"Knock, knock"
Let me try that again-"Knock, knock"
While you may not have said anything out loud you know what your
were thinking. Everyone over the age of three knows what to say.
I say "Knock, knock" and you say, "Who's there?"
This, of course is where things get interesting, especially if
you are 4, 5, 6 or 7 years of age.
I say, "Knock, knock"--you say, "Who's there"
I reply "Anita"--You say, "Anita who?"
And I answer "Anita ride to school."
There is something wonderfully simple and delightful about that
sound at the door.
"Knock, knock." "Who's there?" "Jess"
"Jess who?" "Jess me, open the door."
Or "Knock, knock" "Who's there?" "Holden"
"Holden who?"
"Hold on, I've got another call"
Or this one I especially like--"Knock, knock" "Who's
there?" "Cowsgo" "Cowsgo who?"
"No they don't, cows go moo."
Jokes and stories are literary forms, and as literary forms, they have a history and even a geography. Preppy jokes and Polack jokes began in the Northeast and migrated West. From California we heard "valley girl" stories, and I suspect it was Minnesota--or some such place that gave us Ole & Lena and "blonde" jokes (although understandably, some find these funnier than others).
Some 2,000 years ago in the time of Jesus there was a form of joke or story going around that as far as biblical scholars can tell began in Egypt. These stories had an essential form to them. Two persons die and go to whatever reward awaits them beyond the grave. The two persons are of contrasting backgrounds or characters and the story plays on that contrast to make a lesson or score a point.
We know that the teachers of Jesus' time told
stories that went something like this:
"A rabbinic scholar died and so did a tax-collector..."
and the story goes on from there
-or "a virtuous woman and a sinful woman died and..."
so the story goes.
Jesus also tells a story in this form but he
modifies the style slightly. Instead of the contrast being between
a pious Jewish scholar
and a culturally assimilated Jewish bureaucrat or a virtuous person
and a sinner, Jesus has the contrast be a purely economic one.
In Jesus' story the poor man is named Lazarus,
and this man is disgustingly poor. He sits outside the rich man's
house hoping for table scraps, and he's sick--the street dogs
come and lick his sores. It is enough to say that knocking on
the rich man's door
was one very poverty-stricken individual named Lazarus. The contrasting
figure is someone with whom we can much more easily identify.
"There was a rich man," Jesus said, "who was dressed
in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.
And at his gate lay a poor man..."
The point is that the rich man's house had a gate. It was big
enough to be walled and have a gate, and within that gate probably
a circular drive with the finest forms of transportation, maybe
a pool and formal gardens-a great house! One man is disgustingly
poor--the other, disgustingly rich.
They're not good and bad--they're not wise
and foolish--not pious and irreligious.These men are simply rich
and poor--Rich man--poor man. That's all we know about them. That's
all that Jesus tells us. The rich man dies--and the poor man dies.
The rich man is buried.
No burial is mentioned for the poor man, but we are told that
he is carried to the bosom of Abraham--the father of the people
of Israel--and he is comforted there. The rich man finds himself
in torment in the land of the dead. This is where the story takes
on a "Trading Places" type of quality.
The exchange of fortunes probably surprised some of those who first heard it. It was a common belief in Jesus' day that material prosperity was a sign of God's blessing and poverty as the result of sin. To reverse this thinking ran contrary to the perspective of most people of the day.
We view this story in the Gospel of Luke differently
than those of Christ's time. We remember the beginning verses
of the Gospel
where Luke has Mary singing of how God has put down the mighty
from their thrones and exalted those of low degree. Of how God
has filled the hungry with good things and the rich God has sent
empty away. We are familiar enough with the scriptures and with
Christian faith that we are not surprised when Lazarus winds up
with the blessings of Abraham and the rich man finds himself impoverished
and isolated from every comfort. We know what the Bible says.
We aren't surprised when the fortunes of the rich man and poor
man are reversed, and they are separated by a vast, unbridgeable
chasm.
We aren't particularly surprised when the usually merciful father Abraham shrugs his shoulders sadly and says, "Sorry, fellow, there's nothing I can do now." We're not surprised, because we know how things are.
But at this point in the story the rich man
asks for an act of mercy--not for himself--He seems to recognize
a certain justice in his fate
--but he asks for his five brothers who are still living.
"Let Lazarus go then," the rich man asks, "and
tell them how things are so they can change their lives before
they also join me in torment."
