In The Bosom of Abraham
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 16:19-31 – 26 March 2017

Fourth Sunday in Lent

 

After a long illness, a woman died and arrived at the Gates of Heaven. While she was waiting for Saint Peter to greet her, she peeked through the Gates. Se saw a beautiful banquet table. Sitting all around were her parents and all the other people she had loved who had died before her.

They saw her and began calling greetings to her – “Hello” “How are you? We’ve been waiting for you!” Good to see you.”

When Saint Peter came by, the woman said to him, “This is such a wonderful place! How do I get in?”

“You have to spell a word,” Saint Peter told her.

“Which word?” the woman asked.

“Love.”

The woman correctly spelled “Love” and Saint Peter welcomed her into Heaven.

About six months later, Saint Peter came to the woman and asked her to watch the Gates of Heaven for him that day. While the woman was guarding the Gates of Heaven, her husband arrived.

“Boy, am I surprised to see you,” the woman said. “How have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing pretty well since you died,” her husband told her. “I married the beautiful young nurse who took care of you while you were ill. And then I won the lottery. I sold the little house you and I lived in and bought a big mansion. And my wife and I traveled all around the world. As a matter of fact, we were on vacation and I went water skiing today. I fell, the ski hit my head, and here I am. How do I get in?”

“You have to spell a word,” the woman told him

“Which word?” her husband asked.

“Czechoslovakia.”

What will happen to us when we die? We all want to know that, don’t we? Our adult class has been tackling a series of difficult theological questions during Lent and what happens when we die certainly falls into that category.

The story Jesus told about the rich man and Lazarus seems to be a story about what happens when we die. The rich man is described in great detail. He wears purple robes made of fine linen and eats extravagantly. Outside his gate, lies a poor man, Lazarus who, by the way, is the only person in Jesus’ parables to be named. Lazarus is not only poor, he seems to have leprosy and is covered with sores. Lazarus lives for the possibility the rich man might toss some crumbs his way. However, the only attention Lazarus gets is from the dogs that lick his sores.

Eventually, the poor man dies and is carried up to heaven by angels…”to Abraham’s side” is how it is translated in our reading. The rich man also dies, thereby proving the dictum that death does not discriminate. The rich man is buried and ends up in Hades where he is tormented. He looks up and sees Abraham with Lazarus “by his side”. Hey, Abraham, the rich man shouts, can you get Lazarus to wet his finger and come down here and soothe my parched tongue? The audacity and ignorance of the rich man is hard to fathom, isn’t it? On the other hand, maybe it’s not so hard. I am thinking there are a lot of rich men types out there in our country these days that simply do not get it! In this parable, the rich man doesn’t end up where he does because he is rich. He ends up where he is because he just does not get it. He is oblivious to the suffering right outside his door. Clarence Jordan, in the Cotton Patch Gospel, aptly puts into words Lazarus’ reply: “Lazarus ain’t gonna run no mo yo errans, rich man.”

Abraham reminds the rich man that while he was alive, he was richly blessed while the poor man had nothing but misery. Now it is the poor man’s turn and he is being comforted. In addition, there is a huge chasm between you, rich man, and us. It can’t be bridged.

The rich man, still not getting it, wants to know if Lazarus can’t be sent to warn his brothers so they don’t end up like him. Really?

Abraham tells him that they’ve heard what the prophets and Moses have taught. You know what the prophets taught – how we should be just and righteous and follow God…or else. One particular prophet comes to mind – the prophet Micah. Oh yeah, remember what that prophet said? You shall beat your swords into plowshares and not learn war no more. (4:3) The same Micah said, “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

Abraham tells the rich man that if he is not going to listen to the prophets what difference will it make “if someone rises from the dead”. In other words, if I send Lazarus back from the dead to tell your brothers to shape up, you think they’re gonna listen to him?

We think this is a story about what will happen to us when we die – who gets to go to heaven and who will end up in torment.

 

Will Willimon tells a story about a church he once served. One of his parishioners lost a loved one and Willimon and his wife went to the funeral. We pastors do that…attend the funeral even though it isn’t one of ours. It is a way of supporting our people. Plus,you learn stuff at those funerals. You learn about your members, but you also learn about how other churches do. The church, in this case, was a little wood-framed country church. The pastor eventually got into his sermon, red-faced and vehemently preaching about how for the deceased it was too late. It was too late to live a good life. It was too late to be a church-goer. It was too late. But it is not too late for us! It is not too late for us, he railed. On the way home, Willimon turned to his wife and allowed as to how that was just about the worst sermon he’d ever heard at a funeral. Can you believe that guy said what he did? His wife paused for a moment and said “And you know why it was so bad? Because he was right!”

Perhaps, then, the story about Lazarus might not be about what happens to us when we die. Maybe it is about how we live in this life…before it is too late.

In the end, Lazarus is comforted in the lap or by the side of Abraham because of how he lived on earth while the rich man is without comfort because of how he lived on earth.

Now, it seems to me that how we should live is fairly clear in this parable, but isn’t it stunning how many people who claim to be Christian ignore the suffering ones right outside their door? I mean, how else would you interpret this story?

Who is outside our door? Who do we simply refuse to see…because they are potentially dangerous? Because we might get sick if we touch them? Because we are in a hurry and can’t be bothered? Because they might be illegal? Because, well, because there are just so many of them!

We’ve been thinking during this Lenten season about sanctuary – what is sanctuary physically and spiritually? The rich man is safe and sound behind the sanctuary of his gates. The poor man, on the other hand, lies completely exposed without any shelter, like the picture on the front of your bulletins of the refugee family lying without any shelter in the middle of a field. They look so vulnerable and at risk. The rich man could have provided Lazarus with shelter and care. In the end, it is Lazarus who is given shelter and comfort and sanctuary…in the bosom of Abraham.

If you were listening carefully, you perhaps noticed that our translation of Luke’s text did not use the word “bosom”. Lazarus was carried to “Abraham’s side”. When the rich man sees him, he is “at Abraham’s side”. The difference in translations caused me to do some research. The King James Version reads “bosom”. The New English Bible reads “to be with” and “close beside him.” Eugene Peterson’s contemporary translation reads “lap” as does the New International version of the text. Why this discrepancy?

The Bosom of Abraham has very ancient usage. Up until about 1583 CE the use of the phrase referred to the custom of parents holding their children on their laps. Even earlier than this, it is believed that the bosom of Abraham referred to the custom of eating meals in a reclining position, leaning on the chest of the person next to you. If the usage of the Bosom of Abraham has such a long history, why change the translation into something less physical, less intimate? I mean, does “close beside him” have the same meaning as “in the bosom of”? Is it because bosom seems feminine? Is it because bosom seems just a little too close for comfort? A little too intimate for our likes? Too touchy touchy feely feely for us frozen chosen?

Or does changing bosom of Abraham for a description less intimate suggest who we think God is? Are we worried about getting too close to God? Do we think God does not care enough about us to grasp us and hold us tight to God’s self?

There are some beautiful depictions of the bosom of Abraham on the stone columns of Romanesque and Gothic churches in which Abraham is depicted holding a sort of blanket with the souls of the departed close to his chest. These images tell us something about who God is. God is compassionate and nurturing and wants nothing more than to hold us tightly in God’s strong arms.

I love the idea that, in Baptism, God has taken little William Nixon in God’s arms and holds him tight…to the bosom of God.

Why wouldn’t we want that God? Why would we want to change the words from bosom to simply standing nearby? I will tell you what I think. I think we may not want God to be so intimately caring because that means we might have to be so intimately caring. If God is like that…then we should be like that…while we are alive – before it is too late.

Who is outside our gates? Who is outside our church doors? Who is outside…right in front of us that we do not see…this morning? This morning…it is not too late!

A Woman’s Work Is Never Done!
Rev. Christa Fuller Burns
Faith Presbyterian Church (USA) Baltimore

Luke 18:25-42 – 5 March 2017

First Sunday of Lent

 

The dictionary defines “sanctuary” as 1) a holy place set aside for worship and 2) a place of refuge or protection; originally, fugitives from justice were immune from arrest in churches or other sacred places.

I am guessing most of us are familiar with the idea of church as a place for worship and even refuge from the cares of the world. Indeed, one of the most frequently used arguments against churches taking part in the affairs of the outside world is that the church ought to be a spiritual refuge from the affairs of the world. We may not be so familiar with the idea of church as a place of safety for those in trouble with the law. However, the idea that there should be such places is intrinsic to our identity as people of God. As I pointed out in my Voice of Faith letter, Moses was instructed by God to set apart certain cities of refuge, sanctuary cities, for those in need of a safe place (Numbers 35:15). Through-out it’s history, the church has provided refuge to people in danger. Christians during the Holocaust were simply enacting their faith when they took in Jews in defiance of Hitler’s laws.

God is often described in the Psalms as providing refuge for us: Psalm 91: “You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress; my god in whom I trust.’ For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler and from the deadly pestilence; he will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.” (v 1-4)

The author of Hebrews describes Christ as a high priest who gives us a sanctuary “not made with hands”. ..eternal in the heavens (Hebrews 9:11).

This idea of sanctuary, then, is a foundational one in our faith whether we are talking about a physical place of sanctuary or the sanctuary of the heart, a spiritual sanctuary.

During our Lenten season I would like to explore the meaning of sanctuary, both physical and spiritual. As you may know by now, Susan Minor and I have been attending meetings at St. Matthews Church. A variety of faith communities, the number of which grows each time we meet, are coming together to think about what it means to provide sanctuary for immigrants who are being rounded up by the authorities and detained. What would it mean if Faith declared itself a “Sanctuary Church”?

As I looked at our lectionary for Lent it occurred to me that the stories Jesus told are so often about refuge of one sort or another.

Let’s begin by considering the very familiar story of The Good Samaritan. You know the story. A lawyer comes up to Jesus, as Luke puts it, to test him. He wants to know what he has to do to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds: Well, you know the law. You tell me. The lawyer knows his law and his faith. He answers “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus tells him that he has the right answer. If he can do this, love God with all that he is and his neighbor as himself, he will live.

