Giving Makes You Feel Good

Giving Makes You Feel Good

September 30, 2007, 26th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Amos 6:1a, 4-7 I Timothy 6:11-16 Luke 16:19-31

To the church in the diaspora[1]
& to the church of the unchurched[2]

Alleluia, alleluia.
A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke.
Glory to you, Lord.

Jesus said to the Pharisees: Once upon a time there was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and ate splendidly each day. And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus who was laid at his gate, full of sores. He would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man's table. Dogs would come and lick his sores. When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, and from the netherworld, where he was in torment, he raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. And he cried out, “'Father Abraham, have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am suffering torment in these flames.'
Abraham replied, “My child, in your lifetime you had it good, and Lazarus had it bad. Now Lazarus is comforted, and you are in torment. Moreover, between us and you a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing who might wish to go from our side to yours or from your side to ours.” But the rich man said, 'Then I beg you, Father, send him to my father's house, for I have five brothers, so that he may warn them, lest they too come to this place of torment.” But Abraham replied, '”They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen to them.” He responded, “Oh no, Father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.” Then Abraham replied, “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.”

The Gospel of the Lord.
Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ

Introduction
Another A+

St. Luke got an A+ for the parables of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son read on 15th and 24th Sunday of Ordinary Time (Cycle C). This Sunday he gets another A+ for the parable of a rich man whom tradition calls Dives[3] and a poor beggar whom scripture names Lazarus. All three parables are found only in Luke’s gospel, and that’s why he’s a very favorite evangelist.

Hammed- up versions

You can ham up the parable of the Prodigal Son. Or you can read it quite unremarkably. You can have a rebellious son crying out to his dad, “I’ve had it! I’m getting out of here. Give me the money that’s mine.” Or you can have the son calmly saying, “Dad, it’s about time I get out on my own. Could I please have the inheritance that falls to me?” Both versions can do justice to the original Greek. Un-hammed up the parable becomes a Parable of Everyman -- a parable of every son and daughter who must (like the fledgling robins in late spring) leave the nest and fly away on their own.

You can ham up this parable of Dives and Lazarus as well. Or you can read it quite unremarkably. As a boy I remember seeing a hammed-up painting of the parable. It hung in my pastor's office where he was giving me and my sister (children of Italian unchurched immigrants) instructions to become Roman Catholics. There was Dives, very overweight and bedecked in a tent of purple finery. He was sprawled out before a sumptuous table loaded down with platters piled high with drumsticks and legs of lamb, and with fruit bowls heaped with pomegranates and mangos and overflowing with luscious grapes. Dives was cruelly and selfishly indifferent to poor Lazarus lying at the foot of his table begging for crumbs. The painting, as I remember it, was compressed; it had everything squeezed together. Only inches away from the table was a wrought iron gate at which the poor beggar was laid, and dogs were licking away at his sores. As a little boy I was deeply impressed with that gross depiction, and to this day I still see it hanging there in my pastor’s office.

But a hammed-up version of the parable loses its personal message and takes us off the hook. We can easily dismiss it exclaiming, “Thank God that‘s not me. I could never be as gross as that cruel and selfish Dives dressed in purple.”

The words of the parable, in themselves, do not suggest anything gross. The rich man, in fact, might not be overweight but sveltely slim. He might be a rather decent fellow, a good neighbor, a religious person. Daily he goes to the office where he is pleasant enough to his associates. Then after putting in a hard day’s work, he heads for home. He arrives at his wrought iron gate (a distance from his very nice house and his dining table). He quickly passes through it not noticing Lazarus lying there. Tired and hungry he has a drink before dinner and then sits down to eat a splendid meal.

An unremarkable indictment

It's possible that Dives and Lazarus never met, and that therefore nothing terribly gross ever transpired between them. And yet, when both die, Lazarus is carried to the Bosom of Abraham, while Dives is buried in a place of torment. Listen to the indictment against Dives. Hear how remarkably unremarkable it is. "My child in your lifetime you had it good, and Lazarus had it bad. Now Lazarus is comforted, and you are in torment" (Lk 16:25). That's all. Nothing gross is charged. Dives is indicted not because he saw Lazarus starving at the gate and ruthlessly passed him by. He’s indicted because he didn’t see the starving beggar but should have!

He’s indicted for conveniently choosing not to see the very gross gaping need of Lazarus and coming to his aid. He’s indicted not because he did something very bad to Lazarus, but because, at the end of the day, he chose (in a very refined sort of way) not to do something good for him. Dives is indicted for choosing, subliminally at least, not to have the eye and heart which see the need of another lying at his gate. He’s indicted for not being a sensitive human being.

Not being inhuman

The missalette always carries a very brief commentary on the Sunday scriptures. The commentary for this Sunday characterizes the parable of Dives and Lazarus as”blunt” and ends by asking a challenging question: “Who is lying at your gate?” When someone lying at our gate has a gross gaping need (like starving Lazarus full of sores licked by dogs) most of us will stop to respond to it. But to respond to such gross gaping need does not really make us human; it simply precludes us from being inhuman.

There are people out there who will not respond even to a gross gaping need. There are Jewish priests and Levites out there on the road to Jericho who will walk right by a poor man waylaid by robbers and dying on the wayside. So-called human beings can be incredibly inhuman to other human beings. In recent days we’ve seen how so-called human beings can be incredibly inhuman also to dogs (man’s best friend) which lovingly lick the legs of Lazarus.

