Some of you know I like to ride bicycles. And the people in this diocese may have heard a sermon or two from me in the past that has to do with the subject. For me, biking is about more than just transportation, and I’m sure the same is true for those of you with whom I share the hobby. It’s about exercise. It’s about being outside. It’s about personal challenge. It’s about the joy of sharing a passion with others. It’s also a principal metaphor through which I make sense of the human condition. Biking has to do with making a journey. So does life. Hills are part of the terrain–the pain of grinding up and the bliss of coasting down.
No doubt, the same could be said of so many passions: fishing, cooking, knitting, coffee, stereos, you name it. I had a seminary professor who couldn’t preach a sermon without relating the Gospel to golf: “the morning mists floating across the fairway obscuring our view, necessitating faith as we swing the driver” (or something like that). Point is, passions are important. They can bring perspective, community, stability, purpose, and peace to our lives.
Having passions, in fact, is part of what it means to be human. As the second-century theologian, Origen of Alexandria, writes, “it is impossible for human nature not always to love something.” Love is God’s generous gift to us. We are loved zealously by God, and we love in return, and yet, our great capacity for love is not without its complications. While intended for God, neighbor, and self, our love often misses its mark. We often “pour away the power of so great a good as love upon” material items or selfish pursuits, and in so doing, we set ourselves up to experience the darker side of our passions. It ought to be no surprise, then, that the word “passion” is derived from the Latin, “passio,” which means, “to suffer.”
Those of you with hobbies like mine know what I mean. There is a saying among cyclists that the number of bikes you need is calculated with the simple formula “n + 1.” The variable “n” is the number of bikes you currently own. For those of you who need a little help with the math, the gist is that no matter how many bikes you have, you always want more. I suppose the same formula might be applied to golf clubs, fishing rods, and knitting needles. And then there are the accessories, oh my: lighter tires, hydraulic brakes, carbon fiber handlebars, titanium seat posts, and the list goes on. Before you know it, a passion for cycling has become less about the benefits of riding and more about the acquisition of expensive parts. Passion, if unchecked, can distort into craving. Another bit of etymology for you: the verb “to crave” translates into Latin as “aveo,” which is the root for the word, “avarice,” which may sound familiar to you as one of the seven deadly sins. Avarice is a desire for material things. It is also known as greed.
So, passion is good. It’s a gift from God, and we are meant to love deeply in return, but sometimes we love the wrong things. And this has consequences not only for our own health and well-being but also for that of our neighbor. That’s what today’s Gospel passage is about. Jesus pulls no punches here, and if you’re like me, it’s hard not to flinch at the sharp details: “Father, Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue for I am in agony in these flames.” Now, I don’t know if Jesus meant for this story to be taken literally or as hyperbole, but either way Jesus clearly wanted his listeners to give serious consideration to his meaning. Disordered desire is no joke.
What we know is that “there was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day.” Maybe this guy liked a good looking suit. Maybe he was a foodie with a well-honed palate. Some of us can probably relate. But then the story has us imagine this well-dressed man walking through his gate, probably into a finely manicured garden and on into an excessively large house, paying no heed to Lazarus, the poor, hungry, sick man that lay along his path. This inequality is reversed after both men die, and that’s where the flames and agony come in. We can assume that at some point in his life the rich man’s passion for clothing and food turned into craving.
There is a tradition within the Church’s history that has to do with vices–that’s where the aforementioned deadly sins come from–each vice has a virtue that it attacks. And avarice, which is what the rich man seems to suffer from, attacks the virtue of justice. Justice is about giving others what they are due. Justice is about having eyes to see the inequality in the world and then do something about it. Avarice, though, causes callousness toward those in want (see R. Konyndyk DeYoung). A person consumed with their material goods becomes blind to the plight of the poor, like Lazarus. So, if you look at the story through this lens Jesus is not simply saying “be generous, or else,” though that’s in there, he’s also saying “look what loving stuff too much can do to others.” The more we insulate ourselves with carbon fiber handlebars and titanium seat posts the less capacity we have to love our neighbor–to see the inequality around us. And in a world in need of justice, callousness is costly.
Now, I happen to own some carbon handlebars, and, no, they haven’t done anything to improve my riding. I’m certainly not any faster, but I can boast that my bike is a few gram lighter (though that gets into a whole other deadly sin called vainglory). I use this example because it’s a fairly light, and relatable way into a heavier dimension of this topic. We probably all own our own version of carbon fiber handlebars. Something we don’t need, but wanted nonetheless. We will always be kin to the rich man in today’s Gospel passage. He represents the universal human condition–the tendency to direct our love towards things other than God. This is not something to feel guilty about, but it is something to pay attention to. It can spiral out of control.
We live in a worldly economy that values making money for the sake of making money and buying things for the sake of simply having them. It’s an economy that praises and rewards greed. The rich continue to amass wealth while the poor fall farther and farther behind. This was the case in Jesus’ time and it’s certainly true today. As a consequence, society as a whole loses sight of initiatives, institutions, and people that do not add to the enlargement of material wealth. Neighbors are increasingly ignored when passion turns into craving. As avarice grows, justice falters. Jesus well knew just how hard it would be for us to grasp this concept: “If they do they do not listen to Moses and the prophets,” he said, “neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”
The Good News, and I know you’ve been waiting for it, is that this world’s economy is not God’s economy. God’s assignment of value has nothing to do with money or things. God loves you simply because love is what God does, and there is nothing you or I can do to change that. Love is God’s generous gift, full stop. As Christians, by virtue of our baptism, we have promised to do our best to live into God’s economy, to pray that “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” We’ve promised to love others not because of their ability do something for us, but because they are a part of God’s beloved creation. And this greed-obsessed world needs us to keep these promises.
So, what do we do with our tenacious tendency to ignore God’s value system and behave instead like the rich man in today’s Gospel passage? Recalling that early vices tradition again, there was a monk in the fourth century named Evagrius who said it quite plainly: “Just like death and life, charity and money are incompatible.” We simply cannot serve two masters. The spiritual discipline then, for us, is to give our money away. We loosen money’s grip on us by loosening our grip on it. We may need to start small in our efforts and then gradually build our generosity over time, but in so doing, the reality of God’s kingdom will begin to expand before us. And those neighbors, to whose plight we may have been blind, will come into focus. We’ll care more. We’ll build new relationships. We’ll be moved to promote justice. We’ll love more.
God has a passion for us, and God wants nothing more than for us to have a passion for God. In fact, having a passion for God is what we’re made for. But you don’t have to take my word for it, give away some stuff and find out for yourself.
Evagrius et al., The Praktikos: Chapters on Prayer, Cistercian Studies Series, no. 4 (Spencer, Mass: Cistercian Publications, 1970).
Origen and Rowan A. Greer, Origen, The Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1979).
Rebecca Konyndyk DeYoung, Glittering Vices: A New Look at the Seven Deadly Sins and Their Remedies (Grand Rapids, Mich: Brazos Press, 2009).
Proper 21, Year C