Creating a Masterpiece:
The Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man, Part 2
Luke 16:19-31
An Picture Painting of Death (v. 22-23a)
We re-visit the story of Lazarus and the rich man once again this week. Last week we saw Jesus paint a vivid portrait of two men who led very contrasting lives. This week we stand and continue our gaze into the masterpiece of words Jesus is painting, and as we have beheld the vivid colors of life, so now we see those colors fading into the dull tones of death. The dull tones draw our attention as Jesus tells the story:
Death is such an unpleasant subject. Death un-nerves us because we understand so little about it, except that it seems so final. Death is one of those subjects that we just would rather not talk about, and so we reserve our talks to those times when someone has died, and we are confronted with death’s reality. If you are uncomfortable hearing me talk about death to you, please consider how uncomfortable I am talking to you about it knowing you are uncomfortable. But Jesus was not afraid to talk about death, and if we need to discuss the subject, what better way to discuss it than to learn what the Master teaches about death, for he is the only one who has experienced death, and overcame it. What does the Master teach us about death in this masterpiece of words? Look to verse 22 and the first portion of verse 23. A short passage, yes, but very instructive for our purpose of discussing death.
Luke 16:22-23
Finally, the beggar died and was carried by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, [23] and his soul went to the place of the dead.
First, Jesus teaches that death is the great equalizer. That death is the great equalizer is the reality we all must face. Some wise person once said, “There are two things certain in life—death and taxes.” Another, I think wiser person said, “Yeah, but death doesn’t get worse every time the state legislature meets.” Dr. Billy Graham made the statement in Shreveport, Louisiana back in the late 1950’s, that no war, no tragedy, no famine, no natural disaster has ever increased the death rate of humanity. The death rate has always been one out of every one person dies.
There really are two points around which all of life is measured—birth and death. We can even say that birth is but the beginning of death. The moment we are born, the dying process begins. Joseph Bayley writing in, The Last Thing We Talk About, used these words to describe what we’ve all felt.
“This frustrates us, especially in a time of scientific breakthrough and exploding knowledge, that we should be able to break out of earth’s environment and yet be stopped cold by death’s unyielding mystery.
“We may postpone it, we may tame its violence, but death is still there waiting for us. Death always waits. The door of the hearse is never closed.
“Dairy farmer and sales executive live in death’s shadow, with Nobel prize winner and prostitute, mother, infant, teen, and old man. The hearse stands waiting for the surgeon who transplants a heart as well as the hopeful recipient, for the funeral director as well as the corpse he manipulates. Death spares none.”
Another saying we have become familiar with through the years is “He who dies with the most toys wins!” That statement, as evidenced in the words of Jesus in this passage, should read: “He who dies with the most toys…still dies!” For death is the great equalizer. Both Lazarus and the rich man met the same end.
The way Jesus weaves the dull tones of death into the painting of words is also instructive to us concerning the nature of death. Jesus says, “Finally, the beggar dies…” Death often comes in expected ways. We, like Jesus original hearers, totally expect this outcome as a part of the story. After all, Lazarus was poor, sick, and had little food. He ate scraps, for heaven’s sake! No one who is malnourished and sick can last for long. His position and condition both indicate his impending death. So the words said around the town might have been something like this—“I’ve been expecting it for some time now,” or “He is out of his misery now, he’s better off.” When the community heard of Lazarus’ death…wait, that assumes they would have heard! More likely, someone stumbled over him one day found his limp, lifeless body piled among the rags. The street cleaners were summoned, and his body packed out to the city garbage dump. The certainty of his end was expected.
At times, the expectation of death is welcomed. One less beggar to soil the streets. Now life can go on. On other occasions, a terrible disease has taken its toll on a once vital life, and death is a welcomed relief from the pain and struggle. Life goes on with some minor adjustments, but victims and caregivers are relieved, for suffering and hardship has ended. Yes, Jesus teaches us in this passage that death may come in expected ways.
But just as death can be expected, and anticipated, Jesus also teaches that death can be unexpected. Jesus adds these words to the story, “The rich man also died and was buried,…” The community, especially those Pharisees Jesus was addressing, who were not shocked by the pronouncement of Lazarus’ death, are shocked to learn of the death of this upstanding community citizen. What tragedy could have befallen this wealthy man so unexpectedly? This man who had it all and wore it well. Power, prestige, position. So tragic. So totally unexpected.
An eastern fable recounts the story of a Baghdad merchant who asked his servant to run an errand. While at the marketplace, the servant rounded a corner and saw Lady Death. She terrified the servant so much that ran immediately back to his master and asked for permission to complete the task in Samarra.
The master asked the servant, “Why?” The servant recounted the story of his encounter with Lady Death in the Baghdad marketplace. The master granted his permission for the servant to travel to Samarra.
