“Even the Dogs”

Luke 16:19-31



Pastor Tom Johnson, September 29, 2013

The rich man and Lazarus is a story that illustrates what Jesus says just verses before our text: that you cannot serve both God and money. The rich man is a slave to his riches. Money deadens his senses to how he could serve God. This parable is designed to disrupt us who love money. It is also designed to disrupt prosperity theology: though God does provide for our needs, a lack of material wealth does not mean that the poor lack faith or are God’s rejects.

The rich man has all the outward appearance of prosperity and blessing. He is decked out in the finest apparel. He eats lavishly every day. Meanwhile, outside his gate, lays the poor man, Lazarus. He is not covered with fine linen but with infected sores. His belly is not satisfied with the finest food, but aches and pangs in hunger. No doubt, the rich man passed by this man every day on his way out and back from his business. Perhaps it is because Lazarus was simply the first of a long string of beggars. To stop for each poor and haggard person would make it impossible to reach his destination. He was rich—but not rich enough to sustain a multitude of needy individuals. And so, I suppose, he acted like he didn’t hear, see, or smell Lazarus as he frequently passed him by.

As I describe the rich man’s willful ignorance, I can’t help but remember my own. From the time I arrive at the El green line, transfer to the red line downtown, and then walk a block up to church each day, I must have ignored dozens of people. They are nameless to me. I have not heard their stories. I tell myself that I cannot devote myself to street ministry. I do not have enough money to meet all their needs. “The poor you will always have with you,” Jesus says (Mt 26:11). But maybe, just maybe, I should start to take notice who is laying at my proverbial gate.

I wish I could see the gleam in Jesus’ eye when he tells this story—when the first example of human care and empathy comes from our four legged friends. “Even the dogs,” Jesus says, “…even the dogs would come and lick Lazarus’ sores.” These comfort dogs—yes, these marvelous creatures—are able to serve an entirely different species. They do not become squeamish at the sight of a human with open sores. Instead, they care for his wounds as they would one of their own helpless puppies. I don’t know that Jesus is suggesting that dogs feel the same depth of empathy and concern that we humans should. But there is something about the nature of dogs—or perhaps missing—that enables them to do what we would consider repugnant.

About five years ago, my family and I went to the Indiana Dunes with our Labrador retriever, Ginger. My then 9 year old daughter, 7 year old son, and I decided to climb Mt. Baldy from one of the steep embankments. Our dog Ginger happily joined us. At one point, my oldest tripped. She not only lost her footing but the sand was moving more quickly under her feet than she could make progress up the dune. She cried out for help. Our dog Ginger started to pull on her leash toward my daughter, so I let her go. She ran right to my daughter, then turned around, and then ran back to me. I suppose we were slow learners, because she did that twice before I suggested that my daughter grab ahold of her collar. She did. And Ginger pulled my daughter swiftly up the hill to safety. She did what she was bred to do—retrieve.

When Lazarus dies, there is another species of creature sent to minister to Lazarus—the angels. They, too, are on mission. They cross the boundary of time and space, visible and invisible, mortal and immortal. And they go the same gate where poor Lazarus lay. They carry Lazarus’ resurrected body while leaving the shell of his former self to return to dust.

Meanwhile it is the rich man who makes a startling realization when he dies. He is the one who is now nameless. He is now the beggar sitting at the gate. He has been overlooked both by dogs and angels though not by God. He wants Abraham to send Lazarus back from the dead to warn his brothers about the true nature of things in the universe: No one packs a suitcase into eternity. Riches are not always a sign of God’s blessing but can often deaden our senses to what really matters in the world. The love of money can prevent us from loving God and our neighbor—our neighbor who even sits at our front door.

The rich man wants Lazarus to follow in the paw prints of the dogs, the wings of the angels, and call his brothers to use their riches for the glory of God and to further God’s mission to all humanity. Finally, he gets it. He understands God’s mission to rescue humanity. But Abraham tells him that such a mission has already happened so sending Lazarus from the dead would be a pointless stunt. God sent Moses and the prophets already to bind up our wounds and carry us off to heaven. “They have the Hebrew Scriptures,” Abraham says, “If your brothers would not listen to the likes of Moses and the prophets, neither will they listen to one who rises from the dead.”

And here is the punch line of this satirical story—even sending someone who has risen from the dead will not break someone out of their bondage to riches or wake them up from their complacent love for money. God has already sent Moses, the prophets, the angels, and even the dogs. It is a miracle of God to wake us up to what really matters. It is a gift to use our resources to be a blessing to those around us. And God has even sent his resurrected Son, Jesus Christ, to call us back to a missional use of our time, treasure, and talent.

Each Saturday, the hungry come to the gates of First Saint Paul’s. We answer God’s call to learn names, hear stories, feed the hungry, bind up wounded feet, and watch God raise people up as his beloved children. Who else has God laid at our gates and front doors? Jesus reminds us that God has not left us as orphans—nor ignored us who sit at his gate. He provides for our needs body and soul. He knows us by name. He forgives the harmful things we do and the things we neglect to do. He raises us up. And one day, he will carry us to our eternal home. This is the work of the Gospel. God sent his Son, Jesus to serve us. Jesus sends the angels to minister to us. He sends us to care for one another. And why shouldn’t we—selflessly and joyfully? Even the dogs do that.