Prosperity Gospel? (Luke 15 and 16)

The fifteenth chapter of St. Luke’s gospel recounts three parables. We read them at Mass two Sundays ago… Lost sheep. Lost coin. Prodigal son. Images of Divine Mercy. Comforting, and not difficult to understand. Luke 15. [Spanish]

But Luke 16, on the other hand… First, the parable of the Dishonest Steward, which we heard at Mass last Sunday. And the painful tale of Lazarus and the Rich Man.

Dogs licking the poor man’s sores in this world. The rich man dying of thirst in the next life. A chasm between heaven and hell that no one can cross.

Lord Jesus addressed last Sunday’s parable of the Dishonest Steward, the first part of Luke 16, to His own disciples. But the Pharisees overheard Him. So then the Lord told the story of Lazarus and the rich man for their benefit, the Pharisees’ benefit.

It’s no accident that, in the story, the bosom on which Lazarus comes to rest belongs to Abraham. One way for us to understand all of Jesus’ dealings with the Pharisees is to grasp the fundamental question in dispute.

Namely: What does it mean to be a child of Abraham? God Almighty chose the children of Abraham as His own, His people. But what precisely makes you a child of Abraham, one of the Chosen?

Abraham lived before the ancient written law came down to Moses on Mount Sinai. Abraham lived way before Solomon built the Temple. But what Abraham had was: true humility, true faith in the Providence of God.

Now, most people know that life in this world isn’t fair. Bad luck can hit good people, and the wicked often prosper. The ancient pagans expressed this by inventing a special goddess, the goddess of Fortune. She spins the wheel of arbitrary and unfair fate.

Anyone ever heard of the “Prosperity Gospel?” If God loves you, and you’re good, then you will have a comfortable house, a shiny car, a well-padded bank account, and good teeth.  On the other hand, if you’re a loser, and can’t pay your bills, it’s your own fault.

the goddess Fortuna

The Prosperity Gospel lets comfortable, self-centered people like the rich man in the parable sit at their tables, while a neighbor starves–without thinking twice about it.

But the arbitrary spinning of Fortune’s wheel does not deal out justice on earth. That’s not what believing in God’s Providence means. Material prosperity does not measure interior virtue. Being wealthy doesn’t make you one of God’s Chosen.

God has given us sinners a means by which to purify our selfish hearts. We have to do battle with something. The concept of “mine.”

What did the rich man discover, when he went to meet God? He learned that all the stuff he thought was his was only temporarily his. He didn’t own his wealth. He had the stewardship of it, for a time.

He thought he had enjoyed his money thoroughly. Turns out he stewarded it very poorly. He actually owed some of it to the poor man Lazarus. And Lazarus didn’t ask much; he would have been happy with the scraps that fell from the table. But the rich man loved his sumptuous lifestyle so much that he did not even know that Lazarus existed.

We conquer our selfishness by giving things away. In this fallen world, the children of Abraham, the children of God, learn to forget the word “mine” by giving away stuff, giving away time and energy for other people’s benefit.

I think the most haunting part of the gospel passage is the end. The rich man, suffering in hell for his selfishness and gluttony, begs Abraham to send Lazarus back. ‘Let him warn my selfish, gluttonous brothers!’

Abraham answers: ‘But they already have the words of the prophets to warn them. They should know better. Just like you should have known better.’

‘No, no,’ cried the rich man in hell: ‘They will listen; they will repent; they will turn to God and live generous lives—if someone rises from the dead. If someone comes back from the dead and teaches them that only self-sacrificing love can get you to heaven!’

The thing is: It happened. That teacher has risen from the dead. The poor man of Nazareth.

Lazarus, Dives, and the goddess Fortuna

Remember, my rich child, you received what was good during your lifetime, while Lazarus received what was bad. But now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented. (Luke 16:25)

The goddess Fortuna. She plies her wheel. She has no true justice and therefore no eternal power. But, during our pilgrim lives, she exercises a foresight far greater than ours, and she wields her immense power over us with arbitrary cruelty.

