The Road to Emmaus

Break it to me gently....

The story of the Road to Emmaus is a delicious mystery: why did Jesus appear incognito?

I think it illustrates how Jesus used poetry. And why we should.

Let me try to explain.

The encounter on the road to Emmaus is the central act of a three-act play. The first act is the empty tomb, in Jerusalem, at dawn, and an angel telling the women he has risen.

The second act is the encounter on the road to Emmaus, at about midday. Now he appears incognito. His identity slowly dawns on the disciples, inferred from his words.

Back in Jerusalem at nightfall, the third act: he appears to the eleven in immediately recognizable form. He asks them to touch him; he asks for a fish, and eats it.

Notice that at this point, all the apostles are terrified. “They were startled and frightened, thinking they saw a ghost.” 

Man fears God. Man fears truth, and fears being judged. Luke 5:8: “When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, ‘Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!’”

I prayed for years that God not send me any obvious miracle, for I feared if he did, I would go mad, or think I had gone mad. Eventually Mary sent me a gentle miracle anyway. Even then, I prayed for her to stop, and she did. I was not ready. 

We are right to fear. Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.

But this means we cannot speak the truth directly to those we hope to evangelize; we must break it slowly, or our listeners may panic. Among other things, they may be moved to crucify us.

This is why we need poetry, or parable, as the essential religious language. As Emily Dickenson wrote, “Tell all the truth, but tell it slant. Success in circuit lies.”

This reminds me of a joke: the cat is on the roof.

So Jesus breaks the ultimate revelation slowly. First the body is missing from the tomb, and angels say he is risen, and this is revealed to women, who are notoriously untrustworthy witnesses. So there is still room to doubt, but the notion, the possibility, must be entertained. The cat is on the roof.

Probably this is what causes the disciples to flee to Emmaus. They did not flee out of fear after the crucifixion; they were still in Jerusalem three days later. Yet they left immediately after they heard this story that his body was missing and angels were about. This is what frightened them—that he might appear, and prove himself to be God. 

This is why Jesus appears slant, incognito. Not in Jerusalem, where they feared he might appear, and not in recognizable form. He is breaking it to them gently, giving them time to think it over. The cat has fallen off the roof. He seems to be badly injured.

Then, once they have had more time to think and talk about it among themselves, to contemplate the possibility, to find a way to cope with it, that evening he appears in unmistakable form. And they are still terrified. The cat has died.

Imagine if he had not managed the revelation so carefully. He is still even at this point soothing their fears by asking them to touch him and by eating a fish. He is reassuring them he is not a ghost, and they have not gone mad. Calming them.

This is what a poem does and how it works. It does not reveal its full meaning at first. But it plants seeds in memory, which is its proper medium. Over time, the full meaning can unfold, when the listener is ready to receive it. When he has ears to hear.

That’s poetry, or parable. Poetry is more efficient, because more memorable. Parable is better if you must speak to a multilingual audience, as does the Bible. 

 Jesus himself is the ultimate poem. He is the Word.

More than Meets the Eye

 

Picture this.

Jesus told his disciples a parable,
“Can a blind person guide a blind person?
Will not both fall into a pit?
No disciple is superior to the teacher;
but when fully trained,
every disciple will be like his teacher.
Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye,
but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?
How can you say to your brother,
‘Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,’
when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye?
You hypocrite!  Remove the wooden beam from your eye first;
then you will see clearly
to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye.
“A good tree does not bear rotten fruit,
nor does a rotten tree bear good fruit.
For every tree is known by its own fruit.
For people do not pick figs from thornbushes,
nor do they gather grapes from brambles.
A good person out of the store of goodness in his heart produces good,
but an evil person out of a store of evil produces evil;
for from the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks.”

 Luke 6: 39-45

This was today’s mass reading. 

That familiar saying about the splinter in your brother’s eye, and the log in your own, is commonly taken to advise us against criticizing another’s sin. 

