It is amazing the amount of attention the Bible gives to material possessions. In parables and oracles it warns about the delusions that wealth brings, and turns iconoclastic about the way we humans make idols of our dollars. It repeatedly directs readers' attention to the poor and the destitute. It constantly asks impertinent questions about how we earn and spend our income. So brash is the Bible about material possessions that the preacher who tries to reflect the biblical accent is likely to be accused of "talking too much about money."

A string of comments in Luke's Gospel culminates in Jesus' story of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31). The tale is spun around the curtains that wealth has drawn on the windows of the rich man so that he is unable to see the beggar at his gate. His flaw is not that he is mean or abusive or arrogant. He is simply blind. Only in the next life, when he is rid of his riches, is he able to see Lazarus, now secure at Abraham's side. The parable finally directs its hearers to the scriptures, where insight is available and where an option is offered to the blindness of the rich man.

The issue of material possessions appears and reappears in the section of Luke's Gospel called the travel narrative (12:13-34; 14:12-24; ch. 16). Four of the lections in recent Sundays have focused on the deceptiveness of wealth (enticing the rich to presume they can ensure a secure future), the potential idolatry of possessions, the importance of attending to the poor, and the critical importance of the manner in which one gives alms (Propers 13, 14, 17, 20). The climax of this Lukan interest comes in the lesson for this Sunday, the dramatic story of the rich man and Lazarus (16:19-31).

Why is so much attention given to material possessions? Some commentators would argue that the narrative is directly aimed at Luke's community, which either is composed of predominantly rich people needing to be reminded of their obligations to the poor, or is a community in tension between rich and poor. At the heart of the gospel is the great reversal in which the rich and powerful, who in this life perceive no need for divine grace, are cut off from the people of God, while the poor, the lowly, and then outcasts are given a proper place in the community of faith. In any and all communities, the promise is that God reverses the social and economic scale in surprising ways.

Nowhere is this reversal more vividly put than in the story of the rich man and Lazarus. Right at the beginning we are faced with a sharp contrast-rich man, poor man. What is mentioned about the rich man are the signs of his lavish wealth, his well-stocked wardrobe and his sumptuous diet ("every day"). Lazarus is depicted in gross terms that we would rather not hear. The mention of dogs licking his sores identifies him as not only poor but also unclean, and thus an outcast.

It is only after the death of both characters and their reversed positions in the afterlife that we begin to discover the real problem with the rich man. He is not harshly condemned. He is not indicted because he is rich, as if there were something inherently evil about money. We are not told that he persecuted Lazarus or deliberately refused him food or sponsored legislation to rid his gates of beggars.

The difficulty with their relationship all those years on earth is that the rich man never sees Lazarus as one like himself, created in the image of God. "One of the prime dangers of wealth is that it causes 'blindness.'" The rich man's wealth has so distorted his vision that he is unable to perceive the plight of the beggar at his gate, to identify with his predicament, and to ease his suffering. Unfortunately, prosperity has a way of limiting our perspective, of closing down the shades on the distasteful so as not to disturb our enjoyment. It is an age-old story.

It is a story that is lived each and every day in this the most affluent country in the History. Our eyes are closed to the suffering and pain, the hunger and death, that threatens the lives of children, women, men, and old and young.

Carlton Pearson was a man who had it all. He was one of the top Evangelical Pentecostal preachers in America. He had a church that numbered in the thousands. He had the ear of Presidents and world leaders. He was a man considered to be blessed by God. He was for all intents and purposes a man like Lazarus. Yes, he preached the gospel, from week to week, but he never really saw the truth of that Gospel until 1996.

He writes  "I had a profound experience that transformed my life, and my worldview- a view that had been steeped in particular religious mindset for over 40 years. One evening, I was watching the nightly news, as I have done religiously for the last 25 years. My daughter, Majeste, was less than a year old. I was holding her in one arm and eating my supper with the other. I was watching the news report concerning the return of the Hutus and Tutsis fro Rwanda to Uganda after months of exile, where they had been persecuted and practically starved to death. The news reports showed women and children with bellies swollen, collapsing on the ground, and mothers with withered breasts, flies gathered at the corners of their eyes and mouths, and their bones protruding through their black, leathery skin.

