September 29, 2019
Sharon Salzberg is a popular
meditation teacher in New York City. She often travels to other places in order
to teach meditation.
Sharon goes regularly to
Washington, D.C. One spring, while she
was there, a friend took her to the Tidal Basin to see the cherry
blossoms. Because of her teaching
schedule, she could only go at night. It was glorious, she said, but she
couldn’t help thinking that something was missing.
The next year, during her
teaching visit, Sharon was able to go during the day. She stood there, awed by the delicate beauty.
Then the friend who had brought her said, “Oh, they were much nicer last
week. They’re past their peak now.” All of a sudden, Sharon realized she was
having an inferior experience, because she had missed the “best” sighting. Where, a moment before, everything looked
perfect, now she began to notice every ragged edge and wilted petal.
Then, the following year, on
her visit to D.C., she found herself too busy to make it down at all to the
Tidal Basin. That was very disappointing
to her. But one day she was in a cab on
the way to have dinner with friends. She
passed some cherry trees in the street, in full and magnificent bloom. My
heart, she said, swelled at their beauty.
When she got to the
restaurant, someone asked her if she had seen the cherry blossoms. She started
to say no, she hadn’t been to the Tidal Basin, hadn’t seen an abundance of
trees. Then she remembered the trees she had just passed in the cab, and the
joy that the short glimpse had given her.
Sharon smiled and she said,
“Yes. They were perfect.”
Whenever we compare our present
experience with another experience we have had or have heard about from someone
else, we run the risk of feeling that we are not having the best possible
experience in that moment. Some personal
examples: “The Asian pears from the tree in our back yard are not quite as
sweet as the ones last year.” “My golf
game isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“My last sermon was better than this one.”
Any comparing we do often
leads to discontent. Advertising, of course, is built on this. Advertising
frequently creates discontent by suggesting that the product they are offering
now is far superior to the product we currently have – this car, this kitchen
appliance, this brand of deodorant. The life we could have with the new product
is far superior to the inferior life we are living now.
Paul says to Timothy, “There
is great gain in godliness with contentment.”
Whether it is for new and better experiences or more possessions and
greater wealth, the desire for more often brings trouble. It channels our best energies into
accumulating things that are here today and gone tomorrow.
It’s so easy to be caught in
the delusion – and we all do it – of thinking that “the good life” is defined
by the number and kind of our possessions and the size of our bank
account. It is the comfort of feeling
taken care of in the present and the freedom from worry about the future that
brings us ease. Yet this does not last,
nor does it provide real life – either now or in the future.
The better life is found in
channeling our energies, not to what doesn’t last, but to what does. The
Message says, “A devout life does bring wealth, but it’s the rich simplicity of
being yourself before God.” This is the life that is real life, Paul
concludes. Great strides toward this
life are made with contentment.
If contentment is so vital
and discontent is so prevalent, what is the antidote to discontent? Today’s
gospel reading gives us a clue.
The pharisees were lovers of
money. So, Jesus told a story for their
benefit:
There was once a man who was
a conspicuous consumer. He always
dressed in the latest fashion and ate at the most expensive restaurants. At the front door of the mansion where he
lived, there was a poor man. Lazarus was
his name. His only companions were stray
dogs and his only hope was for crumbs off the rich man’s table.
One day, both men died. Lazarus was taken to heaven where he was
placed in the lap of Abraham – the best seat in the house! The rich man went to the other place, the
place of fiery torment.
As part of his punishment, no
doubt, the rich man could see Lazarus in heaven. He called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy!
Send Lazarus to dip his finger in cold water and cool my tongue with a
drop. I am in utter agony!
Abraham said, “Child,
remember that in your lifetime you received good things and Lazarus bad things.
Now the situation has been reversed. Not
only that, a great chasm lies between him and you, and there is no way to cross
it.”
The formerly rich man said,
“Then, send him to the house of my brothers and warn them so they can escape my
fate.”