Bu this actually does not make sense. If this is meant, there is no reason for a metaphor. And a good writer, a good communicator, does not use a metaphor when plain speech will do. It would be easy to say, “flaw in your behaviour,” or “sin.” So why this business about the eye?

Then notice that sight is an extended metaphor in this “parable”: it begins with the image of the blind leading the blind.

But it is also not about physical sight. Note the image of a “beam” in the eye. This is physically impossible: this tells us the realm of which we are speaking is the realm of imagination, the “inner sight,” the imaging faculty.

Sight is the obvious metaphor for imagination.

 We are told that the blind man is like the uneducated, the untaught. And one should, after removing one’s own beam, instruct one’s brother. But in the case of ordinary knowledge, it is indeed possible for the student to exceed the teacher, and a teacher hopes for this. It happens often. Augustine exceeded Albertus Magnus. This is something, some knowledge, in which the student cannot so excel the master.

So the passage tells us imagination, our inner vision, can be either better or worse, clear or clouded by splinters or beams. Perhaps this represents material things, material concerns, the things of the senses.

And this is true. This is the experience of the artist. He does not compose or create: he sees. Michelangelo said that in sculpting, he discovered the form in the marble block. Steven King says writing a story is like an act of excavation. You hope you get it out intact.

The disciple cannot exceed the master because the master, the source of inspiration, is God himself. The world of the imagination is the kingdom of heaven.

And the business of the true disciple is foremost to express his own vision, not to criticise the work of others. As Blake put it, “I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.”

Now we speak of fruits: of good trees bearing good fruits. Again, this cannot mean, as commonly thought, moral acts. For one thing, bad people can indeed perform good deeds. They commonly dd; beware of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

No; the passage says clearly that it means what “the mouth speaks.”

What does it mean to say that a given speech is “good”? Again, not that it advocates good behaviour. The worst Pharisees and hypocrites advocate good behaviour. Anyone can. 

No; it has to mean “good speech” in the sense of beautiful speech. Artistic expression.

Good morals can be faked. Truth can be falsified; anyone can lie. But the perception of beauty is perfect and immediate and cannot be achieved by trickery. Beauty is the test.

The Parable of the Talents

 

Jesus told his disciples this parable:
“A man going on a journey
called in his servants and entrusted his possessions to them.
To one he gave five talents; to another, two; to a third, one--
to each according to his ability.
Then he went away.
Immediately the one who received five talents went and traded with them,
and made another five.
Likewise, the one who received two made another two.
But the man who received one went off and dug a hole in the ground
and buried his master’s money.
“After a long time
the master of those servants came back
and settled accounts with them.
The one who had received five talents came forward
bringing the additional five.
He said, ‘Master, you gave me five talents.
See, I have made five more.’
His master said to him, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.
Since you were faithful in small matters,
I will give you great responsibilities.
Come, share your master's joy.’
Then the one who had received two talents also came forward and said,
‘Master, you gave me two talents.
See, I have made two more.’
His master said to him, ‘Well done, my good and faithful servant.
Since you were faithful in small matters,
I will give you great responsibilities.
Come, share your master's joy.’
Then the one who had received the one talent came forward and said,
‘Master, I knew you were a demanding person,
harvesting where you did not plant
and gathering where you did not scatter;
so out of fear I went off and buried your talent in the ground.
Here it is back.’
His master said to him in reply, ‘You wicked, lazy servant!
So you knew that I harvest where I did not plant
and gather where I did not scatter?
Should you not then have put my money in the bank
so that I could have got it back with interest on my return?
Now then! Take the talent from him and give it to the one with ten.
For to everyone who has,
more will be given and he will grow rich;
but from the one who has not,
even what he has will be taken away.
And throw this useless servant into the darkness outside,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.’”

Like all parables, last Sunday’s gospel reading includes a detail making a literal reading impossible.

For Jews and Christians, usury, lending money at interest, was considered sinful. Yet here the master praises two servants for lending money at interest—a 100% rate of interest.