Feeling guilty and angry, I berated God concerning his "earth project" which appeared to me to be a failure: God, I don't know how you can sit on your throne there in heaven and let these poor people drop to the ground hungry, heartbroken, and lost and just randomly suck them into hell, thinking nothing of it, and be a Sovereign God, not to mention a God of love."
Pearson continues; "There was an eerie silence before I heard a voice within me: "Is that what you think we're doing, sucking them all into hell? " 'That's what I've been taught," I responded angrily. "And what would change that?" "They need to get saved so they can go to heaven." I answered confidently And how would that happen? I responded, "Somebody needs to go over there and get them saved by preaching the Gospel to them!" "Well then, the voice responded, " If you really believe that, why don't you put down your food and baby, turn off your big screed TV, and catch the first plane, over there and save them." I burst into an emotional mix of tears, grief, compassion, shame, guilt, and anger. Then I retorted" "Don't put that burden on me, Lord. I doing the best I can! I can't leave this little baby girl and the boy you gave me. If you wanted me to do what you have suggested, you should have made that clear before you gave me this family. My hands are full, I can't saver the whole world." "Precisely," the voice responded. "That's what we already did. But these people don't know it, and regretfully, most of you who claim to be my followers don't believe it. If you would spend your life living and giving this message to people, you wouldn't see such painful and pitiful global pictures." The voice concluded: "We are not sucking these dear people into Hell. Can't you see they are already there? We're bringing them into heaven before they suffer even more in the Hell you have created for them and continue to create for yourselves and others all over the planet. We redeemed and reconciled all of humanity at Calvary. That is what the cross is all about." Pearson writes: It had taken God less than five minutes to unravel the truth I lived by for more than fifty years and reshape my understanding of the purpose of my life to come."

Pearson began to preach the "Gospel of Inclusion," and in so doing brought down the wrath of the religious establishment, that he was a part of, that had trained him in an exclusive version of Jesus' message, that said one must confess Jesus Christ as Lord, to believe and be saved. If you didn't you were damned to hell. But they left out the part that calls each person to account for how they live in this world, how they treat their brothers and sisters, who are less fortunate, the poor, the oppressed, the blind, the lame. Pearson lost everything. He likens his experience to being in hell. A hell created by people who believed in and exclusive God, who favors only those who think, believe and live as they do.

Time and time again throughout the Prophets and the Torah, God called the people to live in righteousness; to do justice, to love mercy, to care for the widow, the poor, the stranger, and the alien. God does not show partiality when it comes to people, but God does have a distinct purpose for humanity. It is within the circle of that purpose that God unconditionally loves and embraces all people on the planet. The Jews were chosen for a purpose: God wanted to present to the world the idea of one God and one ultimate hope for all revealed through a Messiah. This Messiah was to bring a message of reconciliation, not necessarily between God and humankind, but between human, spiritual, political, social and physical conflicts. "The moment we fully and vitally realize who and what we are, we then begin to build our own world even as God builds his." (Emerson, In Tune with the Infinite.)

Lazarus lived in the lap of luxury blinded to the plight of the poor right outside his door. In death, he realized the mistake he had made, closing himself off from the relationships that God called him too. What is happening in the advent of Jesus is the fulfillment of prophecies contained in the holy writings. There are a host of texts in those writings that remind Israel (and us) of its covenant responsibility to the poor in the land. If the brothers pay no heed to them, then they will pay no heed to one from the dead. The continuity is affirmed between the scriptures and the witness of the community of the resurrection. Our mission as "the Body of Christ" is to awaken people to the extraordinary love and hope of God's love for all people and to share that love with a world that is desperately in need of healing and forgiveness.

Rev. Westmoreland September 30, 2007