A Mexican Lazarus, An American Rich Man
Years ago when I was in the Army, I was stationed for a time in El Paso, Texas. El Paso is a border town; it and Juarez, Mexico are more or less one contiguous urban area, for quite a distance along both sides of the Rio Grande river.
One Saturday morning, I got up early and hiked from Fort Bliss all the way down to the border. Standing on the American side, I looked through someone’s side yard, over their swimming pool, and on the opposite slope, from the Rio Grand all the way to the top, there was arrayed heartbreaking poverty: kids running around without shoes, shacks made of cinder block and tar paper, sewage running in open culverts.
All this within clear sight of the back windows of the opulence of American suburbia.
“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and lived in luxury every day. At his gate was laid a beggar named Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man’s table. Even the dogs came and licked his sores.
“The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. In hell, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’
“But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’
“He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my father’s house, for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’
“Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’
” ‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’
“He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ “
Luke 16:19-31
What I saw that day has shaped the way I view the world ever since. It made me question why peoples’ lives could be so different, based on the fact that there’s a notional thing, really just an idea, called a “border” that separates poverty from opulence.
I wonder if the rich man in the parable didn’t make the “chasm” himself – the one separating him from Lazarus.
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Matt
Your last line is very wise — and follows the spirit of both Balthasar and C S Lewis, among many others; the wall which divides us from God, from the beatific vision, is created by our egoism, as our ego seeks to defend itself and its vision of how it should be in relation to everything else: God lets it become the “god” of its own world, but it becomes, in the end, a world one one, and even there, the ego knows in reality, it isn’t God, it isn’t the absolute, and this leads to the individual to suffer – a suffering which, if they let go of themselves, can end (and hence have been purgatory) or a suffering which continues as long as one wants to have their false egoistic individuality “reign in hell.”
Being compared to the likes of Balthasar and Lewis is beyond my capacity to merit such a comparison, Henry – but thanks :)
The chasm separating the two geographical places I describe is terrible enough; the separation in the minds of the two groups is far more wounding for both, I think.
This is one of the things that Martin Luther King used to talk about: his goal was not defeat of his opposition in the south, but reconciliation of both parties into the Beloved Community.
It made me question why peoples’ lives could be so different, based on the fact that there’s a notional thing, really just an idea, called a “border” that separates poverty from opulence.
It’s a good question. An important one too.
I remember once during college I was on a road trip with a friend. He was driving while I was taking a nap. At one point I could tell when we crossed from one state into another, even when my eyes were closed, because the roads noticeably improved (just as they had noticeably worsened when we had entered the state). I suspect that the difference in the material condition of people on either side of the U.S./Mexico border are a starker example of the same phenomenon.
Matt and Henry,
Would the “other side” be better off if they were afforded a Whole Foods with the gift of resources to use as exchange?
What is the poor? What is the rich?
How does one truly help the poor? How does one truly help the rich? How does one bridge the chasm of which you speak?
This is not a question with an economic solution.
Gerald,
Of course the answer is the breaking down of our social barriers, to enter into communion with each other. But we try to hoard things for ourselves as we try to keep to ourselves; neither side benefits from this, though some might hide their anxiety through such practices.
I did my Basic Training at Ft. Bliss. On a couple of Saturdays they had us visit suburban El Paso to solicit toys for Operation Santa Claus as a public service from the base to the community. There were some very swank neighborhoods in El Paso. After Basic ended, we went on a bus tour, part of which went along the border. Seeing Juarez was a huge contrast to El Paso, as you noted. Our jaws just dropped.
We even saw people crossing the river in broad daylight, just wading through the water. Our tour of El Paso ended at a shopping mall so that we could purchase civilian clothes and other items, we might need before proceeding to AIT. On one side opulence, and on the other poverty. Of course, not all of Mexico is poor, but there is a huge disparity in wealth in Mexico. It’s terrible what the PRI has done to that country.
My grandmother’s side of the family was booted from California for fighting on the losing side in the Mexican American war, then came back across during the revolution. They saw what was coming and left.
Henry,
To speak of Ayn Rand, it is necessary to make reference to the notion of the autonomous individual and the spiritual poverty that proceeds logically from it. It is this spiritual poverty — a poverty that flows of necessity from the logic of the autonomous individual — that lies at the heart of human inequities.
Likewise, this spiritual poverty explains the health care vision of John MacKey. Since his views rest on an atomistic foundation, they reflect spiritual poverty and, for that reason, are in fundamental conflict with the philosophical underpinnings of CST.
Matt,
As with last week’s story about “Pete,” you seem to spend a lot of time looking at, empathizing with and writing about the poor. But surely the point of Matthew 25 is that we are called to do something to help our brothers and sisters.
Last week, although moved by Pete’s plight, you kept driving because you only had $50 in the bank. In this week’s story, you presumably resumed your hike after cursing the “opulence of American suburbia.”
But what about your own relative opulence? Do you give out of your abundance only or also out of your need? Is caring for the poor someone else’s responsibility – some opulent suburbanite, perhaps – or yours? Tell us what you do, not how you feel.
Gerald is right, this is not a question of economics. But it does carry a thorny question: Are the rich “required” to give to the poor?
Most assume that this means give money or food, but the gift we must give is love. But this is no excuse it does seem odd to think that if we truly gave love we would let them starve. But the root is lovelessness, all the economic questions follow that.
Mark Gordon – Believe me, I’m not posting these things from the Mount of Wisdom and Holiness. They are not aimed at “you” and “them” but at “me” and “us.”
Sam,
“the gift we must give is love”
What gives this statement its unusual force is that the love we give must be analogically manifested throughout the entire range of our relations. While the love we give has transcendent significance, it also has analogical significance that shapes the hierarchy of our relations to others.
I recall during my work on the street coming upon a homeless person. I paused and made a comment. He then proceeded to speak at length. As I listened, it was clear he was challenged. Nonetheless, I paid attention to him and never interrupted, although I would nod in agreement from time to time. As we stood there in the hot summer sun, he went on to speak for nearly three hours. I still listened.
Finally, I told told him that I had to meet someone, which I did. He looked at me and quietly said: “You know something … I know you didn’t understand what I was trying to say. I know that. But I want to thank you for listening. My life has been so lonely.”
The gift of love has many faces.
Indeed, Gerald – thank you for sharing that story.