She doles out the privileges of birth. She teaches the smooth language of ingratiation, and all the other people-pleasing skills. She schools her attentive pupils in the acts of cynical worldliness. She maintains a shallow but vast system that rewards cowardice and mediocrity with affluence and prestige.

Meanwhile, she buffets the humble. She slaps and punches the sincere. She crucifies the honest. She drowns the truly great in an ocean of obscurity.

Fortuna seduces the souls that serve her. They gradually start to believe the she does, in fact, dole out justice. They begin to measure themselves by their material wealth and media fame. They think: Oh, isn’t this nice! I have succeeded, thanks to my talent, my charm, my extraordinary skill! And the losers at the gate? Let them rot.

But Fortuna has no real love for anyone. She will always take away everything she gives. Then her followers, whom she has seduced into slavery—they have nothing in their hands but dust.

Why has the Lord God Almighty conceded to Fortuna so much clout, so much worldly power? Is it because His justice gets served when people fall for Fortuna’s specious ‘prosperity gospel,’ and then, in the end, wind up in hell, right alongside their mistress?

Maybe. But one thing we know for sure: God lets Fortuna exercise her shallow but extensive authority in order to purify us for higher things. When we suffer her blows, but then look to heaven instead of whimpering, she loses, and we win.

The good God who sent His eternal Son to suffer and die, as the world’s greatest “loser”—that true God offers us something that Fortuna can only look at from a distance and wish she could have.

More on the Essential Fact

At daily Mass on Saturday, the day before the third Sunday of Lent, we will read the Parable of the Prodigal Son. After that: only three weeks till Palm Sunday!

Let’s focus on this: Christ came to conquer death. To die as a man and rise again as a man. CNN can come and go; brackets can get filled out and busted. But this is the essential fact. Jesus said, “In My Father’s house, there are many dwelling places.” We live a mortal life in a sinful world, to be sure. But, fundamentally, we live in the Father’s house. And each of us has his or her own place in that house, no matter what—because of Christ’s conquest of death.

We read in the gospel at today’s Mass that Lazarus would gladly have eaten the scraps that fell from Dives’ table. Lazarus did not demand a widescreen hd smart tv. Lazarus did not style himself as some kind of high-rolling tycoon. He simply wanted his just portion of food.

But he did not get it. Because Dives did style himself a high-rolling tycoon and did demand a widescreen hd smart tv and did not concern himself with his fellowman.

Then death came for them both. And with death came justice.

Tomorrow at Holy Mass we will read a parable about how the Father built a fruitful vineyard with plenty of dwelling places, for his grapes to grow and for His children to reap the fruits. He sent His Son to collect His just portion. ( I guess the just portion of the Creator can only be our peaceful, worshipful love, right?) But they killed the Son and heir.

See the picture here? The Father wills peace, harmony, human co-operation. The Father wills the fruitfulness of His children. The Father reigns over a kingdom not of scarcity, nor of selfish luxury—but of tranquil, beautiful sufficiency for everyone. The Son fulfills the will of the Father perfectly. And, in this fallen world, it leads to His death.

When rich Dives cried out from hell, begging Abraham to send someone back from the dead to teach the world a lesson, Abraham demurred. ‘God already tried to teach the world a lesson! Didn’t He form a covenant and seal it with His life-giving love? How hard is it to obey the Ten Commandments? No more warnings.’

But, as we will read Saturday: Even without the warning that Dives begged Abraham to send, something managed to get through to the prodigal son. Something penetrated his soul, as he gazed upon the pig-slop that he wished he could feed himself upon. He languished in the muck, in this fallen world. But, somehow, he found a way to stand on the stone which the builders rejected. The stone which the builders rejected is Christ, the Prince of Peace, Who came seated on a donkey into Jerusalem, prepared to reign with love. But they rejected Him and killed Him.

The prodigal son managed to stand on that stone somehow, and he thought to himself, “In my father’s house, there are many dwelling places! There’s one for me.” And the father said, “This son of mine was dead, but now he lives!”

Christ conquered death. He conquered death with something. It’s the same mysterious something that somehow moved the heart of the prodigal son towards the truth of God.

