In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit

 A man who recently died an early death chose the following words as his final thoughts and epitaph.  They are from the William Ernest Henley poem of 1875 entitled "Invictus."

 It matters not how strait the gate,
 How charged with punishments the scroll.
 I am the master of my fate;
 I am the captain of my soul.

 Those words, as you may know, were included in the final written statement of Timothy McVeigh.  His final message to the world exhibited a sin even worse than the heinous crime he committed in Oklahoma city.  Even worse than murder is this sin against the first commandment, a sin which says,  "I'm in charge of my own life and death.  I determine my own destiny.  It's not Jesus who is Lord.  I'm Lord.  I'm the master; I'm the captain."  This attitude is worse than human murder, because ultimately it's an attempt to murder God, to get Him out of your life and out of your way.

 McVeigh was an agnostic, one who doubts the existence of God or an afterlife.  He was asked what he would do if it turns out there is a heaven and a hell.  McVeigh replied by saying that he would "improvise, adapt, and overcome."  Even in the face of eternity, he trusted not in God but in himself.  He presumed to think that he could "overcome" even the Creator.  So it was that before death he tried to manipulate God by asking for last rites to be performed on him.

 Now, it's easy to condemn Timothy McVeigh, a mass murderer, one who was defiant and unrepentant to the last, who died looking into the faces of the witnesses with an icy cold stare–just as it's easy to condemn the rich man in today's Gospel, a man who's living in luxury while apparently ignoring a poor, needy beggar right outside his own gate.  But be careful in doling out easy condemnations.  You might soon discover that you are also condemning yourself.  For the fact of the matter is that Timothy McVeigh and the rich man and you and me by nature all belong in the same category.

 We'd like to think that the rich man's problem was simply that he was rich, and along with that we assume that he was mean and nasty, too.  But the Gospel doesn't say that he was mean and nasty.  He may very well have been a nice guy.  In fact he was probably looked up to as somebody that was blessed by God, unlike Lazarus who would have been scorned and shunned as someone cursed by God.  The rich man might have been a pillar of the community, a civic leader, one whose business fueled the local economy.  His problem was not simply his wealth.

 We like to think of it that way, though, because then we can feel better about ourselves.  "Those greedy CEO's and money-grubbing corporate business folks and wall street types.  All they care about is cash and power.  I'm glad I'm not like them."  Oh, really!?  Then why is it that you're tempted to play the lottery or visit the Casino or gamble in other ways?  Why are you so eager to enter and try to win those contests and drawings with the big cash or prizes?  Why is it that you focus so much on that perfect stock or investment or financial move that will bring you bigger returns and a better retirement?  Why is it that you're always looking for that "steal" at the rummage sales?  The truth is that according to your flesh, you'd love to be the rich man, with the exception (of course!) that you'd help the poor beggar at your gate and give more to charity.  Greed is not a matter of economic class.  It's a matter of the desires and the dreams of a sinful heart.

 The real problem with the rich man and Timothy McVeigh and all of us fallen human beings is that we don't fear, love, and trust in God above all things as we should.  The rich man trusted in himself, in all the things he had acquired for himself, in his social standing and prestige among his friends and neighbors.  Beware, therefore, of such proud self-reliance, of thinking that you can face eternity on the basis of your own merits and achievements and strength; beware of saying "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."  For the destiny of all such is nothing but fiery torment and separation from God.

 What made Lazarus' destiny different from the rich man was not that he was poor, but that he was poor in spirit.  Jesus said, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."  To be poor in spirit means to be humble and penitent before God, to trust not in yourself but in Him alone, to rely not on your own goodness but on His goodness.  It means to look to the Lord for all that you need and to run to Him for help and comfort.  The Scriptures say this, "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart–these, O God, You will not despise."

 You'll notice that of the two main characters in this parable, only one has a name.  The bound-for-hell man has no name.  For the Good Shepherd doesn't name hell-bound goats.  The rich man has no name because God will not remember the nameless in hell, "Depart from Me, I never knew you."  But the Good Shepherd knows His sheep and calls them each by name.  Only the heaven-bound sheep are given a name.  God has given you a name in Holy Baptism.  He inscribed His own name on you by water and the Spirit.  He claimed you for His own.  He knows you by name.  You are not nameless before God.  You bear the saving name of the Holy Trinity.

 The name "Lazarus" is one of the keys to understanding this account, understanding the real difference between the rich man and the poor man.  For "Lazarus" means: "The one whom God helps," or "God is my helper."  He was sick, he was hungry, he was covered with sores, and the dogs licked his wounds.  But he still trusted in God.  He was a true son of Abraham, who "believed in the Lord, and He accounted it to him for righteousness."  He still was able to say in faith what his name meant, "God is my helper."

 In the Gospel, Abraham says to the rich man, "(Your brothers) have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them."  That reminds us of what Jesus did while he walked with the two disciples on the road to Emmaus: "And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning Himself."  Moses and the Prophets all point to Jesus.  The poor man went to heaven because he believed Moses and the prophets.  That is to say, he believed in the Messiah whom they spoke of, who would take the sins of the world upon Himself and earn for him God's favor and a place in heaven.

 That is what the Messiah, Jesus Christ, has done also for you.  As Isaiah prophesied, "Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows. . .   He was pierced for our transgressions, . . .and by his wounds, we are healed."  You see, in order to rescue and deliver us, Jesus made Himself like Lazarus.  He put Himself at the mercy of the rich and powerful so that He might take away the judgment of God from us on the cross.  In Psalm 22 Jesus says, "Dogs have surrounded me; a band of evil men has encircled me, they have pierced my hands and my feet."  These dogs licked the sores of Jesus' scourging, that is, they mocked His suffering.  But the blood that flowed from His holy wounds bought our forgiveness and cleansed us from our sin.  That is why it is written, "You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who though He was rich, yet for your sakes became poor, so that you, through His poverty, might become rich."

 See then who is the truly rich man in this account.  Is it not Lazarus?  For the rich man laid up treasures for himself on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.  But Lazarus laid up for himself treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy and where thieves do not break in and steal–everlasting treasures.  Lazarus did not desire to be clothed in purple and fine linen.  Rather, it says that he desired to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table.

 And what do those crumbs signify?  Consider what sits on the Holy Altar of the church: crumbs and morsels, a small and unimpressive Sacrament.  But faith knows how great and rich this Sacrament is.  For in these crumbs are buried the riches of Christ's life and salvation!  Those who are self-sustained in this life are always casting off these crumbs in favor of something more immediately gratifying.  But the faithful continually beg for the holy crumbs, as we say before the Supper, "O Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world, have mercy on us."  In the end a great, uncrossable gulf will be fixed between the one side, where the beggars dwell forever in the comfort of God's presence in Abraham's bosom, and the other side, where the self-sufficient  dwell forever in unquenchable fire.

 Let the gulf be fixed today, then, between the riches and pleasures that are seen, which allure and entice our senses, and the heavenly riches which are hidden, grasped only by faith.  Let the trust of your heart ever dwell on the heavenly side, even in the midst of afflictions and troubles.  Do not despise bodily suffering, but receive it as a gift of God which turns our hearts away from what is perishable to what is imperishable.  Take your place with Lazarus.  For in so doing you are taking your place with Christ, who suffered anguish of soul for you that your soul may be received into the peace and solace of heaven at death, and who suffered in the flesh for you that you may be raised in the flesh with Him on the Last Day.  Let us ever say with Lazarus, "God is my Helper.  I will sing to the Lord, because He has dealt bountifully with me."

  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit