Our Monday Sermon Prep class helps me find the core of the sermon. Our first task is to find the six words and build the sermon out from there. Today’s sermon in six words is: There is a chasm.

Abraham tells the rich man, “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.”

This parable is not about the afterlife. The great chasm was already there before the men died.
An unnamed rich man dressed in purple.
A poor man named Lazarus lying at his gate dressed in sores.
A rich man who feasted every day.
A poor man who longed for crumbs from the rich man’s table.

There is no indication that the rich man knew that Lazarus was out there. Only the dogs seem to pay attention to the poor man. Yet when the rich man is in Hades, theologian Barbara Lundblad notes that the rich man called out to Lazarus by name.[1] You mean, he knew his name?!

Jesus tells the parable to get us to wrestle with why such a great chasm between the rich man and Lazarus was there while they were alive. We could blame the rich man. He was hard-hearted, selfish, and mean. Yet Jesus paints the rich man as compassionate as he pleads to Abraham on behalf of his five brothers. But Abraham states, “They have Moses and the prophets, they should listen to them.”

And here we come to the heart of the parable. What does it mean to listen to Moses and the Prophets? That’s been our Rooted series. We’ve seen ancestors of our tradition break rules[2] for justice, extend humble hospitality in the fight for education and freedom.[3] We’ve been reminded that when we walk with Jesus, we will be hated, yet committed.[4] We are to accept that we’re already accepted.[5] We must learn to be shrewd with forgiveness.[6]

We’ve explored our roots in this whiplash time. A time when we are aware of the great chasm that looms between the rich and the poor. It seems mentioning this gap will get names called at you. Preachers will be told that they are “preaching politics from the pulpit.”

Faith for some is about belief and no action. Faith is all about getting your ticket to heaven, for that’s salvation. Avoiding the flames of torment and getting into heaven. For cultural Christians that means believing in Jesus, not being gay, and not getting an abortion. This cheap imitation of our faith allows others to walk past Lazarus at the gate. And nothing saddens me more.

This parable is not about the afterlife. It’s about this life. It’s about the chasm between the rich man and Lazarus in this life. At the Medina Interfaith Coalition for Affordable Housing’s summit this week, this chasm was named and its impact on our community, our businesses, and our families.

Medina Presbyterian’s pastor, the Rev. Dr. Henry Pearce stated that housing costs being high is a moral failing. It says to our work force, our entry level workers, and our service-oriented workers: serve us and go away. Work for us and leave. Clean our homes and then scram. This is precisely the attitude the rich man had for Lazarus. The rich man knew the name of Lazarus but didn’t see him has a human or neighbor. The rich man saw Lazarus as many in our culture see their neighbors: as inconveniences. Not as people. That’s the chasm we must address as followers of Christ.

So let me re-introduce one more ancestor. Reinhold Niebuhr was a theologian from Union Seminary, who came from our Evangelical and Reformed side. Niebuhr saw the chasms in society and in ourselves. He believed in doing good but knew our limitations. Has one of my favorite authors David Brooks wrote about Niebuhr, “He always was aware of both the sin and the goodness marbled through us.”[7]

You already know him. He wrote the Serenity Prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

Niebuhr spoke against partisanship, racism, and economic domination. He kept asking about the chasm that we fix between ourselves and our neighbors that we dare not cross. He kept provoking us to have the courage to cross those chasms here and now. David Brooks writes how Niebuhr tackled the problems of his day, many which we are revisiting. The problems of partisanship, permanence, rationalism, and race. He taught that education alone couldn’t cure these, because it isn’t just ignorance—it’s sin, the will to dominate others and treat neighbors as inconveniences that’s within us all. Niebuhr warned of the love of money and unchecked power. He reminded us that humans are mixed bags: sin and grace, selfishness and generosity.

The great chasm is still here: between rich and poor, between parties, between races, between those who feast and those who hunger. Maybe you’ve been feeling it as I have in recent weeks. Our problem is not lack of wealth—we have abundance. Our problem is distribution, domination, and callousness to Lazarus at our gate.

I recently saw an image of a man in a suit carrying a giant cross—only it had wheels on it. Convenient. Portable. Easy to haul around. And all too easy to use for scapegoating: the other party, the immigrant, the poor, the queer. That’s the problem with much of modern Christianity—crosses on wheels.

There is a chasm between what I believe Jesus is about and what the church often does. And yet—I found a home in the UCC, because I believe we are trying to do the work. But I must be honest: many of the loudest Christian voices in our culture are scapegoating, talking hate, and sitting comfortably at the tables Jesus once flipped.

The faith of our ancestors tells us to listen to the ones hanging from the cross. That is the great reversal. We stop listening to those who wear performative crosses, and we listen instead to the One who hung upon the cross.

A great chasm has been fixed. But Christ tells the story today for us to close the gap here and now. Jesus crossed every chasm—to be with the poor, the despised, the sinner, and even the rich man inconvenienced by Lazarus. Take up your cross, says Jesus, and follow me. This cross doesn’t have a wheel on it.

I’m thankful to the witness of our ancestors of faith. And for Reinhold Neihbur. He wrote: Nothing worth doing can be completed in our lifetime; therefore, we are saved by hope. Nothing true or beautiful makes complete sense in history; therefore, we are saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore, we are saved by love.[8]

May we pick up the humble work of our ancestors and we try to root, as we also branch out to show God’s radical love for us all. We work for a more just and compassionate world. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] Barbara K. Lundblad, Transforming the Stone: Preaching through Resistance to Change (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2001), 115.

[2] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/break-the-rules/

[3] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/humble-hospitality/

[4] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/commit/

[5] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/lost-and-found/

[6] https://www.uccmedina.org/sermons/shrewd/

[7] David Brooks, “The Stubborn Relevance of Reinhold Niebuhr,” Prospect: The Magazine of Elmhurst College, Spring 2011, 23.

[8] Gustav Niebuhr. Ibid 31.