Proper
21C-1 Luke 16: 16-31
Good morning. Those of you who
pay close attention to the lectionary will notice that I’ve expanded today’s appointed
reading from Luke--chapter 16, verses 19-31--to include verses 16, 17, and 18
at the beginning, which form the transition or bridge connecting the reading we
had last Sunday to this morning’s
reading, the Parable of Lazarus and Dives.
(Dives, from the Latin word
for “Rich Man,” which in custom over time has been attributed to this particular
rich man as his proper name.) There may
be a couple of reasons why the lectionary omitted these verses, but the more I
read them the more I think they are really helpful and maybe even necessary to
get the full impact of what Jesus is saying.
To set the stage, how we got here: Jesus and his disciples have come near to
Jerusalem, on the way to Holy Week.
Jesus is teaching and preaching and performing amazing acts of
healing. The crowds are excited and
growing larger. With pilgrims from all
over the world beginning to arrive for the Passover, the religious authorities—the
Scribes and Pharisees--are getting nervous that this Jesus-thing may bring
unwelcome attention from the Romans. So one
of the Chief Rabbis invites Jesus home for a Sabbath dinner with some
ecclesiastical colleagues. His motive
seems to be intimidation--to show that this untrained preacher from the Galilee
can’t hold his own with a room full of seminary-trained theologians. But before they even sit down Jesus is called
outside to greet a crowd that had spontaneously gathered to see him. He performs an act of power, healing a man
with a serious illness. The crowd cheers
in exuberant wonder and joy, and the religious authorities are left
fumbling. Somewhat awkwardly they accuse
Jesus of a technical violation of Jewish law related to work on the
Sabbath. But Jesus isn’t intimidated. He notes that blessing and healing are not in
fact forbidden on the Sabbath in scripture, and then he criticizes them for
being so small and mean-spirited. If
it’s their role to be leaders and teachers of faith, they’re the ones who seem off
track. He tells three stories about the
Kingdom of God, about what I called the “heavenly economy,” —the Parables of
the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the Lost Son—to show a Biblical view of God’s character: his
extravagant love, his abundant generosity, his unfailing mercy and
forgiveness. Then we heard in the
Parable of the Unjust Steward, how we can learn to be really successful in the
economy of this world, or really successful in the economy of heaven, but that
we can’t serve two Masters. We need to
choose--one or the other. Luke points
out in an aside that the Scribes and Pharisees were well-known by all to be great
lovers of money. So a confrontational
moment. Jesus saying that they seem to
have made their choice about which master they are going to serve, no matter
what their religious titles or offices may suggest. Hard not to think in our own context about
some popular preachers and their multi-million dollar homes and private
jets. When you see that happening, it’s
hard not to ask questions, and Jesus is pretty straightforwardly inviting the crowds
to look at their leaders and to ask exactly those questions. And as we set out into this morning’s reading
I want to underscore that point, which is that while there is a great deal for
all Christians to reflect on and apply in this series of parables and sermons,
Jesus is very much addressing issues about leadership, about the stewardship of
authority. The application we take from
these readings about expectations and responsibilities-- and as we move into
the second part of Luke 16 is related especially first to the Scribes and
Pharisees in that setting moving toward Holy Week and then by extension to the
leadership of the church, to pastors and preachers and teachers, bishops. As Luke quoted Jesus back in Chapter 12,
“from those to whom much has been given, much will be expected.”
So on to these three prefatory verses, 16, 17, and 18. (In this morning’s leaflet, page 9.) “The
Law and the Prophets were, until John,” Jesus begins. He doesn’t mention his cousin John the
Baptist often, but it’s a huge deal when he does. Actually for anybody in prominent position
to say the name in public like that is going to be a political bombshell. And then thenext sentence that is actually
about as awkward for the translators in Greek as it is for us in an English
translation: “Since then the good news of the Kingdom of God is preached, and
every one enters it violently.” That’s
a pretty literal version. The sense of
what Jesus is saying here may have sounded something like this: “you Scribes
and Pharisees have had the Bible for a long time. Moses and the Prophets. You’re the experts! You’ve studied it all your lives, certainly
for a long time before John the Baptist came on the scene. It’s not like God’s word is new
information! And it has been your job, long
before John out there in the wilderness started to preach, to present God’s
Word to God’s people and to lead them in living accordingly. That’s always been your job! But in fact that didn’t happen, did it? We didn’t hear that call, until the Baptist
came along. In a society that has
wandered far from its spiritual roots, you have been exceptionally silent. “You have to go along to get along”--that
seems to be your motto. Fussing along
with obscure tidbits of ceremonial regulation.
