A great and fixed gulf: Lazarus and the rich man (Luke 16:19-31)
“But that is not all: between us and you
a great gulf has been fixed, to prevent those
who want to cross from our side to yours
or from yours to ours.” –Luke 16:26
That fixed gulf has been bothering me. It sounds slightly harsh, and even
hard-hearted on the surface. And that feels like a kind of stumbling block
messing with my idea of God’s love. Of course, having my ideas and notions
challenged is almost always a good thing. Like most people, I too easily get
set in my own patterns and habits of thinking. And it is good for me to be
reminded that my ideas are not God’s. But, it is a particularly painful
stumbling block just now because this week I have been listening to a few
voices talk of “tough love.” And on the surface, a teaching like this might
seem to be an affirmation of such talk. Tough love sometimes has to set
boundaries, create barriers, even fix a great gulf between people, even people
who want to help. And yet, the tough
love talk I heard seemed to have much more emphasis on the tough than on the
love. And the voices seemed to only grow harder the longer they talked,
opinions and ideas becoming fixed... The life-giving warmth of love fading into
something cold and lifeless. So I am struggling with the idea of tough love,
and with this vision of a gulf that seems intended to prevent the flow of mercy
or compassion, and with the idea that this gulf was “fixed” (or created) by a
loving God.
Ok; so, start there. (And yes—I understand this is a parable, and I may be
over-thinking things. Again, let that be part of the very premise I am about to
present.)
Now, with that groundwork in place, let me for a moment ponder some ideas about
that “great gulf.” My initial concern is: why? Why would a loving, merciful,
life-giving God (who—in fact-- is Love) “fix” a gulf between the saved and the
lost to prevent souls from crossing? What would He be preventing? Repentance?
Access to His grace? To His Mercy? His love? Why?
Of course, some might answer because real love is “tough,” and choices have
consequences, therefore some souls may find themselves hopelessly suffering in
Hell, because they deserve it. It’s natural consequences. Divine justice. That reading turns this great
fixed gulf into an element of God’s justice. Seen through the lens of “tough
love” this fixed gulf is an actual barrier –like a vast chasm between two
spaces, something like the afterlife’s version of the Grand Canyon—a truly
uncrossable space—even for a Heavenly Evil Knievel. And yes, that feels like tough
love. But, to my ear it doesn’t actually sound like God’s love.
And so, I turn back to the parable itself, wondering if there might be a clue about
that gulf and how and by who it was fixed. A truth that might reveal something
about the toughness of God’s love.
“There was a rich man who used to dress in purple
and fine linen and feast magnificently every day.
And at his gate there used to lie a poor man called
Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to fill
himself with what fell from the rich man’s table.
Dogs even used to come and lick his sores…”
Luke 16: 19-21
Do you notice another gulf in this story? The gulf between the rich man’s table
and his gate? The gulf between the rich man’s feasts and Lazarus’s hunger? The
gulf between his fine linen and purple garments and Lazarus covered with sores
that are licked by the dogs. And what about those dogs? Are they there at the
rich man’s gate to drive away poor ragged beggars? Or were they wild strays
that also hungered for scraps, and licking the wounds of Lazarus was somehow a
comfort to them and perhaps even him?
Ah, but I must let those dogs run free for now, and return to that fixed gulf.
As I read this parable, that gulf isn’t fixed by God—but by the rich man. And
it isn’t waiting for him somewhere in eternity, it is forming inside of him
every time he feasts, and every time he turns away from the needs of the beggar
who waits at his gate. It isn’t a sign of God’s judgment, but of the choices,
the blindness and the selfishness that have shaped his life. It is a habit of
the soul and is fixed by choice, not by God. The rich man lived a life of
chasms and barriers, a life of self-protection, and self-defense one might say,
protecting his own comfort and defending his own security with wealth and gates
and dogs (maybe) and protecting himself from discomfort and vulnerability by
carefully managing his finances and willfully turning away and ignoring
others—especially those unpleasantly in need. This fixed gulf is not an imposed
barrier or punishment from a righteously indignant God, but a sign of a Loving
God’s willingness to allow His creation the freedom to be who and what we
choose to be. Even if that means we make a private Hell from our own choices.
And this reading—again, let me remind you (and myself ) that my understanding
could be clouded by my own willfulness or prejudices, focused through the lens
of my own theological preferences, BUT… there are two things about God that
seem pretty clear to me: 1st, that the Love of God excludes no one, and 2nd
that the way we receive that Love is what determines our eternity. Are we open
to it? Do we long for it? Have we nurtured within ourselves the desire to be in
His presence, to enter fully into His love? To die to ourselves and say with
utter certainty: Thy will be done? Or have we nurtured within ourselves a
desire to become our own gods, to selfishly protect and defend our own opinions
and ideas like they were sacred idols, make an altar of our own security and
safety, putting always our own desires and needs on that altar, and chanting
always to ourselves: My will be done?
In fact, I wonder now, isn’t it clear that—how we live shapes that gulf and
fixes it in place. A tough love that excludes others, drives them away, ignores
their humanity or has no patience, compassion or sympathy for frailty and
weakness --that kind of love --Is it really love? Or is it actually an
emptiness that creates a gulf and fixes it inside my own heart by ignoring
those in need, the vulnerable, the challenging, the lost, those who are
different, those who make me uncomfortable?
Or have I built a bridge across that gulf by opening my heart and life to those in need, by feeding the hungry, caring for the sick and the sorrowing, visiting the prisoners of poverty and loneliness as well as those in actual prisons?
In other words, we can hide from love behind a gulf of “toughness” or we can lay down our lives, take up the cross, and let the Love of God become a bridge between us.
And all of this does have (for me) a very personal connection. I had a brother who was not easy to love. He was an addict, a thief, a drunk, a man who would promise to change, but found the effort often beyond him. And there was a time when I turned away from him. Didn’t want him around my family, my children because I was afraid of what he might do or say. He made life hard, uncomfortable. And things often got broken when he was around—vases, toys, feelings. I was afraid of him, of what his needs might demand from me, and of losing the secure, comfortable life I was trying to build for myself. In the end, as he was dying in utter poverty, his dog, always beside him, his only comfort… I have to wonder. What would have happened if I had taken up his cross, instead of driving him away? I was not a bad brother, helping him with money when needed, talking to him on the phone for hours when he would call… But I was not a brother who was willing to lay down his comfortable life for the sake of another. My love wasn’t tough. It was cowardly.
The memory of my brother, and my failure, has shaped my
life. Every day I must ask myself: Have I fixed a gulf or become a bridge?
Which kind of love sounds tougher to you? And which one sounds more like Jesus?
Take up your cross and follow Me, Jesus says.
Talk about toughness.
