Luke 16:29 But Abraham said, “They have Moses and the Prophets. Hear them.”
I am an impatient teacher. My wife often complains that I have an unspoken quota on how many questions any person is allowed to ask. Though I get mad at her over this statement, I know that I can be less than patient when someone returns to me, again and again, with the same question. “You already know this,” I will sometimes say. You’ve heard me say this, tell you this twice (okay, sometimes it’s only once). You know this.
Maybe it’s my own disposition, but I hear Abraham as a little impatient in this verse. And why not, this rich man isn’t getting it. He’s asked that Lazarus—as if he’s a servant—to come and bring him some water. Realizing there was no way that was going to happen, he starts pleading that poor old Lazarus—again, like he’s his own personal servant—go warn his family about this fate that has befallen him. Please send Lazarus, he begs, to tell my brothers what has happened to me, what might happen to them. Oh please, oh please Abraham, however will they know such an awful fate is possible otherwise?
Abraham sighs and says, “You know this.” Theyknow this. Moses and the Prophets already told you and your brothers all about how things work. You’re to reach out to one another. You’re to care for one another and not let divisions grow into giant chasms so wide and deep they are almost impossible to cross. Your brothers should love God and love your neighbor. You already know this. And if they do not, they need to open their ears and listen.
Irony is defined as an inconsistency between actual and expected events. This story Jesus is telling is an example. The rich man, due to his status, is assumed blessed as evidenced by his wealth. But the way things turn out is that he is, in fact, not blessed and not following in the way of Moses and the Prophets.
Another example would be someone who gets so impatient with people who do not remember something they’ve already been told testing the patience of another by doing the exact same thing. That someone would be me and the patience I know I must test is God’s. Day after day I am aware of the things that I allow (dare I say cultivate), which keep others at a distance. And, in some moment of repentance, I find myself lamenting that separation, that chasm that has formed. How, I ask, can I bridge that divide? How can I heal that wound?
And God responds, “You know this.”