Later, the master visited the marketplace himself, and he, too, encountered Lady Death. “Tell me, Lady Death, why did you startle my servant so?”
“Startle him,” she replied. “It was I who was startled to see him in the Baghdad marketplace, for I have an appointment with him this afternoon in Samarra.”
Death treats its prey that way sometimes. Our day starts like any other. We dress, we work, we make the meetings, get the kids to school, make the doctor’s appointment, stop by the grocery store, but before we reach home that evening, the inattentiveness of an instant (either ours or someone else’s) steals the precious gift we have been given. The lives of everyone we’ve known is touched by the tragic nature of what happened to us. Death has greeted us, and all those around us, in a very unexpected way.
Finally, in this short passage, Jesus teaches us that death is not the end. With this passage, Jesus introduces us to the idea of the afterlife. He tells us Lazarus was carried by the angels to be with Abraham, and that this rich man who died, his soul went to the place of the dead. Both are allusions to the afterlife. To be with Abraham is a reference to paradise, or what we would call heaven. The place of the dead, or as the King James Version has it, the rich man was “in hell.” I only want to mention these facts here, and save the lengthy discussion for next week when we view the landscape of the afterlife Jesus weaves into the magnificent picture, but by these statements, Jesus, the one who has been on both sides confronts us with the reality that death is not the end, and here he introduces the reality that there is more than one destination. I’m going to leave that statement there, for next week is another sermon.
So that leaves us with the question, “What are we to do with death?” For Christians, that’s an easy one. We confront death with the knowledge of our faith in Jesus Christ. Even in the best of health we should have death always before our eyes, so said Martin Luther, anyway. Because we have this foreknowledge of death, we have the opportunity, if we seize it, of pondering over the strangeness of our destiny. We have, at least, the possibility of coping with it, since we are endowed with the reasonable capacity to think about it in advance, and to face it and to deal with it in some way that is worthy of human dignity. The only dignified way to deal with death is through faith in Jesus Christ, because Christ has overcome death. Listen, Jesus said, as he stood at the tomb of another man named Lazarus, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die like everyone else, will live again. [26] They are given eternal life for believing in me and will never perish” (John 11:25-26a).
I have stood with families who never expressed faith in Jesus Christ, and death, to them was so final, and so bitter. Even in times of prolonged illness, the questions tore at the core of the personhood because life, in the face of death, had no meaning. But I have stood with families whose faith was deeply rooted in Jesus Christ, and even in the face of tremendous tragedy and loss to their family, stood resolute that death was only another step on the journey of eternal life. Yes, there was pain and questions on both sides, but hope was the difference. Hope in Christ.
John Todd was a minister in 19th Century New England. Born in Vermont, but soon moved to Connecticut, when Todd was six years old, both parents died, and Todd was given a home by an aunt who lived nearby. He lived with his aunt until he left to study for the ministry. While he was away, his aunt became seriously ill, and wrote Todd with questions concerning death. I want to share a portion of Todd’s reply:
It is now thirty-five years since I, as a little boy of six, was left quite alone in the world. You sent me word that you would give me a home and be a kind mother to me. I will never forget the day when I made the long journey of ten miles to your house in North Killingworth. I can still remember my disappointment when instead of coming for me yourself, you sent Caesar to fetch me.
I well remember my tears and anxiety as, perched high on your horse and clinging tight to Caesar, I rode off to my new home. Night fell before we finished the journey, and, as it grew dark, I became lonely and afraid. “Do you think she’ll go to bed before we get there?” I asked Caesar anxiously. “Oh, no.” he said reassuringly. “She’ll stay up for you. When we get out of this here woods, you’ll see her candle shinin’ in the window.”
Presently we did ride out into the clearing, and there, sure enough, was your candle. I remember you were waiting at the door, that you put your arms close about me and that you lifted me—a tired and bewildered little boy—down from the horse. You had a fire burning on the hearth, a hot supper waiting on the stove. After supper you took me to my room, heard me say my prayers, and then sat beside me till I fell asleep.
You probably realize why I am recalling all of this to your memory. Someday soon God will send for you to take you to a new home. Don’t fear the summons, the strange journey or the dark messenger of death. God can be trusted to do as much for you as you were kind enough to do for me so many years ago. At the end of the road you will find love and a welcome awaiting, and you will be safe in God’s care. I shall watch you and pray for you till you are out of sight and then wait for the day when I shall make the journey myself and find my Savior and you waiting at the end of the road to greet me.
As Christians, we live our lives knowing that in the face of death, God, who has been faithful to give us grace to live, will give us grace to die. That is what Lazarus, in his poor, wretched state knew—for his name means “God is my help.”
Death is the great equalizer. It visits us in both expected and unexpected ways, and we can be certain it is not the end. With Christ as your Savior, are you prepared to face it?