The lawyer persists and asks Jesus who is his neighbor at which point Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan. A man was going down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho when he was stripped, robbed and beaten by a gang. It seems to me, part of the problem with our modern hearing of this story is that it is so familiar. We know the story – not just the Biblical account of the story. We know it because everyday we hear on the news or see on Facebook accounts of people who are robbed and beaten and left for dead. We know this story.When we are daily bombarded with horrific accounts of people left for dead, we run the risk of being the ones who walk by on the other side. After all, there is just so much misery we can take. Maybe we are numb to the story.

And, we also know the part about those who walk by and do nothing because…why? Because we are rushing somewhere and don’t have time? Because we feel inadequate to help? Because it might be dangerous? Because our religious obligations forbid touching someone like that? Our excuses are too numerous to mention.

We know, too, the Samaritans in our world. The Samaritans are not simply those we think of as “other”. They are the enemy. Jews thought Samaritans were something as vile as terrorists. We probably cannot overestimate the antipathy Jews felt toward Samaritans. None the less, Jesus felt the obligation to reach out to them. In chapter 9 of Luke, Jesus sends his messengers into a Samaritan village where they are not met with a welcome committee, to put it mildly. They refused to welcome Jesus and the disciples want to know if Jesus wants that they should command fire to come down from heaven and wipe ‘em all out! Of course, Jesus says no, and they move on.

The Samaritans – they were not just bad neighbors. They were despised. They were hated, which makes Jesus’ telling of this parable all the more remarkable.

The priest walks by. The holy, prestigious Levite walks by. But the hated and despised Samaritan stops. He doesn’t just stop. Moved with pity, he bandages the victim’s wound, he hoists him up on his donkey, and he takes him to an inn where he gives the inn keeper some money and instructions to take care of him.

We know this story…because it is about all of us. At some point, haven’t we found ourselves in the ditch? At some point, haven’t we been the ones who just kept going? At some point, hopefully, were we the ones who stopped and gave refuge to the wounded, the vulnerable, the refugee?

The Good Samaritan, after all, is a story about loving our neighbors to the point where we pick them up out of the ditch and offer them safety. The Good Samaritan is a story about providing sanctuary. The second story we heard this morning is perhaps less clearly about sanctuary.

The story about the two sisters, Mary and Martha, is also familiar. As Jesus and his friends kept going they come to a village where a woman, Martha, welcomes them into her home. That’s about sanctuary isn’t it? Martha provides a safe place that is warm and where there is food for the travelers on their way to Jerusalem. While Martha busily works in the kitchen fixing dinner, her sister Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, listening to what Jesus says. Martha gets upset and wants to know why Jesus doesn’t tell her sister to help her whereupon Jesus says, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.” (v.41-41)

Traditionally, we women have been asked, “Are you a Mary or a Martha?” Are we the one who keep everything working and in order? Or are we the dreamy one who spends her days in contemplation? I have decided that this choice is unfair and may not have been Jesus’ intended point at all. Perhaps the story about Mary and Martha isn’t about how one role is better than the other. Perhaps it is a story about defending a woman’s right to choose. Martha’s work was traditional for her day, maybe even for ours. The fact that Mary is allowed to sit at Jesus’ feet, to be a student of Jesus was unthinkable in Jesus’ time. It was unthinkable that a woman would be allowed to sit at the teacher’s feet. Jesus defends Mary’s right to choose.

And, what is it that Mary chooses? Howard Thurman, the great American spiritual mentor who we just studied in our adult forum, writes that we have an outer life and an inner sanctuary. Sometimes, he writes, it is hard to know that we are in fact one: the outer life is made up of things we do – our relationships, our work and play, job, people and things. Martha represent an outer life. On the other hand, the inward sanctuary “is the place where I keep my trust with all my meanings and my values. It is the quiet place where the ultimate issues of my life are determined. What I know of myself, my meaning; what I know of God, His meaning; all this, and much more, is made clear in my secret place.” (P.173-4 Meditations of the Heart) Thurman concludes that we need both the outer sanctuary and the inner one because the outer one will have no meaning without the inner one. In other words, we need to be both Martha and Mary – the one who provides physical sanctuary and the one who has the sanctuary within.

I always think of the writer, Frederick Buechner’s story about his father who committed suicide when Buechner was a small boy. Later, Buechner came to realize that, as accomplished and intelligent as he was, his father had no real home within himself. In other words, he had no inner sanctuary, no inner refuge that gave meaning to his life. Or, as the great poet, Billy Joel, put it in his song, And So It Goes: “In every heart there is a room; A sanctuary safe and strong to heal the wounds from lovers past until a new one comes along”. Perhaps that is what Mary found when she sat at Jesus’ feet: A sanctuary safe and strong to heal the wounds.

The fact is that what the Good Samaritan did, what Martha did and what Mary did was all work. There is the work of physically rescuing the person in the ditch. There is the work of making our homes places of welcome. There is the work of tending our inner homes, our sanctuaries of the heart. That work…is never done!