I love a good parable. It’s like a puzzle where you get to try to figure out where everything fits. And it can shift and change over time as you change. Parables are fun to play with. Well, most of the time. Occasionally, Jesus gives us one that doesn’t leave much room for interpretation. He says exactly what he means and leaves you alone in your discomfort. Such is the case in this week’s gospel reading. The differences between the rich man and Lazarus could not be more stark. The rich man wears fine purple linens, the most expensive designer clothes available, and his table, likely in a dining room meant to command respect in its opulence, is filled with the finest foods. Lazarus had none of those things. He was the kind of person people crossed the street to avoid, with his tattered clothes, his body covered with sores, malnourished and weak from hunger. These men know each other. And perhaps you know them too. Lazarus sees the way the rich man eats and longs for even a crumb that falls carelessly from the table. How much food do you suppose was swept from that table at the end of each day to be replaced by fresher foods the next day? How much of that food would go to waste, rotting in a bin while people went hungry? It is estimated that 30-40% of the American food supply is wasted, leaving food that could have fed families rotting in a landfill. Food is discarded because of aesthetic standards that deem all but the most perfect food as disposable. Consumers over-buy and over-prepare with leftovers often simply thrown away, cleared from tables in restaurants, homes, and churches. When you have more than enough, the value of the food doesn’t seem so high. The rich man knows Lazarus. ...
Thank you to this week's writer, Rae Watson. Read the rest of the commentary at pres-outlook.org. |