The Neighbor Whose Food Fell on the Floor

Luke 16:19-31
Worship Through Service
September 25, 2022
Rev. William Carter

Jesus said, “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, 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.’ He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’ Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, Father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

 

Before we rush off to assume we know the meaning of the story, let me remind us of the obvious: the stories of Jesus are slippery. Often when we hear a parable, we think we know what it’s going to say. And then an electrical switch is thrown, or a trapdoor opens, or we find ourselves confused about something that once seemed so clear.

For instance, an expert in the law of Moses once asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” So the Lord spins a story about a man from Samaria who cared for a wounded traveler. Now we name hospitals after him, “The Good Samaritan Hospital.” But then, the trap door opens. We discover that the Jews of Jesus’ day wanted nothing to do with the Samaritan. When he tells that story, Jesus forces his fellow Jew to name the hypothetical Samaritan as his neighbor – and he cannot do it. And the whole story gets published in the Bible.

We are fortunate that we have Luke, the Gospel writer, as our guide. As he collects the stories that Jesus told, he frequently offers guidance in how to hear them. When we get to chapter eighteen next month, Luke will introduce one story by saying, “He told this parable about the need to pray always and not lose heart.” Now we know what he wants us to hear. And then there’s another, “He told this story to those who are arrogant and treat others with contempt.” We get the punchline before the joke. And that’s Luke speaking, not Jesus.

He does this, I believe, because a good story can have multiple meanings. It can spin off in different directions, each of them valid. There’s enough internal electricity to shock you in five or six ways.

But then there’s the story for today. It has no frame around the picture. It comes without context. We don’t know the situation that prompts it. Jesus simply ignites it like a stink bomb and lets it do its work.

Goes like this: a rich man ate like a king, died, and went to hell. A hungry man died and went to eternal life, resting on the bosom of Abraham. That’s all we know about them: one ate, the other one didn’t eat. And when their lives here were over, their situations were reversed.

Jesus doesn’t tell us why. We are left to ponder the reason. And it’s a story, too, not a description of facts. Not yet at least. Could it happen? That is God’s decision, not ours. But it gives us something to chew on.

If we know anything about the Gospel of Luke, we could hear this one coming. We heard it right after the angel told Mary that she was pregnant. The Spirit of God fills her lungs, and she bursts into song – remember that? And listen to the revolutionary lyrics that she sings: God has brought down the powerful from their thrones and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty (1:52-53). In other words, God is the great equalizer, if not now then later.

And when her son Jesus finds his voice, remember what he declares:

Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. (6:21)

Woe to you whose bellies are full now, for you will be hungry. (6:25)

These are tough words to those who have full plates and a lot of pleasant things. And Jesus does not explain any of this. He doesn’t tell us why. He leaves it for us to chew on.

Some will remember how he speaks of a great reversal in the dominion of God. “Some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last” (13:30). This sounds like God is going to mess with about our priorities, our preferences, and our privileges. It’s a reminder that God makes the rules. And God corrects all the wrongs.

And sometimes, to hear Jesus speak, he declares that we could join God in making things right. Like the day he was eating with some rich people, and he announced, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (14:11). No doubt some were stunned by his words. And others said, “Pass me another slice of chocolate cake.”

Are you hearing the context of the story that we heard today? We should not be surprised that Jesus should drop this stink bomb about the man who ate and the man who didn’t eat. And we shouldn’t be the least bit surprised when his story tells about what happened to each of them.

Yet there are two surprises in the story, hidden in the details.

First, the rich man has so much food that some of it falls on the floor. That’s a delicious little detail in verse 21. The poor man was so hungry that he would eat whatever fell from the table. We can presume he was starving to death. The neighborhood dogs took pity on him, but the rich man did not. Perhaps the rich man was so busy eating that he paid no attention to what was going on just outside his gate. Either that, or he didn’t care. It’s a haunting detail.

The second detail is worse, and it is simply this: he knew the poor man’s name, Lazarus. They were neighbors. We do not know anything more about their relationship. The rich man had a house. Lazarus slept on the street. The rich man’s peas and carrots rolled onto the floor; Lazarus starved in isolation. We don’t know how one of them prospered and the other didn’t, and that’s irrelevant to the story. The rich man knew Lazarus’s name – and he still didn’t share what he had. According to the story, they were close enough to see one another – and one of them wasn’t looking.

And when he’s burning in the flames of hell, the rich man calls out, “Father Abraham, send Lazarus to cool me off with water.” He knows him, presumes Lazarus will serve him. “Nope,” says Abraham, “it’s too late for that.”

Then the rich man calls out again, “Father Abraham, send Lazarus to warn all my brothers, so they don’t end up like me.” Again, he thinks he can direct both heaven and his poor neighbor to do as he wishes. Abraham says, “No dice. They have a Bible to warn them; let them listen to that.”

And that’s where the story ends. It doesn’t tell us what to think or what to do. We are free to dismiss it as a story. We could say, “Jesus, you set off another stinker,” and then say, “What are we going to hear next week?” But if we’ve heard the story, really heard it, it’s like a piece of Scotch tape that we cannot get off our fingers.

So trust me when I tell you that I’m not going to tell you what to do with the story. If the Word of Christ has gotten close to you this morning, you have some ideas of what to do. And you already know there is no quick fix to make everything right. There’s no simple, one-time banquet that the rich can put on for the poor, even to assuage a guilty conscience. Food justice takes continuous effort. You can feed the hungry today and they will be hungry tomorrow. And who among us is prepared to fix the deeper causes of poverty?

But here’s the thing. We are neighbors. All of us. And we must stay at it. We help as we are able because it might keep the needy alive for another day. And we help because it’s equally good for those of us who have so much. There is nothing like feeding and serving our neighbors to puncture the illusion that we are fortunate, or lucky, or blessed when others are not. That’s all an illusion. The truth is we share the same neighborhood.

Remember how Mother Mary was filled with the Holy Spirit? She sang the truth, “God has brought down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly.” This is how the Gospel works among us. This is how the words of Moses and the prophets come alive. We give ourselves as servants to one another. We listen to God speak on our cushioned pews – but then we do something about what we have heard.

In her study of the parables of Jesus, Amy Jill Levine says this about the story for today:

The parable suggests that the gift of eternal life in paradise is possible. “Heaven,” however understood, is ours, but it is also ours to lose. The point is not that we have to “earn” it. The point is that we uphold our part of the covenant by behaving as human beings should behave: we care for the poor; we are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers. If we expend everything on ourselves, then there is nothing left in our heavenly treasury. [1]

The alternative is to care. To make compassion a muscular verb. To open our gates, to set more places at our tables, and to live as neighbors. How do we do that? I don’t know; for there is no single answer. Like the stories of Jesus, there may be more than one right answer. Yet we keep at it. We persist. We live in the love of God, who gives us a world where there is enough for everybody.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
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[1] Amy Jill Levine, Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2014) 295.