Sermon for the First Sunday after Trinity

admin | 18 June 2017

“There was a certain beggar named Lazarus”

Lazarus ‘R Us. We are Lazarus. There are two people named Lazarus in the Gospels. The one is the blessed subject of a parable told by Jesus in Luke’s Gospel, the story we heard today. The other is the blessed object of a miracle done by Jesus in John’s Gospel. There is much that is similar about them.

But there is this difference. The one lays on the ground – a beggar in the dirt, unnoticed, at the gate of the rich man – and then dies. The other dies and then is buried in the ground – hidden in the grave for four days. But, then, both are raised up – the one into the bosom of Abraham, the other into the company of his family and friends, among whom is Jesus himself.

What does it all come down to? Simply this. The love of God compels us to love one another where we are – on the ground and even out of the ground, as it were. This is not a may-be but a must-be for our salvation and more generally for the health of our communities and cultures. We are commanded and compelled to love out of the vision of love which has been shown to us. Such was Trinity Sunday when we beheld the strong and defining love of God. “Behold a door was opened in heaven.” “Batter my heart three-personed God,” as John Donne puts it, for only that strong love can move us to God and to him in one another.

When we ignore the stranger in our midst or neglect the beggar at our door, then we deny the God who became poor for our sakes, who came into our midst, and who knocks at the door of our hearts. When we are consumed by envy at the good fortune of others, when we are filled with hatred and wrath for the hurts and injuries inflicted upon us, whether real or imagined, when we are complacent and indifferent to the sufferings of others, then we place ourselves very far from God and do great harm to others as well as to ourselves.

To put it in terms of the parable, there is a great gulf fixed between us and God when we ignore the poor man at our gate, the neighbour close at hand, and our loved ones all around. Then we place ourselves in torment, the torment of our self-willed distance from God. Then we are pretty far gone – like Lazarus in the ground four days, “behold, he stinketh”, says Martha, and so do we in the sins of our indifference and selfishness. But, “Lazarus, come out”, Jesus says.

The problem is not that we don’t know better. The problem is that we do not act upon what we do know. The vision of love is not alive in us because we do not let it live in us. We are dead to the glory of God revealed: “If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rose from the dead.” Yet Christ is risen from the dead – he raises Lazarus as the illustration of the teaching that he is the Resurrection and the Life, as the sign which points to the real and ultimate Resurrection, Christ’s Resurrection from the death of all our sins. Either way we are Lazarus, too, called out of the dust of our neglect of one another and out of the grave of our common death.

He would have us come out of our sin and death and into the communion of his love and life. The vision of love is our life with God, wherever the places and whatever the circumstances of our lives. We are called out into his love, wherever we are.

We may be with Job on the dung heap of existence struggling to understand the mysteries of creation, the complexities of the accidents of human history and the simplicities of God’s Providence. We may be in our villages and towns, sweltering in the heat or shivering in the cold, or in the countryside and woodlands, swatting the flies, or along the seashore, enjoying the freshening breezes. We may be in the beautiful spring gardens of creation following the pattern of glory in the steps of Jesus Christ. His path makes every path the way of glory. He calls us into his love wherever we are. The vision of love revealed gives shape to all that we see and do, to all that we hear and read.

“Behold a door was opened in heaven,” we heard last week in the wonderful vision of worship and glory, the true end of creation is found in the praise of God. But here, too, a door is opened, and, behold, there is Lazarus lying at our feet. There we are. Lazarus is us, too. We are lying in the dust of our confusions and sins, ignorant of ourselves and one another. But the hope of the Gospel lies in our being raised up and called out of the dust of the ground and out of the grave, being called into the praise and worship of the Trinity. It requires seeing ourselves and one another in God.

The love that is of God is far more than sentimental feelings; it is the deep yearning of the soul, at once seeking understanding and striving for articulation but also compelled to the cross and to the service of others. It is the love which Jesus shows us and into which he calls us. Lazarus in his poverty shows us what we yearn for: “to be fed with the crumbs which fall from the rich man’s table.” We know we are “unworthy”; it is only the gracious love of God which makes us ready and desirous and worthy to be where God would have us be – in his presence, the presence which has been opened to view by the sacrifice of the Son. Herein is love and “herein is our love made perfect.”

In an upper room, the Lord and Teacher of Love kneels down before us and washes our feet in an act of loving service. “For I have given you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” His love commands our love by the quality of his example. His love draws us into the vision of eternal love which he opens to view. In him all love has its fulfillment and perfection, even in the face of treachery. For Judas’ treachery is also the treachery of our own hearts. But Jesus washes his betrayer’s feet; he serves him, he does not neglect and ignore him. Will we continue to betray him or will we “come out”? Will we hear and obey the voice of Jesus, whether spoken through Moses and the prophets or spoken in our midst, saying “Lazarus, come out!”?

The parable is told to awaken us to the love of God on the ground where we are. When we are awakened to that love and reminded of its deep necessity for our lives, then we are rich indeed and find ourselves with Lazarus in the bosom of Abraham. Lazarus lies in the dust at the gate of the rich man’s house; Lazarus lies buried in the ground. Either way we are called out and we find ourselves in the fellowship of the blessed Trinity, in the love that is God.

At funerals, I often end the service with a little devotional commendation known as the In Paradisum. It draws upon this Gospel story to remind us that we, too, are Lazarus.

Into the Paradise of God may the Angels lead thee; and at thy coming may the Martyrs receive thee, and take thee into the holy City Jerusalem. May all the Choirs of Angels welcome thee; and with Lazarus once a beggar, may God grant thee rest eternal. Amen