 Let us pray:
Thy holy wings, O Savior, spread gently over me, and let me rest securely through good and ill in thee. Oh, be my strength and portion, my rock and hiding place, and let my every moment be lived within thy grace. Amen. When I was a little boy, my family often visited my Uncle Walter and Aunt Lydia. Uncle Walter was a farmer, who always wore bib overalls that smelled of hay and cows and sweat. Uncle Walter was a simple man, but he knew how to be a great uncle. Even though—and maybe because—he and his wife had no children. I used to enjoy sitting on Uncle Walter’s lap at his kitchen table. Together we would chat, or play cards, or tell knock-knock jokes. Uncle Walter smoked a pipe, which he kept in a pocket of his overalls. Together, we had a pipe-lighting ritual that I loved. First, he’d take out his pipe and fill it with tobacco. Next, he would pull out a matchbook and hand it to me. My job was to tear off a match, strike it, and carefully light the pipe. Finally, I blew out the flame and put the burnt match into an ashtray—just like Uncle Walter taught me. Sitting on Uncle Walter’s lap made me feel happy and safe and loved. I believe that’s how the poor man Lazarus must have felt in today’s parable, when he died suddenly, and went to the bosom of Abraham. Our text says that Lazarus was at Abraham’s side, but most translations use the word “bosom.” In Greek, the word for “bosom” was sometimes used for a person’s lap—like a child sitting in her mother’s lap. Like I did with my Uncle Walter. At the time of Jesus, the “bosom of Abraham” was a Jewish term for the place where people go when they die. A place of comfort and grace. Dwelling with Abraham and Sarah, the founders of their faith, along with all the angels in the perpetual light of God. Some Christians use this parable to make a distinction between heaven and hell. Where heaven is the place righteous believers go. And hell is where evil sinners are punished. But I would prefer to focus on the hope in this story. About a loving God, who welcomes a suffering homeless leper into the realm of peace and healing—a complete reversal for Lazarus. But this parable is not a Christian morality lesson. For we don’t hear anything about what Lazarus believed or did during his life. We don’t even know if Lazarus was a nice guy. He could easily have been an angry, homeless man. During my previous career in social work, I met a lot of ornery clients, even a few jerks. Yet, this story is not really about Lazarus. It’s a story about God’s amazing grace. About a God who accepts Lazarus just as he is, offering comfort to the poor of this world. About a God who shelters the weakest among us, even in the face of death and tragedy. About a God who welcomes each of you. No matter what you done or have not done. Despite what we do or don’t believe. Even when I feel doubt or sadness or despair. Even on those days when we are overwhelmed by the challenges of daily life, or the grief of losing a loved one in death. This week, I have been thinking a lot about life and death. Much of it in response to the sudden passing of our church member and friend, John. Often, it can be hard to know what to say when someone dies. Some Christians are quick to offer consolation, with simplistic words of comfort, like: “They are in a better place,” or “You will see them again in heaven,” or “God has a new angel.” Many of us have heard words like that before. But platitudes don’t really help the grieving. Some people say things like that because we think that’s what people want to hear. One thing I’ve learned as a pastor, and during my life dealing with death, is that the specific words we say to those experiencing grief and loss aren’t really that important (not including, of course, insensitive comments.) If you think about it, most of us don’t remember exactly what friends and loved ones said to offer their support after a death or job loss or tragedy. What we do remember is who came to be with us. Who was present with you or me during that time. Which is really the best thing any of us can do. To be authentically present in moments of pain. To not walk past the gate of a suffering man like Lazarus, but to reach out a hand of compassion. To sit down with them in the dirt of their pain and loneliness and hopelessness, and hold them in our bosom. To make love real for them. The Jewish theologian Harold Kushner once wrote the following: “The facts of life and death are neutral. We, by our responses, give suffering either a positive or negative meaning…. If suffering and death in someone close to us bring us to explore the limits of our capacity for strength and love and cheerfulness, if it leads us to consider sources of consolation we never knew before, then we make the person into a witness for the affirmation of life rather than its rejection.” This past Tuesday morning, I received a phone call from one of the staff at Churches United for the Homeless. A resident named Robert had died the night before at their Bright Sky apartment building in Moorhead. She asked if I could come and talk with those who were having a hard time dealing with his death. So that afternoon, I went to Bright Sky. I sat down with a man (whom I will call Jeff). Jeff was upset by what had happened. Jeff had met Robert in treatment a couple years before. Both of them had been homeless. Both had lived on the streets here, through many cold winter nights. Both had struggled for years with chemical dependency. Both had recently moved into Bright Sky. Jeff told me that Robert was his friend. Last Sunday, Robert had invited him and others to an afternoon party to watch a football game in his apartment, his new home. Something most homeless people could never do for their friends. So, Jeff was shocked to hear about Robert’s death two days later. Early in our conversation, Jeff asked me: “Do you know what happened, why he died?” “The staff told me,” I offered, “that he had some kind of seizure, maybe a stroke.” “I wish I could have done something to help him.” Jeff replied. “I think we all feel that way,” I said, when a friend or loved one dies so suddenly.” Jeff and I chatted for about an hour. He seemed grateful for our conversation. Jeff gave me a hand bump and hug before he left. I believe the true comfort we people of faith can offer at moments like that is to sit with people in their grief. To offer not simplistic answers, but the promise of our presence, and God’s protective bosom and abiding love among us during difficult times.To pray with them the prayer I read earlier, for God to protect us like a mothering hen in the shelter of her bosom, beneath her strong, holy wings. That prayer is the opening verse of our hymn of the day. I’d like to close by praying it again: “Thy holy wings, O Savior, spread gently over me, and let me rest securely through good and ill in thee. Oh, be my strength and portion, my rock and hiding place, and let my every moment be lived within thy grace.” Amen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URnTYZV3fec ---------------------------- 1 Kushner, Harold S; When Bad Things Happen to Good People (Avon Books, New York, NY), p. 138. + + + GOSPEL LESSON: Luke 16:19-31 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.’”
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