Some of the people lying at our gate (family members, neighbors, co-workers, relatives, and friends) have needs that are not as gross and gaping as Lazarus’ but are more refined and less gaping. They are needs perceived only by sensitive eyes and hearts. At the end of the day it’s being sensitive to the refined and less gaping needs of others that really makes us wonderfully human.

A refined and invisible need

After living in this wonderful house of mine into which I put much labor and love for twenty-eight years, I am forced by circumstances to move on. That obviously is going to be a traumatic experience. (Someone has said there are three painful experiences in life: divorce, death and moving.) Recently some newly met friends heard of my predicament and were genuinely concerned. By email they wrote, “We are coming to Milwaukee [from Madison] Thursday to watch a grandson's high school football game. We are going to come in early to start getting a sense of the rental market. We have appointments to look at two lower flats [not for themselves but for me!] -- one in Bay View and one in Wauwatosa. We also plan to drive around a bunch and look for `For Rent’ signs that people might post on their properties. We will keep in touch.”

What sensitive eyes and hearts! What truly wonderful human beings! The e-mail message was a bit overwhelming, and it gave me courage for the ordeal ahead.

The rich man from Assisi

Here it is the last day of September. Tomorrow is the first day of one of the nicest months of the year, especially in Wisconsin. October ushers in autumn in earnest with cool evenings which call for an extra blanket, and which lets us catch up on sleep lost on warm summer nights. This is the month of the apple and pumpkin, God’s bounty gathered into bins against the long winter night. This is the month which splashes field and forest with colors of riotous red and glittering gold. This is the month especially of the liturgical feasts which nourished my youth: the feast of the Little Flower (Oct. 1), the feast of my Guardian Angel (Oct. 2), and then the feast of St. Francis of Assisi (Oct. 4) this coming Thursday.

No true biographer of the saint ever neglects to tell the story about the beggar and Francis -- son of a wealthy merchant of Assisi. One day Francis was working in his father’s shop which dealt in costly velvets and fine embroideries. As a prominent merchant of the town entered the shop, there entered also a beggar seeking alms in a rather tactless manner. At that moment Francis did what we’re all inclined to do when confronted simultaneously by a well-dressed gentleman and a shabby person. He attended to the gentleman first.

When the business transaction was finished, Francis suddenly realized the beggar had quietly slipped away -- feeling unworthy of attention. Seized with compunction he dashed out of the shop leaving all the bales of precious velvets and embroideries unattended. He raced through the marketplace “like an arrow straight from the bow," (writes G. K. Chesterton). Through the narrow and winding streets he finally came upon the beggar and heaped a healthy sum of his father’s money upon him. That story is the parable of Dives and Lazarus in reverse.

The rich man from Hope, Arkansas

The commentary for this Sunday asks a challenging question: “Who is lying at your gate?” For former president Bill Clinton it’s the very globe of the world that’s lying at our gate. On Sept. 26, 2007 in a luxury hotel in midtown Manhattan Clinton kicked off the third annual meeting of the Clinton Global Initiative (CGI). It’s an initiative to brainstorm about health, education, poverty and climate problems. Its aim is to generate action and not merely discussion.
In attendance were over one thousand leaders of business, government and non-governmental organizations representing over 70 countries and including 52 current and former heads of state. During the opening session, President Clinton announced five new commitments, including over $1 billion by the Norwegian and Dutch Governments to reduce maternal and child mortality.
Addressing the meeting Clinton said, “I’m gratified today because it’s clear to me that this model of philanthropy and giving, which began as an experiment in 2005, has proven itself in only two short years. Since our first meeting, more than 600 commitments have been made by CGI members, impacting 100 countries and millions of lives.” He continues, “In its third year, CGI is evidence of something that I have always believed— that people are inherently generous, that giving makes you feel good, and that the only thing most of us are looking for is an opportunity to make a difference.”

Because of the Monica Lewinsky affair, Bill Clinton was pursued relentlessly by a culture obsessed with sexual morality instead of compassion morality. Compassion morality sees a globe lying starving at the gate and dogs licking its sores. Rich man Bill Clinton sees a global beggar down at the gate and calls the globe to do something about it. Bill Clinton is another rich man who puts the parable of Dives and Lazarus in reverse.

Conclusion
Giving makes you feel good

Clinton says giving makes you feel good. Dives eating drumsticks and legs of lamb and lobbing luscious grapes down his throat, while Lazarus was languishing away down at the gate, didn’t feel good. He felt stuffed (with selfishness). He didn’t feel good because he didn’t give Lazarus anything. Clinton says giving makes you feel good.

The sexual morality which pursued Bill Clinton (and now Larry Craig) is cheap morality. It pursues others and makes them pay up but it doesn’t cost one’s self one red penny. Compassion morality, on the other hand, is costly. It cost the Samaritan on the road to Jericho much. He had to interrupt his appointed rounds, bandage up the poor man’s wounds, hoist his dead weight upon his beast of burden and hurry him off to the nearest inn. There he had to dig down deep into his pocket to pay for the poor man’s care and cure. That, indeed, is costly. Giving is always costly. But giving, Bill Clinton says, makes you feel good. And so the Good Samaritan (that compassionate giving human being) has been feeling good for centuries.

[1] Diaspora is a Greek word meaning dispersion. Originally it referred to the settling of scattered colonies of Jews outside Palestine after the Babylonian exile. It’s now come to mean the migration or scattering of a people away from an established or ancestral home or parish!

[2] By “the unchurched” is especially meant not those who have left the church but those whom the church has left!

[3] The Latin word for rich is divis.