On the Sin of Refusing to See

The parable of Lazarus and the rich man

On the Sin of Refusing to See

            In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus teaches his audience a parable about an unnamed rich man, and a poor man named Lazarus. These 2 men were neighbors and the poor man regularly laid near the gate of the rich man’s home. While Jesus doesn’t name any overt mistreatment of the poor man by the rich man, he does indicate that they knew one another fairly well. The text shows that not only did the rich man know Lazarus’ name, but his father and brothers were likely familiar with him too. And while the text doesn’t say that Lazarus ever asked for food and was refused, it was clearly never offered—for “Lazarus longed for his crumbs.” Still the rich man is described as living joyously in splendor every day! He was regularly celebrated in his community, and wore expensive clothes, clearly known for his affluence and influence. Scripture never depicts him as unkind, malicious, or even explicitly oppressive.

            But both of the men died. And following their respective deaths, a grand reversal took place. The previously wealthy man came to only to notice Lazarus in the distance, resting in Abraham’s bosom an ancient illustration for paradise. But the wealthy man found himself in a place of unending torment. Twice, the previously wealthy man petitions Abraham to send Lazarus to his aid! First to temporarily alleviate his torment, and later to testify to his five siblings. But Jesus says that Abraham responded “Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things (all of the safety, comforts, and delights) and Lazarus likewise received bad things (discomforts, marginalization, and perpetual distress); but now he is here in paradise while you are in agony.” The grand reversal, in a nutshell. In verse 26 he continues, “And besides all of this, between us (Abraham and Lazarus) and you (tormented) people, a great chasm has been affixed. So that those who want to come over from here to you will not be able, and none may cross over from you to us.” But while the rich man desperately wants to escape the torment, he never grasped the point. He never repented. He never thought to apologize. For what though? The problem was, in life, the rich man only ever saw Lazarus as someone who was in service of him. In life, the rich man never sought solidary with Lazarus- he never took siblinghood seriously- and indeed in death, he didn’t either.

            And while the only sin that the text names is the rich man’s wealth, it matters greatly that we read this parable in the context with both the surrounding text and Luke’s thematic emphasis on renouncing earthly wealth in both Luke and Acts. Why? Because 2 short verses later, Jesus references children in his midst indicating this is possibly another account of the teaching in Mark 9.  And even if this is not the exact same, then it definitely highlights a pattern of Jesus teaching about the how the last will become first in the kingdom of heaven (like in Mark 10). In fact, in many ways the parable of Lazarus and the Rich man is a parable meant to foreshadow the eschatological teachings at the end of Matthew 25. Truly, the wealthy man refused to truly see Lazarus when he was hungry and thirsty. Truly his sores were uncovered (he needed clothing), and he was not invited in, as the text said Lazarus was situated barely outside of the rich man’s gate. Each of these instances were opportunities to see the suffering of a proximate neighbor, but they were ignored in exchange for a life of joy and splendor.

            And I can’t help but notice that this is precisely how many of us in the west live. We treat the poor among us like an eyesore, an annoyance, so we look away. We’re so caught up in our own lives, creating hollow happiness, cultivating financial security, tending to our own families; that we refuse to see those who are marginalized by our own unwillingness…that is, until it serves us to notice them. And perhaps it is a tainted form of discipleship that makes room for avoidance and apathy that may be the greatest sin of all. If we, like the rich man, only insist on seeing people when they can do something for us, then perhaps it is that very lack of harmonious interrelatedness that is where the root of our sin nature resides- between one another. For where there is no harmony, no shalom between us and our neighbors, it becomes clear that we have fallen for a false version of what true happiness is. True joy, true honor, involves the way in which we belong to our neighbors. For if we are truly belonging to one another well in this life, then how we care for one another without strings, and the way in which we extend belonging and compassion to those of us who cannot do anything for us, points directly to limits of our willingness.

            In Matthew 25:40 Jesus says, “to the extent that you did it (feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, cloth the naked, welcome the stranger, care for the sick, etc.) for one of these brothers of mine, even the least of them, you did it for me.” Lazarus is Christ’s brother. And how we treat Lazarus is how we treat Christ himself. It’s worth noting that in Matthew 25 which is not parabolic but rather prophetic, Jesus describes his future self as hungry. He tells his listeners he plans in advance on being hungry and thirsty, and estranged and imprisoned and sick- like Lazarus in every way. But in Matthew 25 Jesus isn’t like these things, he is these things. We already know that after the resurrection, Jesus was unrecognizable to even his closest friends. But like Mary, Peter, and John, we would be wise to assume that Christ in some mysterious way might just be among us like he said; unrecognizable, marginalized, and often unseen.

            In a poignant nod to the theme of the grand reversal, the rich man in Jesus’ parable remains forever unnamed, perhaps ascribing a similar fate to our modern counterparts of this parable. Because of Jesus, Lazarus is the name that we remember. The names of the least are lifted to a place of honor, while those unjustly honored in this life are long forgotten. But Jesus doesn’t merely lift the names of the lowly, he corrects injustice, makes the wrongs in this world right, and welcomes us lovingly into paradise, coronated through compassion and care.

A couple chapters later in Luke, Jesus resurrects his real-life friend Lazarus, as if to say, “I’m really serious about this. I really really love people like Lazarus. They are my people—” an echo we should pay attention to. The sin of refusing to see those who suffer is serious business because it directly affects how we view the image of God in our siblings. May we remember that we will never ever meet anyone that God doesn’t dearly love.