Month: February 2016

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The Rich Man and Jesus

“There was a rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.  And at his gate was laid a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores . . .”  Luke 16:19-20

Listen–can you hear it?  A faint, wistful song from thirty-odd years before:

He has brought down the mighty from their thrones

and exalted those of humble estate;

he has filled the hungry with good things,

and the rich he has sent away empty . . . .

Those times his mother sang about (Luke 1:53) are here; hot, sweaty times that jostle the golden thoughts and make that pure tune difficult to hear.  But still, it’s happening: he fills the hungry with good things, while the rich go unsatisfied.  Everywhere he stops, the sick and the poor, the tax collectors and sinners crowd in close, while the wealthy and healthy maintain a certain distance.  They want to hear what he has to say, but his words don’t go down easy.  His words, in fact, are like a severe case of indigestion.

“There was a rich man . . .”

What would he know about the life of the “rich”?  It’s not all soft robes and feasts every day–it takes work and care to keep up an estate.  This rich man probably rose early to consult with his foreman and inspect his lands, and stayed up late going over accounts to make sure they added up correctly and all debts were paid.

lazarus

“But a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, begged at his gate.  He longed to be filled with the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table.”

(Of course; poor men are everywhere.  And this is starting to feel like a setup.)

“The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s side . . .”

(Oh—there goes poor Lazarus off to heaven!  Welcomed by Abraham, no less!  What did he do, except be hungry?  Where’s the virtue in that?)

“The rich man also died and was buried, and in Hades, being in torment–”

(I knew it.  The rich man—the responsible, hardworking, thrifty one–turns out to be the villain.)

“. . . . I beg you, father Abraham, send Lazarus to my father’s house, for I have five brothers, so that he might warn them, lest they also come into this place of torment.”

(Now, this is too much.  Abraham says nothing about righteousness and law-keeping, only about full and empty.  And the rich man wants Lazarus to go warn his brothers—warn him of what, I’d like to know?  What are they supposed to do to avoid the place of torment—just be hungry?)

“. . . But Abraham said to him, if they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.”

(Someone should rise from the dead—like Lazarus?  Is the most flea-bitten beggar on the street suddenly on a level with Moses and the Prophets?

He has satisfied the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty . . .

Open your mouth, and I will fill it—But my people did not listen to my voice . . .

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness . . .

Looking they may not see, and hearing they may not understand . . .

Neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead . . .

(Who won’t be convinced?  Me?  Show me a sign like that and I’ll believe.  Just don’t try to tell me about rich and poor and who’s in and who’s out.)

That’s exactly what he’s telling them, though.  The music is all around, echoes from the past and present and even future, but few have ears to hear. It is about rich and poor, or rather those who think they are rich, and those who know they are poor.  It’s about the hungry, and the kind of food they crave.  Whatever you’re station in life, he says, be hungry.  Whether scrounging for crumbs or sitting down to surf ‘n turf, be hungry.  Don’t be satisfied with your accomplishments in life–be hungry.

Hungry for what?  For me.

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For the first post in this series, go here.

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The Two Masters

He also said to the disciples, “there was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was wasting his possession.  And he called him and said to him, ‘What is this I hear about you?  Turn in the account of your management, for you can no longer be a manager . . .’”  Luke 16:1-2

Next day, as he is eating breakfast with his disciples in that same courtyard, the scribes and Pharisees gather under the thatched portico, hoping to have a word with him.  As they wait he talks to his followers while passing around bread and olives.  The distribution of goods seems to inspire a puzzling little story about a crooked steward who was accused and dismissed by his master.  Before surrendering the books, he ingratiated himself with some of his master’s debtors by cutting their obligations in half.  Instead of turning the steward over to the law, the master just laughed and said, “I have to hand it to you, my man.  You know how to use what you have.”

“So,” the Teacher concludes, “make friends for yourself by means of unrighteous money so that when it fails, those friends may welcome you into their eternal homes.”

dishonest steward

Eleazer the Pharisee notices how the disciples, who had been nodding thoughtfully like placid cows all this time while, collectively pause in mid-chew.  What . . . What did he just say?

Eleazer’s friend Daniel leans toward him and whispers, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either.  But I think it might have something to do with us.”

