THE BEGGAR AT THE GATES
Luke 16:19-31

A sermon given by the Rev. Richard H. Taylor
September 18, 2005 / 18th Sunday of Pentecost

This text is a familiar text. Often called "Dives and Lazarus," it tells the story of a rich man who feasted sumptuously, and a beggar who clamored for crumbs at his gate. They both die, and the way Jesus tells the story, in the after life their situations get reversed. The beggar Lazarus goes to heaven with Abraham. The rich man is being tormented in Hades.

There is much that can be said about this parable, or maybe more than a parable, maybe an allegory.

But let me focus for a moment on the revolutionary quality of Jesus' story. We tend to think that life is patterned, that things will stay the way they are or want them to be. That seems like a basic premise or at least hope of science: you can figure out the rules that govern things, and then that's how they work. Even economics think there are such laws.

But Jesus' story is of a different quality. Jesus points out this inborn sense of continuity of perpetuity: the rich man eats sumptuously "every day." It is expected to go on - every day. This is the order of things - every day. Watch where the wealth is, figure out the proper formula, and so it will be every day in perpetuity.

But Jesus says "no." It doesn't work that way. People die. Things change. In the land of the oppressive empire Jesus says "things change." Be aware of the change. Think upside down.

Interestingly, Jesus points out how the rich man in his story, even while he is being tormented in Hades, still doesn't get it. The rich man down in Hades says to Abraham, "send Lazarus with a dip of cool water to relieve my situation." He still thinks he is in charge. He still thinks his power is perpetual. The poor are here to serve him. Abraham says no, gives many good reasons.

But the rich man still won't let go. Then he says "send Lazarus to my father's house to warn my brothers." He thinks he can still order Lazarus around. Like his power is perpetual. Like it goes on in eternity.

No, says Abraham. The revolution has come.

Think of how many of Jesus' stories have this quality about them. Think of the man who builds barns so that he can put his excess into them, and then his soul is required of him. Think of the sinner in the Temple who prays "God have mercy on me a sinner," and goes away forgiven: revolution. Think of the people who actually get to eat at the feast of the master: it is the poor and lame who are compelled to come in: revolution.

Jesus is about contrasting the economies of this world with the economy of God. "Lay not up for yourselves treasures on Earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven." Different kind of treasure. Different kind of place. Revolution.

Even to the forgiven thief hanging next to him on the cross: "Today you will be with me in paradise." Revolution.

Part of what I what to do today is to break down this thinking that we can figure things out, tweak the formulas, and last forever. Baghdad and the levees of New Orleans demonstrate that nothing lasts forever.

So I want to say to you today that perpetuity, things going on as is, forever, the everlasting institution is not the Gospel. Easter is about eternal life. Not merely everlasting life. Eternal life is just more than going on. Eternal life has a quality about it.

The rich man dining sumptuously thought life went on like that "every day." But God saw that the quality was all wrong. So God changed it. Revolution.

I want you to think about the quality of living.

Next month the Health and Wellness Committee is sponsoring an academy class on end of life decisions. At the risk of stealing some of their thunder, I want to encourage you to have a living will. At least I want you to tell your family and loved ones what your wishes are.

And I hope that your wishes are not that you want to go on living in this world, hanging on forever. As a minister I have seen too many people in a perpetual vegetative state to be pleasing. Families go to extremes to keep a heart beating. Big costly machines provide breathing. It is the closest we can come on Earth to everlasting life, but it often has nothing in it of the quality of eternal.

Let me say, come that day, there is no need for anyone to keep my body alive in a perpetual vegetative state. I am not interested in having my heart beat in perpetuity. When it is time to let go, let go. After all, I think I have a great God who will change this body that it may be like God's glorious body. It's revolutionary. That's okay with me. I want a quality in my life, not merely perpetuity.

So think about the full quality of life. Think of living in the now. That's really what we want for ourselves, our world, even our churches.

Churches, yes, its also true of churches.

Maybe thirty years ago, maybe more, I saw a documentary film about a Church in Boston. The film included a reading of Jesus' story I just read for you, and it had the same title as today's sermon, "The Beggar at the Gates." That motion picture has strongly influenced me ever since. It was about the First Church in Roxbury.

Now, since I am a church historian, I actually knew some things about that Church that were not in the movie. Let me tell you a few of these.

Roxbury, as you may know was once a town in its own right, a rural town South of Boston, dating back to the 1630s. Eventually the City of Boston filled in some land, and expanded out to Roxbury, and annexed Roxbury into the City. And then, still much later, Roxbury became the poor Black section of the City of Boston.

Back in colonial times the first minister of the Roxbury Church was John Eliot. We remember Eliot today as the apostle to the Indians. Eliot was not a perfect person, but he made a difference. He truly believed that the native New England Indians were children of God and deserved the best things he could give them. He wanted to share the Gospel with them. So he visited them, lived with them, learned their language, published a Bible in their language. We can think of Eliot as a founder of multi-culturalism in New England, trying to understand and share.

Two centuries later - in the early nineteenth century there was a great split in many of the eastern New England Congregational Churches. Some took on an intellectual sophistication, an elite rationalist approach to life, that rejected most traditional Christian beliefs. A revolutionary eternity has been replaced with a plodding, day to day existence. This group, called Unitarians, got control of the First Parish Church in Roxbury. The warmer, more evangelical, more revivalistic, traditional Congregationalists, the people like our forbears, broke off and formed a new Church down the Street. Believing they had kept the faith of the first pastor, they called their Church Eliot Congregational Church.

Years later, when Roxbury became Black and poor, the older white members at Eliot Church hired a Black minister, and allowed their worship to be modified to serve the needs of the City's minorities. Today Eliot is a bustling 500 member UCC Church.

Not so with the First Church. That's where the movie comes in. The First Church has a white wooden colonial-style building about the same age as ours. It is surrounded by a very large green lawn, the old village green, that is owned by the Parish. The lush green park is completely surrounded by a fence that has locked gates, that were opened only on Sunday when there are Church services. Now the movie also shows the large number of children and youth living in the neighborhood. It shows how they are playing baseball in the crowded streets and having to dodge traffic. It shows children gazing through the grate of the fence wishing they had a better place to play.

The movie makers went to the Church on a Sunday, when they opened the gate for their service. The pastor, who lived in the suburbs, seemed very proud to take the movie makers around on a tour. He seemed happy they were making a movie about his Church. He showed the old clock on the back balcony, and the ripples in the early nineteenth century clear glass windows, the old pre-Unitarian days communion silver. Between six and ten people arrived for the service, mostly women, most of whom lived in the suburbs. They had their event, the door was double locked, then the gate, and they left.

This Church is alive, I guess. But it is sort of like the patient I find in a bed in a nursing home, not knowing their name, confused, sometimes in their own urine. Maybe they are above a perpetual vegetative state, but not much. I honor the elderly. I honor their care. Many never had a crisis where they could choose something else.

But where there is choice, what do we choose? What do we choose for our elderly relatives when the doctor calls? What do we choose for our Church?

And what does powerful Dives, eating sumptuously every day choose? Why does he think it will always be like this? Why does he think he will always be able to order Lazarus around? Why does he think it will always be the same?

Revolution.

Amen.