Sermon – Rev. Judy Brennan
9-25-2016
Texts: Amos 6:1a, 4-7; Psalm 146; 1 Timothy 6:6-19; Luke 16:19-31
Every once in a while, I see a bumper sticker that says, “If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention.” I think that if the prophet Amos were alive today, he might have this on his car, if he was a car-driving kind of prophet. Anyway, when Amos left the farm in the 8th Century BCE and ventured northward into Israel, business was booming. Some people were doing well, but according to Amos, they weren’t doing right. Amos saw an affluence that had turned the hearts of the haves away from the needs of the have-nots. The piety of the rich was self-serving and self-absorbed. Amos tried to draw them a picture – connecting their neglect of the poor to the ominous signs of international politics on the horizon and he warned them that devastation was coming. But no one likes to be told that they’re wrong and no one likes to be told that they’re going to have to change, especially when money, comfort, and security are concerned. So, the political and religious leaders of the north tried to brush away Amos like an annoying fly.
“If you’re not outraged, then you’re not paying attention.” But in a way, it’s easier to not pay attention. Not just in Amos’ day, but in our own too. We might actually put a lot of effort into not paying attention because being outraged is incredibly uncomfortable. It’s uncomfortable for you and uncomfortable for those around you. If you’re paying attention and outraged about something, you’re probably going to want to talk about it. You’re probably going to want to do something about it. And that’s the cross that the prophets had to carry. They had an important message – to point out outrageously unjust situations to people who really did not want to listen or pay any attention to them whatsoever because it would require them to change.
This was exactly the same problem that Jesus had and why he told his listeners the parable of the rich man and poor Lazarus, our gospel passage this morning. There was a rich man who had nice clothes and more than enough to eat. At his gate was Lazarus, who didn’t have enough clothes or enough to eat. The rich man knew that he was out there, but just didn’t pay attention, even the dogs seemed to have more compassion for Lazarus as they licked his sores. Jesus goes on in the parable to show that were consequences in the next life for the way the rich man lived, just as there was consolation for Lazarus.
The thing is, when someone starts to pay attention to the injustice around them, yes, they’ll experience and express outrage, but under the outrage is really a profound sadness. A deep grief. The problem with those who were at ease in Israel, according to Amos, was that their comfort had robbed them of empathy. They were NOT grieved over the poverty and devastation of so many others around them, as long as they themselves were fine. And this intentional blindness kept them from seeing their own impending disaster. Maybe instead of Amos’ bumper sticker saying “outraged” maybe it would have said, “If you’re not grieving, you’re not paying attention.”
Walter Brueggeman, a very famous Old Testament scholar, tells us that the first stage in prophetic criticism is embracing grief. The other’s loss is also our loss: It should hurt like hell. If it doesn’t, then something inside us has died. Grief and empathy are an important part of life. They are an important part of what it means to be human, or humane. If we see another person in pain, it should hurt us too. This is compassion, this is the ability to empathize with another. And this is a good thing. It’s a sign of love, of care, of understanding.
But first, before we can experience compassion and empathy and that love that hurts from understanding another person’s pain, we have to pay attention. But it’s this “paying attention” part of things that’s tricky for people. And Amos and Jesus are both speaking to audiences that would prefer to NOT pay attention.
I have a very clear memory of one of my own experiences with trying not to pay attention…
My first year of college I attended St. Olaf College in Northfield, MN. For spring break that year, I had a group of friends who wanted to sign up for a service trip to Kingston, Jamaica. To tell you the truth, even though it was a service trip, I don’t know if I was excited and focused on the service part of it as much as I was excited to get to get out of Minnesota in the middle of winter to go to a Caribbean island. I didn’t have any grand expectations of having a life-altering experience, I was expecting to get a tan. However, what I saw and experienced there really did change my life.
This was my first time in a third world country and when I got there I was shocked on many levels by what I saw. The school we worked at was regarded as one of the best in Kingston, though it seemed dilapidated to me. It was also right next to a home and center for mentally and physically disabled children and adults who would come over to help us with the work. After some long days of painting, cleaning, and playing with kids, I was worn out physically and mentally. Yet, I was constantly amazed at the energy, resourcefulness, and lack of self-pity of the people and children working alongside me and my friends. One man in particular stands out in my mind. He lived over at the home for the disabled, as he had since he was a kid. He had stumps for arms and legs and got around the compound by scooting himself around on a skateboard. Yet it was this man, with his baseball cap at a jaunty angle that was the school’s handyman. He was a wiz at fixing things and I even watched him change a tire. Though he and others faced physical and or mental handicaps, all the people I met there faced other kinds of barriers, barriers prohibiting them from access to opportunities that I had always taken for granted.
