and respond to the needs around us? Ethicists describe various ‘styles of ethical evaluation’ [S. Tipton], ways we make moral choices, perhaps make moral changes. One style of ethical evaluation is authoritative. We look to sources from our religious tradition, the Bible, Christian devotional literature, Quaker books perhaps. These may offer moral principles, rules, examples, and stories that can guide us in our own lives. So when Abraham speaks of ‘Moses and the prophets’ he refers to this authoritative approach to solving moral dilemmas.

Another style of ethical evaluation here is called the consequential style. In that case, you make moral decisions based on the consequences you can expect from your actions. Looking at consequences is a bit more pragmatic than looking at moral principles. You think less whether a thing is right or wrong in itself and more about where it will take you. So we hear people say, you keep doing that and you’ll end up in jail. Or the path you’re on leads straight to hell. When the rich man asks Abraham to send Lazarus to warn his five brothers, its consequential thinking. Surely his brothers will change their ways if they realize the consequences of their selfish lives.

But Abraham responds, if they won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, they won’t listen to someone risen from the dead. Neither moral principles nor dire consequences will change people. That’s a surprising turn in the story. Christians often think that the Good News of Jesus rising from the dead, or at least the threat of hell-fire, will make people repent, believe, and change their ways. But Jesus says no – something deeper has to change first. The heart has to change, has to break open, before anything can get through.

I’ve been reading Michael Birkel’s book on John Woolman, the Quaker saint from colonial New Jersey. Michael focuses on Woolman’s phrase, “a near sympathy.” Woolman read the Scriptures, to be sure. But he didn’t just look for moral rules and principles. He read the Bible sympathetically and imaginatively. He felt with its characters. He imagined their predicaments. Woolman wrote that this exercise enlarged his heart. It helped him see the people around him more compassionately. With his heart enlarged to greater sympathy, he could use his mind to imagine more of their situation, and the social conditions that led to their plight. This exercise of heart and mind inspired him to help individuals in need. It also led him to become an advocate for social reforms. So it begins with the heart, with the will to listen and to observe sympathetically. With this parable, Jesus suggests that we’re locked blinded by our own needs and desires, impervious to the suffering of others – until we make that change of heart.

While we’re alive, there’s a gate that stands open between us. Our different worlds can still connect. These gateways are portals into other worlds, passages out of the hall of mirrors that traps us within ourselves. They become avenues of service and witness, social activism and peacemaking. What have been the gateways of your life? Where did you pass into a fuller life of compassion and service to others. What gates might still be open to you in this life?