Tag: empathy

Eyes Open

~ Chuck Griffin ~ Leave a comment
A detail from Fedor Bronnikov’s “Lazarus at the Rich Man’s Home,” painted in 1886.

A Parable of Jesus, from Luke 16:19-31 (NRSV)

“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores.

“The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side.

“He called out, ‘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.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’

“He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’

“Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’”

By Chuck Griffin

Having heard the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, you may be having trouble seeing yourself in the story. That’s understandable. Lottery jackpot billboards aside, most of us don’t seriously imagine a life of great wealth and constant feasting. I suspect our basic psychological makeup also makes it difficult for us to imagine having fallen so low in life that we could end up lying in the street with festering sores, stray dogs the only creatures who seem to notice us.

And yet, I find this parable to be almost universally applicable.

Certainly, the lesson is taught through extremes of wealth and poverty. But at the same time, it’s not really about the dangers of wealth, nor does it somehow invest poverty with a kind of holiness. Instead, Jesus gives us a lesson for the heart.

Notice something about both men in the first of the parable. They simply are described in their respective states. There’s no evidence they interact; at no point does poor Lazarus actually ask the rich man for anything, and at no point is the rich man portrayed as having rejected Lazarus directly. They simply are in proximity to each other.

The parable points out the danger of a terrible sin, a sin we seldom talk about. It is the sin of self-absorption, of being unable to see a need that is before us. It is the sin of unsearching eyes; it is the sin of walking past someone and not caring.

We tend to think, “It is what I do that could send me to hell, to an eternity separated from God.” Jesus is telling us something very different—there is tremendous danger in what we fail to do.

The extremes of wealth and poverty are in the story for a basic reason. They make clear the rich man has no excuse for his failure to act. With such wealth, he could have easily cared for the poor man who had wandered into his circle of influence. The rich man would not have missed what Lazarus required for restored health and a decent standard of living.

The rich man is not condemned for failing to care for all poor people, just for failing to help the one at his gate. I’m reminded of the story of the thousands of starfish washed ashore on a beach, gasping and dying. A little girl walked the ocean’s edge, throwing starfish into the ocean.

A man came along and said, “Little girl, there’s no way you can save all those starfish!”

“You’re right,” she replied, throwing another one in the ocean. “But I saved that one.”

The rich man could have at least said of Lazarus, “I saved that one.”

Some may protest this interpretation by pointing out how we are saved by faith, not works, and on that point, I would agree. We can do nothing without the grace of God at work in us, and we receive God’s saving grace through a belief in Jesus Christ’s death and resurrection.

Jesus intertwines faith and action in his teachings, however, presenting them as the rope that pulls us from the pit. This parable has much in common with Jesus’ teaching about the final judgment in Matthew 25:31-46, where he sorts the judged to his left and right—to damnation or eternal joy—based on how they treated the stranger, the poor, the sick and the imprisoned.

The lesson is the same in both accounts: Our actions best reveal whether our hearts rest near the bosom of Christ.

This teaching is good news! We are actually being invited to participate in God’s restorative work in the world. All we have to do is pray that the Christ who saves us also makes us intentional about seeing the brokenness around us.

I once worked in a nonprofit relief organization with a woman who required a family to allow her to make a home visit before they could receive any significant aid. I asked her one day why she did that—I could tell some of the families felt they were being scrutinized or even judged.

She laughed, telling me that yes, some of them probably felt that way, but the home visits let her see the needs the families weren’t revealing. Even the poorest people in rural Upper East Tennessee are generally a proud bunch, and often the problem was getting them to ask for all the help our little nonprofit could provide.

When I understood what she was doing, I admired her approach. She was actively searching for need so she could see it and address it.

The end of the parable emphasizes the overall point. The rich man’s last request is that Lazarus be sent to his presumably rich brothers as a warning about the danger of their hard-heartedness. Abraham makes it clear that these lessons about compassion have already been delivered by Moses and prophets, and that men who failed to hear those ancient words would continue in their deafness “even if someone rises from the dead.”

And there again is the great danger of unseeing self-absorption. When we fall into it, we miss God entirely. In God’s greatest work in this world, Christ rose from the dead, but self-absorption can leave us blind to even this great miracle.

Lord, make us alert. Show us the broken people in this world and how we can play some small part in undoing their suffering. Amen.

Here’s a Tip

~ Chuck Griffin ~ 1 Comment

By Chuck Griffin
LifeTalk Editor

1 John 3:18 (NLT): Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions.

In these devotionals, I spend a lot of time talking about big concepts: God, eternity, salvation and such. But big concepts should naturally impact small behaviors. Christians, we need to remember how our little behaviors can impact others in a very negative way.