One night after a long, hard day of working, a group of us went to a restaurant on the top of a building in the middle of the city. As we looked out from our rooftop that was decorated with lights, we could see the white lights of the city that lay shining at our feet like silver glitter on a dark blanket. In one direction were the outlines of dark mountains and in the other direction, the moon reflected off the shimmering waters of the ocean. The stars were sparkling above us as we danced to soft reggae after eating a delicious meal of Jamaica’s famous jerk chicken. I remember leaning over the side of the building with the wind blowing in my hair, absorbing the beauty of the place and reflecting on our trip. Now this is what I had expected. This was the real Jamaica.
But then I happened to look down and saw some people lying there sleeping in the streets below me and at that moment I literally felt like the rich man looking down on poor Lazarus. The juxtaposition of the moment struck me and will be etched in my mind forever. I knew that I would be accountable if I didn’t do anything. I knew that I was not supposed to forget that there exists rooted poverty and oppression, no matter where I am. I’d seen injustice face to face, and it made me look long and hard at my own life, where I’d come from, where I was at, and most importantly where I wanted to go. My eyes had seen the truth. I was paying attention. Now what was I going to do with it?
That confrontation with reality was a life-altering experience and it did change the course of my life and relationship with God and the world. I almost dropped out of school. I considered moving to Jamaica. I did end up transferring colleges and my life took on a different trajectory from that point. But now, more than 20 years after that experience, I wonder: Over the years have I shut myself off again in my tower that protects me from the messiness of life? Am I still paying attention?
As I was talking about this passage with someone this week, one person shared her struggle that the rich man didn’t really seem like that bad of a guy – so, he like to eat and dress well. Is that really so terrible that it landed him down in Hades? However, day after day, he had poverty and suffering literally right outside of his front gate. Every day he had the opportunity and the resources to come down and do something to help and he did nothing. He ignored these problems, for whatever reasons, and allowed himself to become desensitized to the suffering of another. His sin was his insensitivity and unresponsiveness to suffering.
But not only that, the parable makes the point that even in Hades, he’s still not paying attention and his arrogance continued. He wants Lazarus to come and take care of him, even though he did nothing for him during life. But he doesn’t even condescend to ask Lazarus directly, he tries to use “Father Abraham”, someone of his own perceived status to order Lazarus to help him. And when Abraham gently tells him that it’s not possible, he tries again to get Abraham to send Lazarus on an errand for him. Not to minister to others in physical need back on earth like Lazarus, but to his own brothers who were also living lives of narcissistic self-indulgence and apathy. Even then, he still just doesn’t get it. He’s still not paying attention. The parable asks the listeners then and now, “Will you? Will you pay attention?”
The safety and security of being up high has deceptively destructive side effects. See, the higher one goes, the less oxygen there is, the less oxygen means you get sleepy and sluggish, content to the point of self-asphyxiation. Coming down off our little perches of false security is scary and what’s below seems overwhelming. But coming down, paying attention, and engaging with the messiness of the world and offering to give or serve in some way may benefit ourselves and our souls way more than someone else’s.
The thing is, in our daily walk as children of God, God has given us things to pay attention to. Paying attention to the needs and concerns of our neighbor, whether that neighbor be near or far, is part and parcel of what it means to be faithful and of what it means to be human. We cannot ignore the pain of our neighbor because God does not ignore their pain. To know and to listen and to be aware of the needs, pains, and concerns of another is to love them. And even if we do nothing else, this is a step in the right direction. But to have this compassion and empathy for another is also the first step of being able to offer help and healing. And this healing extends not only to the one in need, but also to the one who allows themselves to be vulnerable to the pain of others.
The thing is, whether we see ourselves as that rich man or Lazarus, we all need someone that can rescue us. We all need someone that can come down and cross that chasm to save us. God, who was higher than high, was motivated through pure love and abounding compassion, to come down to us. God decided to cross the uncrossable chasm first, to come down to minister to us, to be here for us, to save us all no matter who we are, because we all need God’s help. We can’t cross that chasm to come up, so God crossed the chasm to come down entering into our crazy, messed up world to redeem us, and bring us to God.
And the good news is that God still comes to us in many unexpected ways. The name Lazarus means “God helps”. God shows up in unlikely and unpredictable forms of our modern day Lazaruses to touch our hearts and confront us with truths. God asks us to be sensitive, compassionate, and courageous as we respond to those in need whether they be in Jamaica or Minnesota, Charlotte or Tulsa, Syria or Seattle. God comes with love to help all of us, to flip our worldviews around, to warm our hearts and wills with sensitive compassion. God comes to confront us with truth, not to condemn us, but to rescue us. Sometimes it’s only when our hearts are broken open, that God can fill them with love. Amen.