Estimating the number of angels on the head of a pin. John on the other hand wasn’t a seminary
graduate, not a Scribe or Pharisee, no fancy ecclesiastical title or position--but
he knew what God says in scripture, and I guess you could say he did the job
you were supposed to be doing. And here
we get to verse 18, the next sentence. Jesus
doesn’t have to spell it out. They know
what’s coming. When Herod Antipas
scandalously divorced his wife and sent her packing and then at the same time even
more scandalously took the wife of his own brother to his bed--his own brother’s
wife!-- and then ostentatiously married her in a mockery of a religious
ceremony, you were silent. You just
didn’t dare rock that boat of yours. Fear.
Love of status, security. The
opportunity to mingle with the elites of the nobility. John knew what the Bible said, and so did you. He knew sin when he saw it, and so did you. But he wasn’t afraid to call it what it was. To stand up and be counted. No matter what the consequences. And we just didn’t hear from you. He, of
course ended up with his head on a platter, while you all apparently did pretty
well in your silence--with promotions and raises and corner offices.
But here’s the thing: you may just conveniently today skip over the
parts of God’s word that make you uncomfortable, or that might make the people
who sign your paycheck uncomfortable, or that might get you carted away to
Herod’s dungeon. But no matter how
tightly you close your eyes or hold your hands over your ears, the fact of the
matter is that God’s Word isn’t going anywhere.
Here, Verse 17. “Easier for
heaven and earth to pass away, than for one dot, one vowel of the law to become
void.” It may seem to you that John
played the game and lost, and that you played the game and won. But
maybe, just maybe, the final score hasn’t yet been entered into the books . . .
.
Then this word that pronounces judgment on Herod and that cost John his
life. A bold reminder from Jesus now in
his words of the moment when they had had a choice, and had chosen to keep
their mouths shut. If somebody is
recording this on his cellphone now Jesus is going to get into some real hot
water. Verse 18. At every marriage I’ve officiated I begin in
the Address at the beginning of the service to say, “the covenant of marriage
was established by God in creation . . . and holy Scripture commends it to be
honored among all people.” From the Book of Common Prayer page 423. To say those words to the king meant death for
John. And, again: not a peep from the
established religious authorities.
Which leads Jesus directly to the Parable of Lazarus and Dives. If you want to know who played the game and
won, you’ll need to wait to see what the score is when the game is really
over. So, the poor man languishing at
the gate. The rich man in his
self-centered comfort and so completely out of synch with what the Bible has to
say about the stewardship of wealth to reflect God’s own compassion and
generosity and mercy. A parable about
the consequences of choosing the wrong master.
When they both die poor Lazarus is gathered into the bosom of Father
Abraham, but Dives finds himself broiling for eternity in the fiery cauldron of
hell--the chasm separating him from the heavenly Kingdom as absolute as the one
that he had allowed to keep Lazarus separate from him in this world. He makes his plea, that a messenger be sent
to warn his brothers, so that they might avoid his fate. Father Abraham’s reply circles back to echo
the first sentence at verse 16. “They
have Moses and the Prophets.” As of
course do the Scribes and Pharisees. And
as we do, for that matter. And we all
have to make our own choices. Jesus is
pushing their buttons hard now, and you can almost feel the temperature rising,
the intensifying hostility. Standing
there face to face, the crowds looking on: you’re the ones who are wearing the
robes of religious office, after all, the appointed teachers of the Word, the
stewards of the promise. And yet when
the Word is tested in the world, it never seems to be your heads that end up on
a serving platter. Never your arms
stretched out on a cross.
The consequences. As we read
last Sunday, no servant can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one
and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the
other. A challenge to the Scribes and
Pharisees out there on the street corner with him, for sure—and continuing
actually as a challenge for the church, for those in leadership, those who
teach and preach. For all of us. A challenge sometimes in elections years,
though not just in election years.
“Don’t rock the boat, baby.”
Certainly not to do something that would threaten your IRS tax-exempt
status. Not if you want a multi-million
dollar house and a private jet, anyway.
Instead, just figure out what the people who write the checks want you
to say, and give them twice what they ask for.
Remembering the old story about the minister who got a little too
specific in one of his sermons. An
unhappy parishioner says to him later, “Pastor, you’ve gone from preaching to
meddling.” What Jesus is doing here with
these parables—and maybe why we find them both attractive on one hand but also
pretty scary when it occurs to us that he might just want us to take what he’s
saying seriously. Begin to feel like
when he’s “meddling” with these Scribes and Pharisees, he’s “meddling” with us
too.
Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering
and a sacrifice to God.
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