Christ conquered death with the very life that the Father freely wills to give us. Christ conquered death with the Father’s gift of life. Abraham would not send a warning back from beyond the grave. But Christ did not hesitate to return from the grave with a gift. The gift of the fruitful life of the eternal springtime of God.

Wheel of Fortune

The fifteenth chapter of St. Luke’s gospel recounts three enchanting parables.  We read them at Mass two Sundays ago…  Lost sheep.  Lost coin.  Prodigal son.  Vivid images of Divine Mercy. Comforting, and not difficult to understand.  Luke 15.

But Luke 16, on the other hand…  First, the parable of the Dishonest Steward, which we heard at Mass last Sunday.  Then the chapter continues with a few lines about entering the Kingdom of God by violence.  Then the painful tale of Lazarus and the Rich Man.

Dogs licking the poor man’s sores.  The rich man dying of thirst in the afterlife.  A chasm that no one can cross.  And father Abraham saying that no one else can go to warn the rich man’s brothers.

Now, most people know that life in this world isn’t fair.  Bad luck can hit good people, and the wicked often prosper.  The ancient pagans expressed this by inventing a special goddess, the goddess of Fortune.  She spins the wheel of arbitrary and unfair fate.

Like what happened to the king of ancient Troy.  The Greeks snuck into the city, hidden in a big wooden…  horse.  Then a young Greek warrior mercilessly slew the old Trojan king.

Any fans of Shakespeare’s Hamlet?  One scene in Hamlet narrates the fall of Troy and the murder of the king.  Old and feeble, the king couldn’t even lift his sword.  The scene of his death is so sad, so wrong, so utterly unfair, that Shakespeare curses the goddess:

Out, out, thou strumpet, Fortune! All you gods,

In general synod, take away her power;

Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel,

And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven,

As low as to the fiends!

—

The “Prosperity Gospel:”  If God loves you, and you’re good, then you will have a comfortable house, a shiny car, a well-padded bank account, and good teeth.  On the other hand, if you’re a loser, and can’t pay your bills, it’s your own fault, and God doesn’t love you.

That’s the Prosperity Gospel.  A doctrine which lets comfortable, self-centered people like the rich man in the parable sit at their tables, while a poor man starves, and think:  “Well, it’s his fault that he’s so poor and such a loser.”

But the arbitrary spinning of Fortune’s wheel does not deal out justice on earth.  To live in the truth, we must utterly reject the Prosperity Gospel for the nonsense that it is.  Material prosperity does not accurately measure interior virtue, and it doesn’t make you one of the Chosen.

Lord Jesus addressed last Sunday’s parable of the Dishonest Steward, the first part of Luke 16, to His own disciples.  But the Pharisees overheard Him. So then the Lord told the story of Lazarus and the rich man for their benefit, the Pharisees’ benefit.

It’s no accident that, in the story, the bosom on which Lazarus comes to rest belongs to Abraham. One way for us to understand all of Jesus’ dealings with the Pharisees is to grasp the fundamental question in dispute, namely:  What does it mean to be a child of Abraham?  God Almighty chose the children of Abraham as His own, His people.  But what precisely makes you a child of Abraham, one of the Chosen?

Jesus spent His earthly ministry trying to help people understand:  Fulfilling the Law of Moses will not bring anyone to Abraham’s bosom.  Not because the Law of Moses is wrong.  But because no one in this fallen world has enough righteousness to keep the divine law.  God does not choose us because we’re good.  Rather:  God chooses to save sinners.

Abraham himself lived before the written law came down on Mount Sinai; he never had the Ten Commandments inscribed in stone.  But what he had was true humility, true faith in the Providence of God.  The opposite of the Prosperity Gospel, the opposite of pharisaism.

God has given us sinners a means by which to purify our selfish hearts.  Provided we are humble enough to see that when someone suffers in poverty, it’s not because it’s his fault.  It’s because it’s our fault, the human race’s fault.  We can enter the Kingdom of God, as Luke 16 says, by doing a particular kind of violence.  Doing violence to the concept of “mine.”

