“Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Luke 15:1-2
Muttering. Jesus responded to their muttering (“grumbling” in other translations) and heavily implied distaste and disapproval of his actions with a series of parables. Jesus often responded to the most difficult, challenging, confrontational situations with parables. These parables, were stories that one would have to think about, care, and have a curiosity about to understand. This, in and of itself, was a recurrent staple of his teaching process. If you didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be hear, didn’t want to be healed, corrected even – well, that’s your choice. But it seems again and again that those who were hurting, silenced, forgotten, those who wanted and needed to hear, to know, to heal, even be corrected (put back on the path of healing and life) would.
One of the parables in his response to this muttering by the pharisees is often called the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. In summary, the parable presents a picture of an unnamed rich man who feasts sumptuously every day. Every day, though, this rich man clothed in finery would walk by a beggar, Lazarus, who sat at his gates, begging even for the scraps from the rich man’s table, only to be utterly ignored by the rich man. The parable takes a turn, a ‘cutaway’ to the afterlife then, where the rich man is in torment and fire, and Lazarus is at peace in the ‘bosom of Abraham’. The rich man begs Abraham for even a drop of water from the finger of Lazarus, or for Lazarus to be sent to his brothers to tell them to turn from their ways. Abraham responds that there is a great gulf between them, and that Lazarus experienced great suffering and evil in his earthly life, likewise the rich man experienced great comfort. In the eternal realms this table was turned. Lazarus received relief and peace, the rich man torment. As far as the brothers – Abraham explains that they had the law and the prophets to learn from but they had not heard and would not hear even if one returned from the dead to warn them.
St. Nikolai Velimirovich in a commentary on this parable wrote:
“What sort of funeral did Lazarus the poor man have? It was like the burial of a dog that is found dead on the road. There must have been some civil authority to deal with dead beggars on the road, to give them burial for various reasons, and especially for two: the danger that dogs might tear his body to pieces and carry the pieces all over the city, and the fear that it would begin to stink, and thus spread infection in the city. In any case, the body must be got out of the city as quickly as possible and buried, because this dead body – twisted, covered with sores and tattered bits of clothing – offended the eyes of passers-by. None of these reasons were concerned with Lazarus, but all were directed towards the well-being of the city’s inhabitants. He, poor man, was a nuisance to others both during his lifetime and after his death. The authorities could only wrinkle their noses at these unpleasant tidings, find men to carry out the disagreeable task and see how to pay for it. Word passed from tongue to tongue: Some beggar’s died; who’ll bury him? At whose cost? Who was he? So some curious child might ask. A foolish question; who would know and remember a beggar’s name?” (Homilies p. 225 and 227 quoted at https://frted.wordpress.com/2015/10/24/who-remembers-a-beggars-name/)
Saint Nikolai had spent time in the Dachau concentration camp until its liberation in 1945. He knew firsthand the experience of being in a place that was designed to forget – erase – people in the most striking and obvious sense. But that same spirit is at work when we forget names. Josef Stalin is attributed with the infamous statement “a single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic”. St. Cyril of Alexandria says that the dogs who licked the sores of Lazarus had more compassion as they at least noticed him. One could consider that the rich man in the parable was worse even than someone who walked by the beggar and felt disdain or anger. The poor man outside his gates did not even have a name to him in this life.
It is implied that the rich man would have had thoughts like this: “I don’t want to know” “If I shelter myself from this suffering I won’t have to do anything about it”. It is the kind of mind that is even offended at the idea that he might actually play a part in that suffering or should feel some compunction or responsibility. This rich man likely thought “I’m not harming the poor, I’m just enjoying what I have” “Nothing can be done about it” “Perhaps the beggar did something to deserve it”. In each of these mutterings the beggar at his door becomes just another nameless part of ‘the poor’.
In the parable Jesus is specific to say a few things explicitly though. First, the beggar does name what he needs – to be fed from the scraps from the rich man’s table. He also is clear to say that there is no excuse for the rich man to have ignored him. The beggar lay before his gate, not hidden away as, perhaps the rich man would have preferred. Lest we think this is just a story from antiquity, consider that in our own day there are campaigns for laws to push the homeless into the shadows. Homeless and beggars are often not allowed to be visibly out begging or have homeless camps in places where it might upset, well, visitors, tourists, and ‘respectable’ citizens. We know very well that when a big event, say the Super Bowl comes to a city often there are steps taken to clear the streets of the homeless.
Returning to the question St. Nikolai posed – “who would remember the name of a beggar?” The other very purposeful thing that Jesus does in this telling of a parable is that he explicitly names the beggar – Lazarus. Saint Jerome says that this name is significant in that it means ‘one who is helped’. Jesus is saying “God remembers and helps the beggar” and he is instructing those listening, who have ears to hear (even those who have just muttered about his association with the ‘unseemly’) to do likewise if you want to be righteous. If you want to be like God then you will know the name and not ignore the beggar but will know his or her name and help.
How to do this, though? It can be overwhelming to consider the suffering in the world. Just a drive across town, not to mention a scroll of a county facebook group where needs are posted or hearing news of incomprehensible suffering is beyond daunting in thinking of how to remember, how to help. The temptation is to be paralyzed in this. “What can be done?” becomes “Its not my fault, not my problem” to thoughts of blame and excuse. Muttering. But we must resist this. Jesus does say some pretty extreme things in other place, speaking to another rich man (not a parable) he speaks of perfection (reaching fullness) is only possible if one sells everything and gives to the poor. But we also know that this gift to just do that is something not given to everyone. There are a few saints – like St. Anthony of Egypt who just did that – but for most of us we will fight our whole lives to simply not become like the rich man. We will have to fight that spirit of apathy especially if we have abundance. We’ll have to be honest and vigilant about the temptation to make excuses or worse to turn ‘the poor’ or ‘the immigrant’ or ‘the addict’ into something nameless – a threat – or something to be hidden away from sight. Muttering.
Saint Jerome gives this advice to his flock:
“The Rich man in purple splendor is not accused of being greedy or of carrying off the property of another, or of committing adultery, or in fact, of any wrongdoing. The evil alone of which he is guilty is pride. Most wretched of men, you see a member of your own body lying there outside at your gate, and have you no compassion? If the laws of God mean nothing to you, at least take pity on your own situation and be in fear, for perhaps you might become like him. Give what you waste to you own member. I am not even telling you to throw away your wealth. What you throw out, the crumbs from your table, offer as alms.“ON LAZARUS AND DIVES. Just, A. A. (Ed.). (2005). Luke (pp. 260–261). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.
Photo by @jontyson
Saved Together 