My youngest child, who is 21, recently gave me some good examples. She’s taken a job working in a restaurant, and sometimes she waits tables.

She’s old enough to know that people don’t always leave tips, and that they are not obligated to do so. She has been a little surprised, however, at how some Christians go about not tipping.

They begin by preaching at her, usually by way of pamphlets or cards designed to help Christians feel they have discharged their obligation to evangelize. Most of these little publications are reasonably well-designed, tying the Christian message of salvation to the gift of the tip. But too often they are devoid of money—enough so that employees make running jokes about receiving them.

She brought the worst one home to me the other day. Designed to look like a “Thank You” card, inside it begins, “Thank you for your friendly service. In addition to your monetary tip, let me tell you about … .” It goes on to offer salvation under the headings, “Your Greatest Debt Paid,” “A New Life Offered” and “Taking the First Step.”

On the back of the pamphlet, there’s a tip chart, and under that, there’s a way for the customer to check a box and fill in a line showing the tip was added to a credit card rather than left on the table. This customer actually went so far as to check the box, and then entered ∅, the mathematical symbol for an empty set.

I guess we can assume he’s a good enough mathematician to calculate percentages, even without the tip chart. I say “he” because my daughter confirmed this pamphlet was on a table used by a group of men. And yes, like a lot of waiters and waitresses, she said it’s not hard to figure out who the “churchy” people are.

Christians, don’t do that kind of stuff. Those little thoughtless acts can seriously impact the way the lost perceive Christ and his church. I’m just glad that this particular customer left the empty pamphlet for a minister’s daughter, who has heard the gospel repeatedly.

If you are one of these pamphlet-wielding non-tippers, think about taking an evangelism course. It also wouldn’t hurt to develop a little empathy for people working on the bottom economic rungs, particularly right now when they take so many risks to earn so little.

Seeing as how I’ve gone to preachin’, here’s the exhortation: If you’re going to use those little cards and pamphlets, put a 20 percent tip inside. Your generosity might actually cause your table staff to read what you’ve left.

Lord, forgive us when we fail to remember others are watching, and that their relationship with you might be impacted by what they see. Amen.

Homebound Simulator

~ Chuck Griffin ~ Leave a comment

By Chuck Griffin
LifeTalk Editor

Matthew 25:37-40: “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’”

In 2018, as my father’s wife experienced a deeper slide into dementia, I had the opportunity to participate in an “Alzheimer’s simulator,” along with my dad and daughter.

We wore goggles to distort our vision and headphones playing multiple radio tracks to simulate auditory hallucinations. We slipped on rubber gloves filled with birdseed to replicate tactile difficulties, and we also had birdseed in our shoes. We took turns entering a room, where we were given a short list of simple tasks.

My dad went in with my daughter. Pity the poor woman, a stranger, who had to go in with me.

Once she and I were properly attired and inside, the instructor gave us a list of simple tasks to perform. Mine involved finding a t-shirt and a tie and putting them in their proper places, among other activities I would quickly forget. The instructor then turned out the light and closed the door.

My first goal was to obtain some light, so I could at least use my impaired vision a little. I fumbled around the room, trying to approximate where a light switch would be. I found it and flipped it.

“You’re not supposed to turn on the light!” the woman cried.

“She didn’t say we couldn’t turn on the light. A person with Alzheimer’s might try to turn on the light!” I replied. I was surprised at how quickly we raised our voices; of course, we were already hearing voices, so who was saying what quickly got a little confusing.

“You’re not supposed to turn on the light!” she repeated, this time more staccato. She yanked open the door, having found it a lot faster than I had found the light switch. “Are we supposed to turn on the light?” she called out.

The instructor came in. “Don’t turn on the light,” she said, turning it off. I did not find even one item, and I was—let’s see, what’s a really polite word—peeved. I blame my exaggerated response on the stress of the simulator, but I fear I am going to be a really grumpy old man.

When Jesus ties our judgment to how we have cared for the suffering, two of the needy types he mentions, the prisoners and the sick, have something in common. They are physically trapped, unable to go anywhere.

With our movements and interaction restricted during this pandemic, I feel like I am in a simulator again. I will not call it a good experience, but for those of us trying to live the Christian life, it could prove to be an important experience, one that generates new levels of empathy for those who are trapped.

At the Alzheimer’s center, I eventually got to leave the room, take off the goggles, headphones and gloves, and shake the birdseed out of my shoes. Similarly, most of us eventually will resume normal lives, going where we want and doing what we want.

Some will remain bound to a place, however, possibly for the rest of their lives. Having simulated what they face every day, perhaps we will find ourselves more mindful about reaching out to them.

Lord, keep the prisoners and the chronically homebound in our thoughts, and help us use the tools we have available to us to offer them your love and comfort. Amen.