Until the news of his assassination broke, I had never heard of Charlie Kirk. Nor did I look into his life after the tragic event, partly because US mass shootings have sadly become quite commonplace across the pond, and partly because I’m not fond of militant, muscular, politicised Christianity. Taking sides in political disputes would render me unable to minister to all in the way described by St Paul: “I have become all things to all people, that by all means I might save some. I do it all for the sake of the gospel.” (1 Corinthians 9:22) Please keep that in mind, as what I’m about to say isn’t political but an illustration of the subject I will tackle in my sermon today.
The case of Charlie Kirk’s assassination was a prominent topic in the reputable media outlets I follow regularly, so I learned more details about the man, some of which struck me as unusual for a typical American culture wars fighter. In fact, his whole idea was to meet those who disagreed with him and openly discuss their views. As a devout Christian, he seemed to apply Jesus’ calls “to love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44) and “if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles” (Matthew 5:41). He appeared to believe in and practise “the power of argument”, but fell victim to “the argument of power,” which is always a sign of the perpetrator’s intellectual and moral failure. The most convincing proof of Christianity seriously held came from his wife at his memorial service, when she publicly forgave the assassin. Cynics may dismiss this as a gesture or a pose, but I know from my personal, painful experience how powerful and transformative such a public declaration of forgiveness can be, even if in my case it was only made in front of my close family. Then, President Trump gave his speech and said some astonishing words: “[Charlie] did not hate his opponents. He wanted the best for them. That’s where I disagreed with Charlie. I hate my opponent, and I don’t want the best for them. […] I can’t stand my opponent.” The man who had been promoting a special edition of the Bible to raise funds for his presidential campaign publicly rejected its core values. Christianity can be “useful,” like any ideology, religious or secular, to bludgeon opponents. In a similar vein, a friend of mine once sarcastically said that when Celtic and Rangers play at Hampden Park, the stadium is full of Catholics and Protestants but not a single Christian.
The parable in today’s gospel could be called “Mind the Gap.” It’s not a literal description of what the afterlife looks like; please, don’t use it to create a simplified model of heaven and hell. The nameless rich man was depicted as enjoying life to the fullest, in contrast to an utterly impoverished and stricken man named Lazarus, who lingered at the rich man’s house gate, and “desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man’s table.” The parable implied that this didn’t happen; instead, stray dogs “came and licked his sores,” appearing more sympathetic to Lazarus’ plight. There was a huge gap between him and the rich man. In the parable’s afterlife, the roles were reversed. The rich man found himself in utter pain and saw Abraham, the highly revered founding patriarch of Israel, accompanied by Lazarus. In their exchange, the rich man revealed his mental gap from Lazarus when he addressed Abraham: “Send Lazarus to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame.” He knew his name, yet he wouldn’t lower himself to speak directly to him, still treating Lazarus as a slave. Abraham’s response was intriguing: “between us and you a great chasm has been fixed.” Who had created it? Dare I say, it was the rich man’s doing; his inability or unwillingness (or probably both) to close the gap between himself and Lazarus. This was evident when, in his final plea, the rich man again failed to close the gap, addressing Abraham rather than Lazarus: “Send him to my father’s house […] so that he may warn them.” Abraham pointed out the futility of such an idea – why would they treat Lazarus differently than the rich man did? – and offered a more effective solution: “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.” In other words, they should read the Bible and, from that, develop the right attitudes.
The danger faced by Christians – and indeed, followers of any religion – is that it can be reduced to an ideology, purely devotional religiosity, a superficial cultural veneer, or a mixture of all three. In practical terms, it means adopting its values and principles selectively. We tend to embrace those we like and/or find easy, but overlook those that challenge our assumptions, prejudices, intolerance, biases, and push us out of our comfort zones. When this happens, the Christian faith loses its transformative power to positively change lives – ours and others’. St Paul’s commendation in today’s second reading offers a strong call to you and me: “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness. Fight the good fight of the faith. […] keep the commandment unstained and free from reproach until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ.” Mind the gap and strive to close it.