Obviously, the “talents” being referred to cannot be money. Indeed, the English word “talent” comes from this parable. It means spiritual gifts.

Don’t be misled here by the crass and literalistic “prosperity gospel.” God does not pay cash.

We are given what talents we have by God at birth. We are not all given either equal or equivalent talents; the idea of “multiple intelligences” is a transparent cope. Some are given two talents, some five, some only one. “To each according to his ability”; God knows us before birth, and gives talents to those most likely to use them wisely.

It is our responsibility, then, just as Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount, not to hide our light under a bushel, not to hide our talents in a hole, but to “let our light shine.” If we do, our talent will increase.

Many do not do this, the parable says, out of fear. It is always frightening to show a drawing or a poem, or to perform on stage. One feels vulnerable. Rightly so: you will be criticized, attacked, meant harm, especially if you’re good.

So those to whom God gives more talent have greater responsibility, and will have a more difficult path through life. The suffering of the artist is axiomatic. The sufferings of the Jews is the paradigm. They are here to be “a light unto the nations.” Evil people fear and hate the light.

Then at the end of life, we will be judged on what we have done with what we have been given.

According to the parable, at this point, when the master returns, those who have used their talents well will be given greater responsibility. 

This tells us there will be more important work to do in heaven. We will not just sit around playing video games. This work is the entire point of life.

Why? Because God made us, in the beginning, as a potter, in his image. Meaning, to be, like him, creators, makers. In creating, we collaborate with him in building the intended world, the New Jerusalem. It is a work of art, a city, not the natural world into which we are born naked.

The Parable of the Foolish Virgins

 

Jesus told his disciples this parable:
"The kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins
who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom.
Five of them were foolish and five were wise.
The foolish ones, when taking their lamps,
brought no oil with them,
but the wise brought flasks of oil with their lamps.
Since the bridegroom was long delayed,
they all became drowsy and fell asleep.
At midnight, there was a cry,
'Behold, the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!'
Then all those virgins got up and trimmed their lamps.
The foolish ones said to the wise,
'Give us some of your oil,
for our lamps are going out.'
But the wise ones replied,
'No, for there may not be enough for us and you.
Go instead to the merchants and buy some for yourselves.'
While they went off to buy it,
the bridegroom came
and those who were ready went into the wedding feast with him.
Then the door was locked.
Afterwards the other virgins came and said,
'Lord, Lord, open the door for us!'
But he said in reply,
'Amen, I say to you, I do not know you.'
Therefore, stay awake,
for you know neither the day nor the hour."

As always, this parable, the Mass reading for last Sunday, includes a detail preventing it from being read literally. The bridegroom came at midnight. Where exactly were the foolish virgins going to buy oil for their lamps at midnight? Where did they think they were going?

And does it sound like charity for the wise virgins to refuse to share their oil? Yet they get the seal of approval, being immediately admitted to the “kingdom of heaven.”

Anything well written should alert the reader with such inconsistencies that a passage cannot be read literally, but must be symbolic. Clearly the thing being discussed here is not oil, but something like oil that cannot be shared, or not shared easily.

It is wisdom: “five of them were foolish, and five of them were wise.” Wisdom cannot be passed on, but must be achieved by each as individual—unlike, for example, knowledge. Wisdom is the oil that produces, as needed, the flame of understanding. And one needs wisdom to enter the kingdom of heaven.

That the problem is lack of wisdom is made plainer by the readiness of the foolish virgins to run off in search of oil in the middle of the night. And they were actually barred from the wedding feast not because they had no flame in their lamps, but because they were not there when the doors opened. By folly straight up, not oil.

This might seem unjust. Can one be blamed for being stupid? Yet it is not stupidity that makes a fool, but a lack of common sense. The first reading for the mass, from the Book of Wisdom, makes clear that wisdom is available to all:

Resplendent and unfading is wisdom,
and she is readily perceived by those who love her,
and found by those who seek her.
She hastens to make herself known in anticipation of their desire;
Whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed,
for he shall find her sitting by his gate.

