Theological Truth: Seeking and serving Christ in all people starts with seeing them.
You may have noticed a few visitors in town this weekend. Hopefully a few here this morning, too! Welcome! This weekend marks the return of the Queen City Mischief & Magic festival which has gotten me thinking a lot about Harry Potter this week. Lest you be convinced by the howls of some of our more fundamentalist brothers and sisters, let me assure you that there are important aspects of the Gospel to be discovered in the characters and themes of the Harry Potter story.
Harry knows what it feels like to be outcast, ostracized, alone, and ignored. Orphaned as an infant, he’s either mistreated or ignored by his adopted family. (His bedroom is a broom closet under the stairs!) Perhaps this explains Harry’s admirable quality of seeing and accepting those who don’t quite fit in. He knows what it’s like to be sad and lonely. So, when he encounters others who have been bullied or oppressed, Harry treats them with dignity and respect. For instance, when he first meets Dobby the house-elf, Harry insists that Dobby sit down and talk with him.
This may not sound like such a grand gesture to muggles like us (that’s Harry Potter verbiage for non-magical beings), but an act of such kindness to a house-elf was most unusual in the world of wizarding. House-elves must obey and remain enslaved to the wizard family they serve. They are widely considered subservient, often treated cruelly, usually ignored and utterly invisible. They aren’t even given clothes to wear, hence their wardrobe of discarded tea towels or old pillowcases.
When Dobby first meets Harry, he is serving as house-elf for the malevolent Malfoy family. Harry’s kindness, respect, and acceptance opens Dobby’s eyes to a different world—a world where he is seen, treated as an equal, and eventually freed. [*Spoiler alert*] Later in the book, Harry liberates Dobby by tricking the much older and very frightening, Lucius Malfoy into giving Dobby a sock, thus breaking the spell of servanthood. His first step is to see Dobby with eyes of concern, then Harry looks out for his well-being and best interests, including setting him free to live a life that is truly life.
We promise in the baptismal covenant to live similarly—“to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves.” (Book of Common Prayer, 305) Bishop Curry reminds us that this “way of love,” this way of living “is a commitment to seeking the good and well-being of others.” (Love Is the Way, 242) But before we can seek and serve Christ in others, we have to SEE them. In order to live this way of love, we have to look at the neighbor in front of us. Unfortunately, we are easily blinded and too often oblivious.
The wealth of the rich man in today’s parable blinded him to Lazarus just outside of his gate. He’s so busy dressing in fancy clothes and feasting sumptuously at every meal, that he doesn’t notice the hungry person right in front of him longing for a crumb or a band-aid. It’s not so much what the rich man did as what he didn’t do: He doesn’t notice Lazarus; he doesn’t show compassion for his plight; he doesn’t seek his well-being, because he doesn’t see him…doesn’t recognize his humanity. He’s too busy enjoying himself.
Bishop Curry reminds us, “You might think the opposite of love is hate…[but] if love looks outward, to the good of the other, then its opposite isn’t hate. [The] opposite [of love] is selfishness! It’s a life completely centered on the self” (Ibid., 19) The rich man’s wealth—his selfish enjoyment of it—prevents him from seeing his neighbor Lazarus. The transformation of the rich man begins when he too experiences suffering. Notice how his concern expands from his own needs for a soothing drink of water, to concern for his father’s house and his five brothers. He begins to remember the words of Moses and the prophets who emphasize God’s ways of saving the last, the lost, and the least. This is the way of love—a commitment to seeking the good and well-being of others, and it begins with seeing them.
The past couple of weeks have provided some modern-day and real-world Lazarus moments. For some reason, we’ve had two different people asleep on the front steps of the church—right by our gate. To be honest, I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want to disturb them. I was afraid of their reaction if I startled them. I sure didn’t blame them for taking a nap after lunch or seeking a place of relative safety and Godly sanctuary. But I am also aware of security risks and my own limitations. What could I do? How much is reasonable? If to love them is a commitment to seek out their well-being, what would the loving thing look like here? Maybe calling the police? Maybe letting them nap. Maybe asking if they’re okay.
I wish I had a clearer answer for you…and for me. For one of them I said a prayer and moved along quietly. For another I asked if they were okay and reminded them about the Noon Lunch program. His name was Paul (like the saint, I reminded him). Paul voiced concern for “the number of hard-working people out there who are really hurting financially.” I wish I had a clearer idea of how best to respond to their need—to seek and serve Christ in them. Paul was trying too. He saw them and their need. I don’t know exactly what to do, but I’m more certain than ever that seeking and serving begins with seeing, to looking beyond myself and accepting this amazing grace and gospel truth that not only does God see and care about us, but God sees and cares about all of God’s children.
After reminding Timothy that the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, (the other) St. Paul offers this wise counsel for us: “As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share.”
(1 Timothy 6:17-18)
Keeping our baptismal promise to seek and serve Christ in all people begins with seeing our neighbor, looking beyond our own self-interests and soothing distractions so that we can see the neighbors at our gates—really see Christ in them. Then we will be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share. None of this is magic. It’s grace. Magic isn’t real, but the grace, mercy, forgiveness, and compassion of God is all around us, feeding the hungry, healing the sick, bringing us together, and setting us all free to live the life that truly is life.
— Fr. AJ Heine, Rector, Trinity Episcopal Church of Staunton
Sixteenth Sunday After Pentecost, Year C, September 25, 2022
Readings: Jeremiah 32:1-3a 6-15, 1 Timothy 6:6-19, Psalm 91, Luke 16:19-31
