Texts: Amos 6:1-7; Luke 16: 19-31
Several years ago, driving down from a hearing in Warren County, the only radio station I could find was playing bluegrass. The song that struck me was the one about the man on the corner who was asking for handouts -- of course, he’s the Son of God in disguise. Though I generally don’t care for country music -- I find it maudlin -- this song hit me because I know that whenever I’ve seen someone panhandling on the street, I always wonder what brought that person to that low point. Drugs? Booze? Mental illness? And I always wonder where we failed them or where they failed themselves.
There are lots of ways to look at Jesus’ parable of Lazarus and the rich man. One way, of course, is that what we do or don’t do will come back at us. Another is that in God’s kingdom the power structure is turned upside down: the poor have riches and the wealthy will learn what it means to be poor. But I think the most disturbing is that at some point there is a limit to mercy, even the mercy of God. We really don’t like to think much about judgment in our theology, but here it is. And there is no escaping it.
Are there limits to God’s mercy? We sing the old hymn, “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy…” and it sounds so comforting. The God most of us believe in is one of seemingly limitless mercy, but Jesus in this parable seems to say that even God has a breaking point, even God.
Each of us, of course, has our breaking point. The question is where it is. Is it in our personal relationships with family members? Is it in our national decisions in areas like child care, health insurance, or foreign aid? Each of us has a limit beyond which we cannot extend mercy. That makes sense because we are only human, but does God have a limit on mercy? We generally don’t think of God as having parameters to mercy, but this parable seems to say there are limits to even God’s mercy.
Amos lived in the days of Jeroboam II while Uzziah was king of Israel. Born in Tekoa in the southern kingdom of Judah, he prophesized in the northern kingdom of Israel during a time when the gap between rich and poor had grown to astronomical amounts. He warned that God’s judgment would lead to the destruction of Israel because, as this morning’s text says, “Alas for those who lie on beds of ivory and lounge on their couches….”
Needless to say, his message was not welcome. During that time Israel’s power and influence had grown because of international events in the region. But Amos called the nation to recognize the effects that its internal disparities of wealth would have on the spiritual health of the nation. Amos, however, also said that God promised hope to Israel if the nation would mend its ways. Just before this morning’s reading we hear the words, “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”
So, are there limits to God’s mercy? That’s different than asking if there are limits to God’s grace. I think one way to approach this question is that it is God’s grace that enables us to become instruments of God’s mercy. Remember the prayer of St. Francis: Lord, make me an instrument of your peace… What are the limits of mercy, or as Willard Gaylin, the medical ethicist, asked, what are the limits of benevolence? When does doing good not result in good?
He asked those questions in the context of the science of neonatal and end of life situations, but his analysis applies to social situations as well. How do we make our decisions where to give our money, for instance? Do we support development and microenterprise groups like Finca or Accion International? Do we support development groups or do we give our money to feeding groups? None of us has limitless resources, not even Bill Gates.
We can also make the conscious choice, through God’s grace, to be instruments of mercy in restructuring our social situation, at least here at home. As a nation, we’ve been so caught up in pandemic relief, climate change, and the war in Ukraine that many really pressing domestic matters have taken a back seat.
At least here in the East homelessness, for example, isn’t up on the front burner as it was before the pandemic. Remember before? We don’t live in Los Angeles where people are camped out on main streets and side streets because of the lack of affordable housing. Right now people are worried about inflation and the Fed, the Central Bank, is raising interests like crazy to “cool down the economy.” People like Elizabeth Warren, who as a law professor specialized in bankruptcy, the economy, and consumer finance, oppose the Fed’s approach, saying that it will simply lead to a recession.
God knows, after what we’ve experienced over the past two and one half years, we do not need a recession. Amos and Jesus both had questions about our current economic situation. I get the feeling that the first question they would both ask is: who gets hurt? Who sleeps on the beds of ivory and who sleeps on the beds of straw?
Recessions don’t really hurt the rich, but they sure do hurt the poor. There hasn’t been a recession where the rich didn’t come out richer and the poor didn’t come out poorer. And the Fed talks about people as if they are little more than cogs in the wheel, if they give them that much. We hear the word recession and we choke. Why is it, asks Warren, does raising interest rates help the economy? Maybe we should think again.
Now, back to Amos and Jesus. Perhaps rather than saying that God’s mercy has limits, what they are saying is that we reap what we sow. The problem is, of course, is when kingdoms fall and economics fail, the poor also suffer along with the rich.
So we ask, what’s the solution? Perhaps a concerted effort to close the gap between rich and poor. That’s certainly a way to start. We can’t just sit idly by, as did the rich in Amos’ time, and find ourselves as did the rich man discovering that even God has limits.
Let’s come to God in prayer: We know we have so much while so many have so little. Help us to care for others by creating a more equal and sustainable society. In the name of the One who points the way, even Christ Jesus our Lord, Amen.