So why are half of us, by the parable’s estimation fools? 

Because most of us would rather embrace the nearest pleasant fiction than wisdom. Most of us are actively engaged in various self-delusions. We believe what is convenient to believe, what requires the least of us.

This makes us easier, in turn, to fool. We will go for any get-rick-quick scheme, or any sort of snake oil. Notably including false claims about Christianity or what the Bible actually says. We will choose the wrong path, because it is bordered with primroses.

In the parable, the bridegroom says, “I do not know you.” If the bridegroom is God, this too is not literally right. He is omniscient, after all. But “know” means more than this in the Bible, often means the full relationship between man and wife. Rather, the fool and God have never established a personal relationship. There is no marriage, therefore no marriage feast.

The Parable of the Tenants

 

The Stone that was rejected.

Jesus said to the chief priests and the elders of the people:
"Hear another parable.
There was a landowner who planted a vineyard,
put a hedge around it, dug a wine press in it, and built a tower.
Then he leased it to tenants and went on a journey.
When vintage time drew near,
he sent his servants to the tenants to obtain his produce.
But the tenants seized the servants and one they beat,
another they killed, and a third they stoned.
Again he sent other servants, more numerous than the first ones,
but they treated them in the same way.
Finally, he sent his son to them, thinking,
'They will respect my son.'
But when the tenants saw the son, they said to one another,
'This is the heir.
Come, let us kill him and acquire his inheritance.’
They seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, and killed him.
What will the owner of the vineyard do to those tenants when he comes?"
They answered him,
"He will put those wretched men to a wretched death
and lease his vineyard to other tenants
who will give him the produce at the proper times."

Jesus said to them, "Did you never read in the Scriptures:  

The stone that the builders rejected
has become the cornerstone;
by the Lord has this been done,
and it is wonderful in our eyes?  

Therefore, I say to you,
the kingdom of God will be taken away from you
and given to a people that will produce its fruit."

The obvious interpretation of the parable is that it is directed towards Jewish authorities who rejected Christ.

But this is not satisfactory; if so, it would hold no meaning for us today. It must also apply to Christians, or there is no reason to include it in the Bible.

Each of us is given our various gifts: intelligence, fortunate birth, physical beauty, athleticism, and so on. Since we are not responsible for this, they are on lease from God. God gave them to us, rather than someone else, for a purpose. If we fail to return the owner’s share of the produce, if we fail to use them to bear fruit, we are like the tenants in the parable.

This surely means something more profound than simply tithing or giving to charity. It means that our overall intent must be the greater good; that whatever our special circumstances or talents are, these are applied to making the world a better place.

A second significance: whoever is being beaten, killed, and stoned, for their own morality—these are the servants of God, and our duty is to support and respect them. These are the cornerstones on which God is building the New Jerusalem. This echoes the Beatitudes: “blessed are you when you are persecuted for my name’s sake.”

No doubt many think and hope they are doing this when they support “Black Lives Matter,” or feminism, or “Idle No More,” or gay or transgender rights. This is delusional. Demonstrably, African Americans are not being persecuted, women are not being persecuted, and aboriginals and gays and transvestites are not being persecuted, in North America. Governments are mobilized to their advantage. More or less by definition, the persecuted will not have governments or popular opinion on their side.

So who are the persecuted? Who is actually being punished because they are acting morally? Think about it.

One way most of us can build a better world, most obviously, is in parenting. In that one situation when we are most responsible for the wellbeing of another.

Hence perhaps the appearance of the landlord’s son.

This need not refer only to Jesus: every child born is a child of God, leased to their biological parents as wards. How we treat our children is the ultimate test: are we passing on what we were given, or trying to keep it all to ourselves?

The issue of abortion springs to mind. The issue of child abuse. The issue, in particular, of parents possibly punishing children for acting morally or for their innocent faith.

