"There was a rich man, who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, full of sores, who desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man's table." A timeless economic tale and an eternal religious concern. And, of course, the rich man is wicked, and the poor man is righteous. And the rich man, who is having a deliriously good time now, will be punished and will regret. And the poor man, who is enduring a wretched life presently, will be rewarded and recompensed in the next life, and will rejoice, when all the roles will be reversed. Now that may very well be, and the Gospel does proclaim that many are first who will be last, and many are last who will be first. However, the Gospel does not proclaim, on my reading of it, that the rich are going to hell and the poor to heaven. Our Lord was never that simplistic. He told the very rich, and generous Zaccheus that "today salvation has come" to him and to his entire household. This parable of Lazarus and the rich man, interpreted simplistically, has engendered a kind of weak hope that has often been rightly ridiculed by cynics. It can also justify a nonchalance about social responsibility that should just as much be ridiculed by Christians. The promise of an after-life of general redress and a satisfying role-reversal can be the source of the hope that creation is moving toward perfection, that creation, flawed and twisted and deformed by human sinfulness, will be gloriously restored in all of its originally intended splendor and justice, that love mercy and compassion will finally prevail and the miseries and inequities of the present will ultimately be eradicated. On the other hand, this vision of a new and reversed and redressed order can also be and excuse for continued smugness, a comfort to those who want to keep up the oppression. Life, for those for whom life is mean, nasty, brutish, and short can often be made to seem bearable by the promise of a life to come wherein such will not be the case. That hope, that reassurance, is not in itself wicked. However the reliance upon, and the exploitation of that hope by the very ones who are making life mean and nasty for others is wicked. The Egyptian peasant, spending his short, grotesque life in utter misery, raising spectacular pyramids for the very rich dead, is kept quiescent by an all pervasive culture of death which focuses on an afterlife that makes tolerable an intolerable life on earth. The medieval peasant, scratched out a bare existence for himself and his family, and supported the construction of grand palaces to house grand bishops in purple and fine line, who were given to feasting sumptuously. That peasant looked to heaven when all would finally be put right. The black American slave looked less at her present impossible, unnecessary misery and more toward the glorious moment when a sweet chariot would carry her home, across the Jordan. It is well and good, and doubtless God-given, that such people, in grinding misery, can look to a hope and a promise, an assurance that their present horror is not what God intends, and that in the territory presided over by him things will be very different indeed. And in that comforting vision, they have seen the truth. The problem, of course, is that God presides over this present life and this present world of ours as well. All things in heaven and on earth are his. In the Lord's Prayer we consistently and faithfully pray that his will may be done on earth as it is in heaven. There is no theological justification for continued misery on earth. It is not God's will, so its persistence - and continuation must proceed out of our will, which must be out of synch with his. No hope, no promise, however true, however glorious, of an ultimate, divine redressing of present grievances can ever excuse us who wear the purple and fine linen, from doing, not just something, but our utmost to ease the suffering of God's beloved creation. The Episcopal Church's strength and glory, in an earlier day and a finer hour, was found in two things principally, a beautiful, dignified Sunday service and an exemplary concern with social justice, with civic virtue, with compassion for others less fortunate than ourselves. And that was the phrase we invariably used in years gone by - the less fortunate. And I think we believed it - that those who had fewer material resources were not lazier, or stupider than we are, they were less fortunate, a quiet, subtle, but very important assumption I think - that our resources, financial or intellectual or social or cultural, whatever gifts we have or possess, are not because we are good and wonderful or more loved by God, we have this advantage only because we were more fortunate. Sadly today's beloved Episcopal Church as a whole is not known for our social concern and social compassion, our insistence on fair play and forgiveness and honesty and integrity - at least we are not as well known for that as were once were. What does make the press, and capture attention is that currently in so many dioceses Bishops are suing parishes and parishes are suing bishops over property, land and buildings and trust funds are being fought over in courts, and sides are drawn up on every issue, and communiqués and ultimatums are issued and answered, and doubtless re-issued in another form or on another issue. We are so side-tracked, obsessed, with what is really a small side-issue of human sexual psychology that we have all but ignored what our Lord called “the weightier matters of the Law” as he was famously scolding the Pharisees when they were carrying on as some in the Church are. Perhaps now, just as our Church seems, and may well be, lost and drifting, timid and tentative, maybe now is the best time for us to lend our prayers and support and pressure to get the Episcopal Church to stop its shenanigans, and to get the Bishops to stop their dithering waffle and become once again themselves, and get back to leading us to being, actively, compassionately, effectively concerned about Lazarus and his like once again, calling on the rich man, and all rich men and women, to be generous and philanthropic the way we used to. I do not know what directly we can do right now, except to be aware perhaps that we have a chance, there is an opening, there is a God-given moment of grace, to get back to what made us a wonderful and admirable and godly Church. A Church that helped, encouraged, prodded, those among us who wear purple and fine linen to show care for the poor and the struggling, for the Lazaruses by our gates - that, and not law suits and mutual anathemas and schismatic movements, and ultimatums and rebuttals, and fickle leadership is what we want, leadership that really cares, and spends most of its time and attention and passion struggling on behalf of Lazarus. That, and that above all is what we need to be known for once again. Episcopalians are the very sort who probably want to help Lazarus, who want to do something worth doing, something worthwhile, who want to know how to do more for Lazarus than simply tossing over the scraps that fall from the table, but we need guidance about how we might and can and should exercise spiritual influence to help lead our society toward providing for Lazarus with dignity, respect, and decency. Social compassion, social action, social justice is a dangerous and swampy place, a minefield for naive do-gooders. We need guidance. On the other hand the Kingdom of God is explosive for the hard-hearted who have closed their hearts to pity and compassion, we need warnings. Our Church used to be able to walk that fine line without wobbling or giving up and going home. We need to recapture it all again. We are so obviously still a people unafraid and eager for involvement with the pain and hurt and sorrow and horror of the world, and unabashed by its demands and its disappointments. Good and healthy and caring and compassionate parishes like this, and there are, thank God, many more like us, can help pull the whole Church out of its slump and confusion and remind the Church of our histrionic commitments and the difference our Church once made in the nation and in the world. Places like St. Mary's, people like you, need to let your lights so shine that men may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven. We need to let the Episcopal Church see that there are still faithful Episcopalians in abundance. We cannot wait for the bishops, that clearly is not going to work, and we cannot long for leadership that simply will never be there. It is up to us parishioners, and parishioners like us, to set about the Gospel work, and leave the distempered and timid behind and to the side, giving them all the more time to arrange further meetings and vague gatherings - we'll do the work of the Church and sit down beside Lazarus ourselves, and ask what we can do, and then do it. And this faithfulness of ours need have little to do with Purple-and-Fine Linen's foolish, silly, peripheral fetishes. It will instead, be all about what matters - a Church, a people, who look at Lazarus and do care. You know, whatever other leadership we are lacking at the moment, we do still have Moses and the prophets, and yes, we do even have one who rose from the dead.