The Teacher is speaking again, and his altered voice signals to Eleazer that he was right about the parable’s true audience.  The light, satirical tone was gone; earnest urgency had taken its place.  “Faithful in little, faithful in much.  If you can’t be trusted with the deceptive things of earth, who will trust you with the truthful things of heaven?”

Revered Benjamin, ruler of the synagogue, makes an audible huff.  “What makes him an authority on earthly goods?  He mooches off the bounty of women.”

A chuckle passes through the little knot of respectable elders.  The Rabbi ignores it but raises his voice half a notch.  “What slave has two masters?  It’s impossible–he’ll serve one and neglect the other.  If money is your master, you can’t serve God.”

That hits home; Eleazer feels it.  Revered Benjamin speaks to his circle, but loud enough for everyone to hear: “Envy from a beggar is as rich as from a king.”

“Justify yourself all you want.”  With a shock, they realize he is now speaking to them directly.  The people may admire your pious exterior but God knows your heart.  What men admire repulses him.”

Revered Benjamin’s face hardens to iron; he rears up as though prepared to speak some withering retort (We are Keepers of the law, young man!), but instead he gathers his robes about him and paces majestically away. The others follow, except for Eleazer, who lingers to see how Jesus will respond.

“The law is kept, but not by you,” the renegade Rabbi says quietly, as though speaking to himself.  Or, the young student thinks–with a jolt—to me.  “The law will always be kept, but it’s no barrier to the kingdom.  The lame, the blind, the ignorant, knock it down in their haste to get in, and once in they’ll see it in a new way.

“Are you coming?”

This is addressed to the disciples, who have finished their meal and now begin to gather their things for a walk to the next town.  And yet Eleazer knows it is also for him.

Are you coming . . . in?

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For the original post in this series, go here.

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What Kind of Father Is This?

And he said, “There was a man who had two sons . . .”  Luke 15:11

The evening thickens as the day’s yellow sun slides into the horizon and balances there for a long moment, its rounded edge slowly melting into the hills.  How many days have passed since this story was first told, how many ears have heard it since?  And how many lost sons, on the dusty road or snug at home, have come to themselves under its quiet steady gaze?  It’s been a long time, and many tellings, but let’s try to hear it as the first listeners might have.  If they have been with him a while, they know the slightly higher, quicker pitch of his voice as it slides in to one of his stories.  The disciples lean in, the villagers lean out, and the way each one hears reveals more about the person than he or she might care to show:

. . . The younger of them said to his father, “Father, give me a share of the estate I have coming to me.”

–What? You mean before the old man is even dead?  That’s bold.  Wonder if I would have the nerve to . . .

–Disgraceful!  What kind of son would make such a request?  The father ought to–

So he distributed the assets to them.

–?!?!?!?

–Shocking!  What kind of father would agree to such a request?  The other son ought to—

Not many days later, the younger son gathered together all he had, and traveled to a distant country, where he squandered his estate in foolish living.

–Of course he did.  Brainless twit.

–What would I do with a fortune?  Go someplace where no one knew me and . . . invest it?  Probably intend to.  But if there’s a party that night, and new friends to impress, and women . . .

–I know that type.  Fresh faces off the farm, burning to stuff a year’s worth of iniquity into a single night, and pretend they’re the first to conquer me . . .

–Hm.  If I got the other half of that inheritance, I’d put it in the bank and start looking for a nice piece of property.  But I know what’s going to happen to this fool . . .

After he had spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he had nothing.

–Right.

He went to work for one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his field to fed the pigs.

–Ew!  Filthy, disgusting creatures—and yet too good for him.

He longed to gobble up the dry pods the pigs were eating, but no one would give him even that.

–Ha.  Just what he deserves.

When he came to his senses, he said, “How many of my father’s hired hands have more than enough food, and here I am dying of hunger!  I’ll get up, go to my father and say to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight.  I’m no longer worthy to be called your son.  Make me one of your hired hands.’”

–A nice little speech.  But it’s just words.

–What if I told my father something like that?  How would he take it, especially if I meant it?  Would I mean it?

–Poor silly boy.  But he’s hurt the old man deeply—slapped him in the face.  I don’t know if I could ever forgive that.

So he got up and went to his father.

–Oh yes, and it seems to me dear old Abba has some repenting to do as well.  The boy isn’t the only foolish one in this story . . .