It seems like a not so unreasonable request. The dead rich man
asks for a voice from heaven. The brother who has died asks that
Lazarus be sent back to the land of the living to speak to his
five brothers. To speak to them while there is yet time for them
to add a dimension to their living beyond the clothes they wear
and the food they eat and the houses they own. The rich man asks
for a voice from heaven to tell the people he loves what life
is really about--to speak of the deeper things of life and the
things that make life worth living. The request doesn't really
sound all that extreme.
"But no," says Abraham, "they
have Moses and the prophets--they have the Bible--"let them
hear them."
"But wait," pleads the rich man, "if someone goes
to them from the dead, then they will believe and change their
ways."
Father Abraham only shakes his shaggy beard,
"if they do not hear Moses and the prophets neither will
they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead."
Father Abraham recognizes that the rich man with the elaborate clothes and exotic menus and stupendous house is asking for something elaborate and exotic and stupendous that will compel belief. Something that will demand through some spectacular authority a change of heart and life--but he knows that faith doesn't work that way. Faith doesn't come from demand. Faith is a gift of seeing and hearing. Hearing the knock at the door--seeing who sits at our doorstep. The truth is that it doesn't take mysterious or supernatural events to bring us to faith--reality is far more effective.
The events of these past few weeks have made us too aware of our need for God and our need to reassess our daily priorities. There are actually enough shocks already in the world--but many act as if this is the first they have ever heard or seen of some of the very needs the church has struggled with for years. The past few weeks tens of thousands have flocked to give blood--but we have had blood drives at the church for over a decade--still, some people act as if they have never heard of that. Special appeals for money to assist others now fill the media and people suddenly have become more generous--but this church has had a monthly hunger and disaster assistance offering for a decade. Those funds have gone to one disaster after another--hurricanes--floods--famine--wars--tornadoes--riots--some of the funds have stayed here in the United States while most has been sent to far off lands.
The knocking at the door has been persistent and for years many in the congregation have heard and responded. We are part--through the work of many social service agencies--of the response to emergencies providing not only material items but also a spiritual witness--a ministry--a presence that stays long after the media trucks are gone continuing to care and help--we are still in Oklahoma City--we have never left Africa.
The too common surprise of reality surrounds us--the AIDS orphaned child in South Africa--the refugee from Bosnia--the Palestinian student in Bethlehem--the knocking at our door is constant.
That, of course, is part of the problem--the rich man had become so used to Lazarus being outside his gate that he became just part of the way things are--the way things have to be. Even after death the rich man shows no regret for his actions toward Lazarus--he even still assumes that he has power over the poor man--he suggests that Lazarus should be used--sent--as the rich man's messenger. The presumption of the haves over the have nots--the belief that we get what we deserve--but in this parable all that we might presume about deserving is reversed.
The point here is not to identify God's judgments on humanity--it is actually just the reverse. The point of the parable is to lift up a mirror to each of us--like the "knock, knock" joke--this parable invites us to listen more carefully to try to guess just where we might be headed.
The question has continued to be asked, "Where
was God on September 11?"
Some-blinded by the anger and despair have accepted simplistic
answers suggesting God's judgment or even absence, but the eyes
and ears of faith have begun to discern the miracles of that day.
We have begun to see the presence of the hand of God touching
individual life after individual life with choices and decisions
that kept people out of harms way. Planes that could have been
carrying hundreds of passengers did not--buildings that could
have been filled with tens of thousands were still relatively
empty--and many had the miraculous time to escape. God was very
busy that morning of September 11 knocking on doors--and even
for those who died there was a spirit of calm that gave meaning
and peace to final moments. Faith sees the world--hears the knocking--and
finds God's grace and joy in the answering.
To see the world by faith and not with our usual expectations.
One morning a man was out on the sidewalk when
the garbage truck came along. When the garbage man approached
him, he figured that he was going to ask for directions or something
like that. But instead the garbage man pulled out a photo of a
cute little 5-year-old boy and said:
"This is my grandson. He's on a life-support system at a
Phoenix hospital."
Right away the man started to feel uncomfortable, figuring that
the garbage man was going to ask him for money. But instead he
said: "I'm asking everybody I can to say a prayer for him.
Would you please do that for him?"
And then the garbage man went back to his truck and continued
on down the street.
There is a constant knocking at the door--and it isn't just people who are poor or in need--there is a constant knocking at the door of our hearts that is the hand of God. The voice on the other side of the door is not demanding or judging--it is inviting. Inviting us to see the world by God's grace.
So we hear again--"Knock, knock"
"Who's there?" "Boo" "Boo who?"
"No need to cry--this is God's world." Well--you get
the point. Amen.
Amen.