Jesus’ Challenge to Rich and Poor
Posted by stpauls on September 27, 2010 under Sermons | 
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While on sabbatical, I joined the St. Willibrord Society.
This rather ominous sounding group of people, named after the first Bishop of Utrecht in the Netherlands who died in 739, brings together Anglicans and Old Catholics from around the world.
Old Catholics…? the name alone will make some people’s hair stand on edge. Why would we Anglicans want anything to do with such a group? Aren’t those these crazy people who want Latin services, and who are extremely sexist, homophobic, and even deny the Holocaust? Well, no. Or at least not the ones I was hanging out with. And neither am I talking about those self-styled Old Catholics in North America, who are rather odd and colourful, often headed by fancy-titled bishops with an ego the size of Nunavut, but a following the size of Lilliput.
The kind of Old Catholics I connected with is a group of national churches, all in communion with the ancient see of Utrecht. For the most part, these churches separated from the Roman Catholic Church in the 19th century, because they could not in good conscience agree with the inventions of the first Vatican Council, such as the dogmas of the infallibility and the supremacy of the Bishop of Rome. Of course, this makes them rather likable for us Anglicans, as we too find these 19th century dogmas incompatible with Scripture. Furthermore, ever since being liberated from under the yoke of Rome, these Old Catholics Churches have claimed for themselves such wonderful, ancient, and venerable traditions as married clergy, liturgy in the vernacular, synodical government, and the importance of lay ministry. All Old Catholics Churches practice sacramental hospitality for all baptised regardless of denominational affiliation. Most admit women to all orders of the church. And some even bless same-sex unions.
Sounds all rather close to us, right? And indeed, we have been in full communion with these Old Catholics since 1931.
And the St. Willibrord Society was formed as an affirming reaction to this agreement of full communion. Members of the Society come together to support each other, to learn from each other, to pray and celebrate the sacraments with each other, and to further our common mission.
I joined (or I should say re-joined) the St. Willibrord Society during the International Old Catholic Congress, which I attended this past August in Zurich. As part of the Congress, the society organised an evening event. About 20 Old Catholics and Anglicans gathered to do what we do best: eat, drink, and chat. We shared stories of successful ministry projects and flourishing church ventures. The Rector of St. Paul’s in Vancouver, for example, regaled everybody with stories about the Advocacy Office, the Labyrinth, our diverse worship services, and “Our House”…
But we also bemoaned the state of affairs of the church in general and of the society in particular. Like so many ecclesiastical groups, the St. Willibrord Society is losing membership, particularly among the young. It is a sad state of affairs!
To counteract the demise, the group brainstormed about what to do.
But, frankly, it was all rather frumpy: There was nothing innovative, nothing exciting, nothing that pushed the boundaries, nothing that opened our eyes to look beyond our doors. This was a room full of wonderful people, for sure. There were some rather bright minds gathered, committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. But our discussion very much stayed within the box.
Until one participant asked a few poignant questions. This particular member of the society knew that there are Anglican and Old Catholic parishes operating alongside each other in a number of Swiss cities. So, the question was this: Why didn’t the two denominations work together in mission projects?
Stunned, embarrassed silence. You could almost hear the thoughts of those gathered: Mission? Us? No, not us! We leave that to the Evangelicals.
The questioner raised an eyebrow, but then continued to ask: Well, why couldn’t Anglicans and Old Catholics in, say, Berne, get together, say, once a month and organise, say, a food-bank?
There was a sigh of relief. No evangelism. Thank God!
But this was quickly followed by more embarrassed silence. Nobody could envision doing something quite that radical.
And the conversation drifted off to other matters.
It would be too easy to read today’s Gospel story from Luke as a simple condemnation of wealth. To say that the rich man goes to hell, because he is rich, and the poor man rests in Abraham’s bosom, because he is poor, would oversimplify the text. There are poor people who are anything but saintly as much as there are rich people who get it, who get Jesus’ challenge to us in today’s text.
Yes, today’s text is a challenge by the One in whom God is revealed and in whom God’s reign is born among us. It is indeed a radical challenge that goes way beyond the amount of money we might have stashed away in our accounts or in our portfolios.
The problem isn’t that the rich man is rich, but the problem is that the rich man closed his door into the face of Lazarus. Literally. The poor man lies in front of the rich man’s door without access, without contact, without connection. For the rich man it is a way to shut out, not only the poor man, but also the calamities, the misery, and the injustices of the world.
The rich man’s ignorance is the reason for the demise of the poor man. And the rich man’s self-centredness, self-absorption, and egocentrism is also the reason for his own demise: He ends up in hell, in the hell of loneliness, while the poor man rests in the bosom of Abraham, cared for and embraced by love. The separation between the rich man and the poor man is no longer just a door, now it is an abyss that cannot be bridged.
Jesus shares this story to warn us against complacency and ignorance. The root cause of death, death that ultimately can no longer be bridged, is this: Self-absorption and believing that we can run the show all by ourselves, without connection not only to God but also to the least of our sisters and brothers. St. Paul put it like this: “The wages of sin is death.” (Romans 6:23). Applied to today’s story from the Gospel, Paul’s words would translate thus: The wages of ignorance are eternal separation from resting in the bosom of Abraham.
However, this must be clear also. Hell is not the punishment by an overly vengeful deity. Hell is rather what we bring about for ourselves, when we disconnect and stew in our ignorance or complacency.
Let me clarify this with a metaphor that has been around the block a couple of times:
Do you know the difference between hell and heaven?
Well, in hell and heaven we will all look the same: We will have our normal bodies, but our arms will be elongated, without elbow and spoon-like. There will be enough food, both in hell and in heaven, but you cannot bend your arms to place food into your mouth. So, how can you tell the difference between hell and heaven then? Well, in hell, people continue trying to feed themselves, but without success. In heaven, people feed each other.
Yes, today’s story is warning. Jesus tries to wake us from the slumber induced by our ignorance, our sense of entitlement, and our self-centredness. Jesus wants to reveal that in God’s eyes life is only successful, when it is lived with open eyes, open ears, and open hearts both for God and for the needs of others.
This is why I shared my experience at the beginning of this sermon. The encounter with the Old Catholics was a wake-up call for me. It was a wake-up call, because far too often we mainline Christians (be it Anglicans, Old Catholics, or members or others churches) bathe ourselves in a state of complacency, not unlike the rich man in today’s Gospel story. We are satisfied with what we have and close our doors to those around us, pulling up the draw bridge. Church too often is just a place of refuge, disconnected from what goes on around us.
And, yes, yes, yes: a safe place we must remain! Especially here at St. Paul’s Anglican Church in the West End! Many of our fellow parishioners know what it means to be Lazarus. Many have experienced what it means to sleep on the wrong side of the door. Many know of poverty in body, mind, or soul. And St. Paul’s Anglican Church needs to remain and continue to be a place for all to experience the love and compassion that the poor man experienced in the bosom of Abraham.
But that must not lead us to close our eyes, our ears, and our hearts to the needs of others. Rather, let us continually brake through ignorance and complacency. Let us create a heaven, let us feed others, extending our arms to those around us. Let us support and be involved in the Advocacy Office and its Homeless Outreach Program, in the Labyrinth as it allays spiritual hunger, in “Our House” and its outreach to those imprisoned by addiction, and the in many other ministries here in this congregation; ministries, which do open doors, hearts, minds, and souls through healing, through hospitality, through reflection, and through worship.
Jesus’ words are a wake-up call for us too.