But while the son was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion.  He ran—

–?!?!?!?!?

–threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him.

–What!  He ran, the old fool?!  The soft-headed, muddle-brained, sentimental—

–Filled with compassion.  Filled with compassion.  Compassion.  As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear him, for he knows their frame, that they are dust.  Compassion, compassion . . .

–Can it be?

–Wait.  What father is like this?

prodigal-son

The son said to him (between the kisses), “Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight.  I am no longer worthy to be called your–” 

“Quick!” his father called to the servants.  “Bring out the best robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his poor bleeding feet.  Then bring the fattened calf and slaughter it, and let’s celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!”  So they began to celebrate.

–Oh, I get it.  The father is the real fool.  Like father, like son; I see it now.  The old man will get his lesson too.  Maybe from the other son—we haven’t heard from him yet . . .

–Insanity!  So wrong!  The boy must pay, or justice flies right out the window!

–Too much, too much.  No father behaves this way.  If only mine would . . .

–I’m totally lost.

–I’m lost.  Yes, that’s me.  Can I be found?

Now, his older brother was in the field . . .

–Aha!  I knew he’d make an appearance.  Now we’ll hear some good sense.

. . . as he came near the house he heard music and dancing.  So he summoned one of the servants and asked what these things meant.  “Your brother is here,” he told him, “and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.”

–Boiling.  I’m just boiling.  To come in from the field after working all day in the hot sun, to find everyone else has been putting together a party—to welcome my lazy, disrespectful, ungrateful, frivolous—

Then he became angry and didn’t want to go in.

–Quite right, too.  Anyone would be.  Now we’ll see justice done.

So his father came out and pleaded with him.

–Seems to me this dotty old man should apologize to him.

–But . . . it’s the father’s house and property, after all.  Can’t he do wait he wants with his own stuff?  Does the brother really have a right to be angry?  He sounds a little like Cain.  Only, of course, his little brother is no Abel . . .

–Pleaded with him.  Pleaded with him.  What father is like this?

But he replied to his father, “Look, old man–”

–Ooh.  Not very respectful is he?  Well, chalk it up to righteous anger.

“I have been slaving for you all these years, and I have never disobeyed your orders . . .

–Exactly. Obedient.  Blameless.

–Orders?  It’s a family, not a military camp.

. . . yet you never gave me so much as a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.

–Did he ever ask?  I wonder.

–Wait a minute: is this envy?  You’re supposed to speaking up for righteousness, young scion.  It’s not all about you.

“But when this son of yours came . . .”

–Er, your brother too.  Part of the family and all.  I wonder if the good boy had a part in making the bad boy what he was?

“. . . who has devoured your assets with prostitutes . . .”

–Yes!  Drive it home!

“. . . you slaughtered the calf for him.”

–Your turn, old man.  Too proud to apologize?

“Son,” he said to him, “you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.”

–Oh.  Well, I guess that’s true.

“But we had to celebrate, because this brother of yours was dead, and is alive again.  He was lost and is found”

* * * * * * * * * * *

It’s almost dark now.  The Master’s voice falls silent.

–Is . . . is that all?

–How does it end?  Does the elder brother go in and enjoy the party?  Has the younger brother really learned his lesson?  What about the inheritance he spent—will there be anything left for him?

–Well, that’s . . . I must say, that’s the most unsatisfying story I ever heard.  Who won?  You’d almost think both brothers are equally lost.  But that can’t be.

The Pharisees and scribes are the first to take their leave, gathering their robes and tassels about them and nodding briefly to the teacher, who nods back.  Then the women round up their little ones, and the householders with livestock head for the fields to see that their sheep are safely folded.  Last of all, old Simon the sot and young Amos the fool and the good-time girls, Rachel and Joanna.  Before she goes, Rachel impulsively grabs the Master’s hand.

“Is there such a father?” she asks him.  “Would he take me—would he take someone back who had hurt him so badly?  My own father barely noticed if I came or went, until the day I left for good.  Is there a father who watches for me?  I need to know, because–”

The light pressure on her wrist stops her, reminds her she can’t make excuses.  “Ask him,” Jesus says.  “Use my name.”

She knows who he’s talking about, and is filled with an inexpressible hope.

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for the first post in this series, go here.

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