How much care have we been taking to educate our children properly, especially in religious and ethical matters? Especially with both parents working, as is now the rule?

The civilization that does not devote its greatest effort to raising the next generation in its religious and ethical traditions is a civilization in decline. That vineyard will soon be given to other tenants.

The Parable of the Wheat and the Tares

The Devil sowing tares.

Jesus proposed another parable to the crowds, saying:
“The kingdom of heaven may be likened
to a man who sowed good seed in his field.
While everyone was asleep his enemy came
and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off.
When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well.
The slaves of the householder came to him and said,
‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field?
Where have the weeds come from?’
He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’
His slaves said to him,
‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
He replied, ‘No, if you pull up the weeds
you might uproot the wheat along with them.
Let them grow together until harvest;
then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters,
“First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning;
but gather the wheat into my barn.” – Matthew 13.

Yesterday’s mass reading began with this parable.

Few ever seem to notice that parables always include something that, on the surface, makes no sense.

Any amateur gardener should see it. Nobody allows the weed to grow in their garden or their field until harvest. Weeding is the crucial chore in gardening. If they do not take over altogether, untended weeds will stunt the crop. And make it difficult to harvest.

The gods must be crazy.

The householder does not want the weeds pulled up because his servants might not be able to see the difference between weeds and wheat. Yet he assumes that the eventual harvesters will have no trouble doing so: first they will collect the weeds for burning, then gather the wheat. This is aggressively illogical.

When we see such things, we should assume we are being required to take a closer look; things are not as they appear.

Jesus gives a partial explanation to his apostles:

“He who sows good seed is the Son of Man,
the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom.
The weeds are the children of the evil one,
and the enemy who sows them is the devil.
The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels.
Just as weeds are collected and burned up with fire,
so will it be at the end of the age.
The Son of Man will send his angels,
and they will collect out of his kingdom
all who cause others to sin and all evildoers.
They will throw them into the fiery furnace,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.
Then the righteous will shine like the sun
in the kingdom of their Father.
Whoever has ears ought to hear.”

So the wheat is the good people, and the weeds are the bad people, and the field is the world. And the question addressed is, why does God allow the evil to prosper? Why not just strike them with a lightning bolt?

It cannot be that his servants cannot identify them. For who are his servants in this parable? Not mortal followers: those are the good seeds. The servants must be angels; he identifies them as angels at the harvest. There is no question that God knows all the time who the evil people are. There is no question that he has the power to tell the angels who they are.

But doing so, it would seem, would “uproot the wheat along with them.”

How so? It cannot be in the conventional sense; it cannot be in the literal sense. It is that the wheat cannot be wheat without the weeds.

The weeds are “all who cause others to sin and all evildoers.” The evil will thrive in this world, as weeds will in an unweeded field. If they did not, there would be no temptation for anyone to do evil.

So the good can only be the good, can only grow to be wheat, if they are exposed to and can survive the weeds without becoming weeds. The point is that with souls it is the opposite of with wheat.

Zacchaeus Out of His Tree

Zacchaeus called down from the Sycamore tree.

He entered and was passing through Jericho. There was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector, and he was rich. He was trying to see who Jesus was, and couldn't because of the crowd, because he was short. He ran on ahead, and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was to pass that way.

When Jesus came to the place, he looked up and saw him, and said to him, "Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for today I must stay at your house."

He hurried, came down, and received him joyfully.

When they saw it, they all murmured, saying, "He has gone in to lodge with a man who is a sinner."

Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, "Behold, Lord, half of my goods I give to the poor. If I have wrongfully exacted anything of anyone, I restore four times as much."

Jesus said to him, "Today, salvation has come to this house, because he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save that which was lost."

--Luke 19:1-10

Zacchaeus is not a real person. The story of Zacchaeus is a parable. The image of little Zacchaeus climbing a tree is too obviously comic for real life.

Zacchaeus means “pure.” It is not really a name. His small stature makes him seem childlike. He climbs trees, as a child would. And as a self-conscious wealthy man would not. For it is publicly undignified, and likely to expose him to general scorn.

