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September 30, 2007

Beth Foote - Sept 30 2007

Luke 16:19-31

Today we celebrate St. Francis Day, a little bit early to match up with our Brunch, and we bless our animal friends, both alive and stuffed. St. Francis was born, a long time (826 years ago) in Assisi, Italy. His mother was French, so they named him Francesco, or “Frenchie.” The 12th Century in Italy was a time of poverty, constant war, and disease. Francis was very fortunate to be the son of a wealthy cloth merchant. But as a young man, he was captured in battle and was a prisoner of war for over a year.

During that time, he faced loneliness, and sickness. When he returned to Assisi, he sensed God calling to him, and had several visions. Once when he was alone in a little country chapel that was falling down from disrepair, Christ spoke to him from a crucifix and said, “Francis, rebuild my church.” At first Francis thought Christ wanted him to physically rebuild the little church, and he reset the stones, and restored the little chapel. Then, he heard a sermon on the story in Matthew 10, where Jesus says to the disciples to go out and teach but do not bring anything with you. After that, he decided to listen to what Jesus said, and really “do” it. He denounced his father’s wealth and pledged to live a life of poverty.

At first, the people of Assisi thought of him as something of a freak. So did his family. What was wrong with this guy who had everything, and then gave it up? But then, people began to see that he lived what he believed; he walked the walk. He lived as closely to the way Jesus lived as he could. He treated others the way he would like to be treated. And as he lived into that simple way of life, Francis began to really “see” the poor and the unfortunate. All around him were many sick people who were disfigured by disease and rejected because they were unattractive. They were forced to live outside the city walls. So Francis went to live with them. He cared for them. He “saw” them as people like himself, beloved of God, no different than himself, a radically simple yet profound idea. It was a difficult way of life, and at the same time he achieved a spiritual freedom and joy that was contagious. When people radiate that kind of simple joy and peace, it is very attractive. Almost immediately, people followed Francis, and he really did rebuild the church in the larger sense, by inspiring people to more fully live the Gospel. His little band of followers quickly became the Franciscan Order, which lives on today.

I’m sure Francis knew today’s gospel reading about the rich man and Lazarus. There are basically three acts to the story. In the first act, we’re introduced to the rich man with his purple linen robes who lives behind a gate and Lazarus, the poor, sick man, who sits just outside the gate. He lives in such a state of poverty and disease that the dogs passing by lick his sores.

In the second act, we see the two men again, in the afterlife. Now, they have switched places. Lazarus is “carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham.” In ancient Judaism, this was a very honored place to be. The rich man is in a “hot spot,” being tormented by flames.


In the third act, the rich man can see Lazarus over there in his “luxury box seat,” but he can’t bring himself to talk directly to Lazarus the poor beggar. Instead, he addresses Abraham and says, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.”

Notice how he only “sees” Lazarus as a poor man of the servant class who can “do” something for him. Lazarus is forever below him, a potential servant, an underling, not as good as he is. In life, the rich man never thought to give Lazarus a cup of water, or help him in life, and still expects Lazarus to wait on him in the afterlife.

So, Abraham, the patriarch, speaks for Lazarus, the lowly beggar, and tells the rich man, that he’s no longer in charge and he better get used to it. I sense a little amusement in Abraham’s voice.
He also points out the “great chasm that has been fixed.”

But wasn’t there always a great divide of social hierarchy and privilege? After a lifetime of putting himself first, the rich man has made his own uncomfortable, painfully lonely niche.

The rich man then realizes that he’s stuck. He begs Abraham to send someone to tell his 5 brothers how they can escape his fate.

Will the 5 brothers get the message? It’s an open question, for us, too. Are we going to listen to Jesus? Are we going to heed the warning? And just how are we supposed to do that?

This week I went to the annual clergy conference at the Bishop’s Ranch. The theme was the environment and the Millenium Development goals. We had the privilege to meet our Presidiing Bishop Katherine Jefforts Schori on Friday, and what a wise person she is. Over the two days, I found many links to both St. Francis and our Gospel for today.

We all know that humanity is degrading the Earth. One speaker said that if everyone on the planet consumed at the same rate that the Bay Area does, it would take the equivalent of 4 Earths to make that possible. Add to the equation the extreme poverty in much of the world that the Millenium Development Goals seek to address. Here are the two extremes: extreme over-consumption and extreme poverty, kind of like the rich man and Lazarus, flip-sides of the same coin. Our Presiding Bishop said that there might be a reason the word “consumption” used to be a slang term for tuberculosis, a disease that sucks the life out of people. Could our level of material consumption be doing the same thing to us and our Earth? Is it a disease?

Yes, I think it is a disease, but I don’t think it’s anything that new. The rich man suffered from it when he didn’t see Lazarus, and the people in St. Francis’ time suffered from it when they threw the sick people outside the town walls. It’s selfishness and it’s fear mixed together. What is new in our time is the presenting symptom of massive over-consumption shutting out and affecting the whole Earth and the rest of its people.

If that’s the disease, what’s the antidote? At the end of our gospel reading, Jesus suggests that we repent, or turn toward God. And we have a loving and forgiving God who is always waiting for us to turn that way. As faithful people of God, we can do this. One day at a time. Turning toward God changes our perspective, and it can change the world’s. It causes us to look up, and see beyond ourselves. At that point we can begin to see Lazarus at our gate. We can begin to see how interrelated we are, and as living members of the environment, how everything we do effects the environment and everyone who lives within it.

We might begin to change our habits of living so that we reflect God’s face rather than our own. We might be able to “see” other people who aren’t “like” us. We might begin to “see” them more the way Francis and Jesus did, as people beloved of God, and living members of God’s creation.

In the last few weeks we’ve had an invasion of hummingbirds in our backyard. I have a tall, perennial plant about my height called a monkeypaw plant, that they seem to like. The other day I was watering the garden, and a hummingbird came up to one of the monkeypaw blossoms at my eye level. I looked at the hummingbird and the hummingbird looked at me. For a brief moment, we saw each other eye to eye, as living beings created by God.

That is what Francis did, and what Jesus wants us to do with our animal friends, and with our fellow human beings. Today at the Peace, let’s all say to one another, “Peace be with you, beloved being of God.”

One of my earliest memories is watching my grandfather put out his hand and coax a hummingbird to come light on his hand. It’s so faint, but so beautiful. I think I was about 3 or so. That beautiful memory now reminds me a bit of St. Francis’ way with animals. He saw animals as fellow creatures of God, more than something to be hunted for food, fattened up on the farm to eat or to provide transportation. He “saw” them as beautiful, fellow beings created by God and loved by God.

Amen.

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