In an earlier post on the Dives and Lazarus story (Rich and Poor and Purity of Heart), I made the point that wealth is not condemned nor is poverty commended as such. There is much more about attitudes than there is about possessions. After all, there is a kind of poverty that has nothing holy about it, just as there is a kind of wealth that has nothing evil about it. It is what we do with either, the way in which we are rich or poor, that counts.
Interestingly, churchgoers tend to take sides, as it were, identifying with the poor but godly Lazarus who, typically of the truly poor, never speaks for himself but is spoken for by Abraham and Dives. It is worth thinking about that for a moment. Dives has a voice; Lazarus doesn’t. Dives’ overwhelming sense of entitlement leads him to ‘explain’ to Abraham how Lazarus can be of service to him and his brothers, but it is Abraham who rebukes him, not Lazarus. Is there something here to ponder?
You will have noticed, I’m sure, how many disputes boil down to have/have not antagonisms and the resultant envy and absurdity that often follows. Having more than another doesn’t confer any special rights on the one who has more, nor does it mean that the one who has less is in any way morally superior to the other, but how often do we confuse the two. We forget about obligations or duty as we rush to assert our rights. We think we are Lazarus while all the time we are behaving like Dives. The noisier we are, the more we convince ourselves we are championing the poor. Maybe. Maybe not. We are certainly falling into the trap of thinking of the poor as people different from ourselves, to whom we do good rather than people exactly like ourselves with whom we share.
Perhaps this Lent we could spend a few minutes thinking about our attitudes to the poor — not to poverty, for that is an abstraction, but to the poor, for they have a human and individual face. If our almsgiving is to mean anything more than giving a little from our excess, it must take account of that fact; but it also means that, in an important sense, we have to become Lazarus ourselves. What might that mean for you and me?