Readings: Genesis 15:1-6 | 1 John 4:16-21 | Luke 16:19-31
Text: Luke 16:19-31
This second Sunday into the season known as the Time of the Church begins with Jesus’ lesson about the rich man and Lazarus. It comes right after a dispute that Jesus was having with the Pharisees and their desire to justify their actions before God. So, in the story, Lazarus goes to heaven and the rich man goes to hell. While in hell, this rich man argues with Abraham that hell is really quite unfair. After all, if God were merciful, like He claims to be, He’d sent Lazarus to give even a drop of relief. Never mind that this man didn’t care to give Lazarus a crumb of his own. But we should be able to hold God to a higher standard. Besides, this isn’t really asking for all that much now, is it? Is this God really unwilling to do so little? It’s a reasonable request, after all. Except, you know, the hell part.
The problem is that we do the very same thing every day. I don’t think I should deserve eternal damnation just because my eyes happen to catch glimpse of a pretty skirt every now and then. Who gets hurt? I shouldn’t deserve hell because I get angry with people I think are fools. Shouldn’t God know that they’re fools as well? Why should I feel guilty for putting time with my family first? God will still be there for me next Sunday. If God is truly a merciful God, then these are small things. Nothing He should even be worried about, really.
And yet Jesus clearly speaks His judgment against every one of those things, specifically (Matt. 5:27-30, 5:21-26, 10:27). Maybe they’re not as small as we thought. Maybe we’re not as important as we thought. And I should say not. We believe we are the judge of God, that we stand over God Himself. We get to decide whether or not God lives up to our expectations. Is He really all that good? Is He really all that powerful? Let us weigh the evidence ourselves. Has He judged us correctly?
Every one of our sins should be considered little ones. Every one of our rebellions against God’s should be considered insignificant. Because we can justify them all. Even the most egregious ones. The pornography or the affair? I can explain that. The outright theft? It’s really not so bad as you suggest. Killed your parents or your children? I had good reasons. The lies, the deceit, the throwing of someone else under the bus? C’mon, everyone does that. God made me this way. Just what’s so sinful about it? Judge not, lest ye be judged. Nobody’s perfect. So it shouldn’t be a big deal for God to throw me a bone here. Give me some relief. After all, you claim to be just. You claim to be merciful. Prove it to me, by indulging my desires. And, God, if you won’t, it only shows your true colors.
How manipulative we are. It doesn’t matter how small we think our sins are. Every one of them is us placing ourselves as judge of the very God who made us. And every excuse is an wicked rejection of the very God who created us. Our condemnation is rightfully earned. Our damnation is totally deserved. Hell is exactly what we asked for. We wanted the chasm that cannot be crossed in order to keep God out and let us have our own way. And every sin, intended or not, and every excuse, whether good or not, widens the chasm further.
But the very worst may be when we accuse God of not doing enough. The rich man in hell refuses to believe that our Lord had done a sufficient job. Since he’s in hell, then obviously God should have done more. Here’s what you can do to redeem yourself, God: Send Lazarus back from the dead. That will surely be adequate to convince my five brothers to make the right choices.
But when Abraham says that Moses and the Prophets, that the Word of God is sufficient on its own, this man, like an impudent child shouts back, “No!” No to Moses! No to the Prophets! No to Abraham! No to the Word of God! It’s not enough. “It can’t be enough,” argues the rich man, “because I am here. And that’s not okay. Because here hurts. Here is not at all what I ever wanted. My good name has been forgotten in death. This is all your fault, God. So, if I have to be here, then I need someone to blame. Someone other than me.” Even in hell, the rich man demands to be the judge.
Sound familiar? We don’t have to make it into the pit of eternal suffering to feel that way. When Lazarus was alive, dumped at a gate, covered with sores, licked by the dogs, couldn’t this have been his cry? You and I have accused God of inadequacy and neglect when dealing with far less. That old Adam is dying inside of us. The one shouting ‘no,’ is me. And every pain, every suffering, everything that goes wrong, it drives my sinful flesh berserk with rage. And so I continue to pretend to be the judge. After all, the chasm we built between us and heaven by our sin really is too wide for us to cross, no matter how much we want to.
But did you notice something? Everything the rich man asks for is what Jesus actually does, only better. And everything Abraham says isn’t possible, is exactly what Jesus accomplishes. Jesus crossed the uncrossable chasm. Crossed from heaven into hell. And How appropriate that Jesus used His own cross to do it. Jesus entered into the fiery anger of God. Taking the entirety of the wrath we deserve onto Himself. Jesus takes it all. And not a bit of it is left for you or me. Jesus endured hell itself on that cross. And He did it in your place.
Jesus also crossed that chasm carrying water. Not just enough to cool the tongue. But enough to put out the fires of hell itself. By that water, we are baptized. With that water, we receive the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. And like Lazarus, our names are known. With that water, our names are written in the book of life. We are buried with Jesus by baptism into death, in order that just as Christ was raised from the dead, we too would have new life. [Romans 6:3-4]
That risen Christ is now sent to the house of our brothers. And to ours as well. To serve as the eyewitness to the death and resurrection that happened on our behalf. He’s sent in order to give you the same place as Abraham and Lazarus. Being a saint and getting to heaven has nothing to do with what’s in your wallet, nor your social standing, nor how cleverly you can justify yourself, nor the good things you have done. It rests entirely on Christ Jesus. After all, what good work did Lazarus do? Nothing. Yet, he received faith, grace, life, salvation. These are all gifts from Christ. And He gives them to you today as well.
Through these gifts. Through Holy Baptism, through the Word, through the Lord’s Supper, through things we have a hard time believing are all that effective, Christ does His work. Through these, Christ carried you out of hell and up to heaven. Through these, Christ has made us members of His Body, the Church. Because of that, it no longer matters if we have the rich man’s condition, or Lazarus’ here in this world. This life will always have pain, and it will have fleeting joys. But only one thing will remain forever. And you already have Him: Jesus Christ.
I really don’t know what it is that God sees in us. We are arrogant, judgmental, selfish, destructive, and manipulative people. We try to be above even God Himself, telling Him ‘no’ when His ways don’t suit us. Despite all that, Jesus both lived the life of Lazarus and suffered the fate of the rich man—all for us. How could we possibly be worth that to God the Father? It’s as though He saw what we might be without out sin. That’s because He looked at us, and saw Jesus. We have been clothed with Christ. Our sins are forgiven. In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Leave a Reply