Abraham said, “They already
have Abraham and the prophets. They
should listen to them.”
“They won’t listen!” the rich
man came back. “But if someone should rise from the dead, they will be
convinced!”
Abraham replied, “No, not
even if someone should rise from the dead will they change their ways.”
There are many things that
could be said about this story. Let me
point out two:
First, Jesus tells us that
Lazarus only wanted crumbs. He’s not
asking for a lot. He’s not asking to eat
large portions. He’s not asking to be
invited to the rich man’s table. He’s not asking to move in. All he wants is a
few crumbs.
This is not like the call of
Jesus that we heard a couple of weeks ago to give away all our
possessions. It is a call to share some
of what we have with someone who has less.
Second, although Jesus doesn’t mention it
specifically, the rich man must have walked by the poor man on a regular
basis. Yet there is no indication that
he talked with him or recognized him or even looked his way. The rich man completely ignores him.
What would have happened if
the rich man had noticed the poor man?
Would he have been moved to action?
Maybe that’s why the rich man ignores him. He doesn’t want to be changed. He doesn’t want to be challenged. He doesn’t want to feel uncomfortable at the
discomfort of someone else that he might help.
Yet, perhaps that connection would have led to action that eased the
poor man’s suffering in the present and saved the rich man in the next.
When we were in Madison,
Sylvia and I knew a man who, for a short time, lived as a homeless person.
There are not as many homeless people in Wisconsin as there are here, probably
due to the harsh winters. But those that were in Madison could often be seen
along State Street which ran from the state capitol to the university. It’s
lined with interesting shops and restaurants. It was one of my favorite places
to stroll in the non-winter months.
What this formerly homeless
man said to us was, “You don’t have to give them money. Just treat them like a
human being. Look at them. Smile. Say hello.
Ask they how their day is going.
That’s all you need to do.”
Now even that is a
challenge. Even that can feel like a
great chasm that is impossible to cross. Even that little intimacy carries
risks. Yet when we do it, we open ourselves to the suffering of another human
being.
I don’t know the statistics
on homelessness. I don’t know all the
factors. I do think there are a variety of reasons that people become homeless.
I believe that each one has their own story.
And I know that each one is a human being.
You don’t have to do much to
recognize that. You don’t have to get
out of your car. You don’t have to invite them home for dinner. You don’t have to offer them your spare room
for a few nights.
Start by looking at them, as
you drive by. You don’t need to
stare. Just glance at them. Maybe smile.
Maybe wave. It doesn’t take much.
Remind yourself that, at
least at one time, they had a mother.
They were a baby. They were a
child. Yes, their life may have been
full of challenges and mistakes. Don’t
think too much about that, though. Just think about it enough to remember that
they are a human being.
If you’re really brave, of
course, you could park your car and walk up to them. Ask them their name. Ask
where they’re from and how they got here.
Ask to hear their story.
But you can also volunteer
with Friendship House once a month with other First Lutheran folks. Or on
Fridays at 8:30 a.m. you could go to the roundtable discussion of homeless
people at the Seventh Day Adventist Church in Burlington.
Whatever you do – even if it
is just to regard them with kindness or consider them with gentle curiosity –
give yourself a chance to step out of yourself.
This is what the rich man did not do.
The rich man was living a
life that was self-focused. He was not
content with the food and clothes he had.
He wanted more food and more clothing. He considered Lazarus as less than
himself. Because of this, he was haughty,
in Paul’s words. He did not step out of himself. He remained blind to the needs of others.
The problems of homelessness
and hunger can seem overwhelming. But
Martin Luther said, “You don’t need to feed every beggar in the world; you only
need to feed the one at your gate.”
This starts by recognizing –
regardless of what got them there – the humanity of the people by the side of
the road.
It starts by seeing how much
we have – that we have everything we need to live a life that is pleasing to
God.
And it starts with
contentment – contentment in what we have here and now – contentment that we have
what we need for today – contentment that is a great gain in godliness.
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