“Mine, mine, mine!” we must utterly destroy.  We destroy our selfishness by giving things away.  In this fallen world, the children of Abraham, the children of God, learn to forget the word “mine” by giving alms.

—

 

 

Justice will be Done

Whenever we read about Lazarus and Dives, I think we recall the money passage of Pope Benedict XVI’s encyclical Spe Salvi:

“I am convinced,” the Pope writes, “that the question of justice constitutes the essential argument, or in any case the strongest argument, in favor of faith in eternal life. Only in connection with the impossibility that the injustice of history should be the final word does the necessity for Christ’s return become fully convincing.” (para. 43)

Not everybody believes in Christ. And not everybody who believes in Christ believes in Him enough. But everybody knows that life isn’t fair. Life as we know it, under the blue sky: Ain’t fair.

Cheaters prosper. Lying rogues get elected. Shallow nitwits become famous. Good people get sick. Young ladies with beautiful souls try and try to lose weight, and meanwhile all the boys talk to the cheerleaders in short skirts. People marry their love, and then, a few years later, they discover that they are actually married to their spouse’s mother or father. Promotions go to experts in face-time, while the real hard workers can’t catch a break. Meanwhile, opportunistic talking heads on television fill the airwaves with a steady stream of biased disinformation masquerading as “the news.”

Not fair. We all know this. Hopelessness can, and will, set in, unless we constantly focus our interior eyes of faith on the triumph of Jesus Christ. Again, to quote Pope Benedict:

“This innocent sufferer [Jesus Christ] has attained the certitude of hope: there is a God, and God can create justice in a way that we cannot conceive, yet we can begin to grasp it through faith. Yes, there is a resurrection of the flesh. There is justice. There is an ‘undoing’ of past suffering, a reparation that sets things aright.”

In my book, the Church expresses Her faith most eloquently at a funeral Mass. We sing at the end of a funeral:

May choirs of angels welcome you, and lead you to the bosom of Abraham, and where Lazarus is poor no longer, may you find eternal rest.

We believe: There is place where Lazarus is poor no longer. There is a place where justice is fully, completely, totally, thoroughly, honestly, and truthfully restored.

Sometimes that place seems a million miles away from earth. And sometimes, when a holy soul does good, the Kingdom seems very close.

The Kingdom will come. That’s what father Abraham is saying to poor Dives in the gospel passage. The Kingdom will come, and anyone with any sense knows that it will. The deep longings our hearts have for justice: Christ’s triumph over death confirms them all. By the divine light of truth, cynicism, worldliness, and atheism make no sense. The Kingdom will come.

Now, how do we hasten the coming of the Kingdom of justice? We can hasten it, after all. And it’s not complicated: Pray. Give. Do good. Avoid evil.

Dives Gone to the Dogs

The Lord Jesus often provides vivid details in His stories. We read: The dogs came and licked Lazarus’ sores. Vivid–and painful for us even to imagine. Painful, because something about this picture strikes us as tragically, utterly wrong.

Now, these little dogs: We know that dogs have a sense of love and pity. We know also that they like a salty savor for their tongues. And we know that dogs do not grasp the entire constitution of a man. Dogs are man’s best friend. But dogs do not know that man has an immortal soul.

The constitution of man. A character in a Jane Austen novel declares that the plays of William Shakespeare form “part an Englishman’s constitution.” Englishmen know Shakespeare. It’s part of one’s constitution.

What about the constitution of man? Man–Englishmen, Swedes, Chinese, everybody? Every man, woman, and child on earth?

The constitution of man: Made in the image and likeness of God. Endowed with an immeasurable spiritual dimension. Made for an eternal friendship with the Creator and Lord of all things. A man, a human being, endowed with these gifts, does not belong in a gutter with open sores being licked by dogs.

It’s not the dogs’ fault. Dogs don’t know anything about the constiution of man. The dogs didn’t realize that the spectacle of their licking Lazarus’ sores–that this was a heartbreaking scandal. An insult to human dignity. The dogs didn’t know any better.