Handing Each Other Along

Handing Each Other Along

Today’s parable – not allegory – is not about “Hell.” Notice that Jesus actually calls it “Hades,” as in the underworld kingdom of the Greek god of death. And while in his telling the rich man goes straight from his underground burial to the underworld of the dead, we can safely assume that the Son of God knows that there isn’t some underground place where the shades (not so much souls) of the dead go. So, while Jesus used the images that the people of his time imagined, he is not giving us a photographic description of at least one part of the afterlife.

Neither does Jesus specify how much we should give to the poor. The Law of Moses, and the prophets – Amos among them – was clear about the obligations of the wealthy to help the poor. As Abraham said of the rich man’s brothers, “They have Moses and the prophets. They must listen to them,” as the rich man himself could have done.

But all of us are at risk of building walls of indifference to the poor that we might be tempted not to see. The rich man’s “gate” was just part of a wall that allowed him to pretend that he didn’t know about Lazarus who would have been laid outside his gate, because in a subsistence economy, he would have been the obligatory safety net. But it turns out that the rich man does know Lazarus because he recognizes him in Hades.

By the way, some Bibles may call him “Dives.” That’s just Latin for “rich man.” Many have been tempted to give such a distinguished man a name. But Jesus doesn’t give him a name, as he does to Lazarus. But so blind is he to the basic humanity of others that even in Hades, he expects Lazarus to serve him — Father Abraham, send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.

All of us can probably think of people who seem so lost behind their wall of privilege and illusion of self-making that they are blinded to the humanity of those less fortunate. But how many times have we been stopped at the light with someone in the median asking for help? What can we do when we meet someone whom we see for such a short time that we might as well be snapshots to each other, no past and no future? And when we occasionally are able to stop and speak briefly, we hear just enough to know how much of their past can’t be fixed in our brief encounter.

I’ve taken to carrying a water bottle in the car when I go somewhere. And if there is someone at the median, I put down the window and give them water. Everyone needs hydration, especially those who can’t find a fountain and buy a bottle. I can’t change their lives, but I can give them at least some relief from thirst.

Of course, everybody we meet at our “gate,” which is wherever we are, is probably thirsting for something, including ourselves. Walker Percy was a Southern Roman Catholic convert and well known author. His first novel, The Moviegoer, which takes place in New Orleans during Mardi Gras, won the National Book Award in 1961. At the end, his “hero,” says, "There is only one thing I can do: listen to people, see how they stick themselves into the world, hand them along a ways in their dark journey and be handed along.” To be clear, Binx Bolling comes to that conclusion because he does come to believe that there is a God toward whom we are all moving, not down or up, but toward.

So, If I may conclude with a parable: Whoever and wherever you meet, put the window down, and have a bottle ready.

The 16th Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 21, Year C,

September 28th, 2025

The Rev. David Kendrick