So this is a parable of innocence.

Zacchaeus is egotistic in an innocent way, just as a child is. His initial avarice is innocent, unreflective. Who does not spontaneously want to own nice things? Nice things are nice.

Jesus singles him out from the crowd. Just as Jesus elsewhere says, one must become like a little child to enter the Kingdom of Heaven. “Suffer the little children to come unto me.” Innocence is the key.

But only the key. Jesus opens the door, when he tells Zacchaeus to come down from the tree.

This act of immediate obedience is the test. It equates to repentance. “Get off your high horse.”

Because Zacchaeus does this, wholeheartedly, Jesus comes and dwells with him.

It is surely significant that all this is said to have happened in Jericho: the city that was the entrance to the Promised Land. With such repentance, the walls come tumbling down.

The good man, in sum, is not the man who does not sin. The good man is the man who repents when sin is pointed out. The bad man resists and denies. The difference is the difference between sin and settled vice.

Compare today’s first reading, from the Book of Wisdom: “Yet you are merciful to all, because you are almighty, you overlook people's sins, so that they can repent.” God’s own forgiveness is absolute, but conditional on repentance.

We all sin. We all have avaricious urges. A fundamentally good person, faced with their own wrongdoing, repents and seeks to make amends. A bad person demands “forgiveness” without repentance. That is the difference.

The critical moment in the Garden of Eden was not when Adam and Eve ate the apple. It was when they hid in the bushes, and tried to shift blame.

The Unjust Magistrate

He also spoke a parable to them that they must always pray and not give up, saying, “There was a judge in a certain city who didn’t fear God and didn’t respect man. A widow was in that city, and she often came to him, saying, ‘Defend me from my adversary!’ He wouldn’t for a while; but afterward he said to himself, ‘Though I neither fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow bothers me, I will defend her, or else she will wear me out by her continual coming.’ ” 

The Lord said, “Listen to what the unrighteous judge says. Won’t God avenge his chosen ones who are crying out to him day and night, and yet he exercises patience with them? I tell you that he will avenge them quickly. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?”

This is what a parable looks like: no names, and shocking. God is blasphemously compared to an unjust judge. The parable implies that He can be worn out, get tired; nonsensical for a perfect being.

As usual, the story is actually saying the opposite of what it seems to say on superficial reading. It is all in the last line.

It seems to say God will answer prayer. It is really explaining why God does not answer prayer.

Unlike the unjust judge, God does not disdain mankind and want to be rid of us. Instead, he loves us. The parable illustrates that, if he easily gives us what we want, we will probably go away and forget about him. The last thing he wants us to do is go away and forget about him.

So he will present us with problems and fail to give us what we ask, for the sake of deepening the relationship. To progress, we must learn to be grateful, and to continue the conversation, even when he fulfills our wishes.

The Rich Man and Lazarus

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 Hades, 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 set in place, 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 family, 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.’

Jesus’s story of the rich man and poor Lazarus is interesting for several reasons.

For one thing, it looks superficially like a parable, yet is not a parable. A parable is a made-up story given as an illustration of some philosophical point. People never have names in parables, to make the point that they are not actual people. Places and times are also not given. Lazarus in this story is named, and so apparently is a real person.

Parables also always contain some shocking or improbable element. There seems to be no such reversal in the tale of the rich man and Lazarus. 

So it is to be read literally.

And this is very interesting, because it is a description of the afterlife, and of hell.

So, no, if you are going to accept the Bible as authority, you cannot fudge this one. Afterlife and hell are not metaphors or symbolic or figurative language. They are real places, and, contrary to Bishop Barron and von Balthazar, there are real people there. And there is real suffering.

Gustav Dore

 

And, according to the story, once you are in hell, there is no way out.

Also interesting—this story says that Judaism remains valid into the New Covenant; there is no point in a Jew converting to Christianity. If you will not follow the law and the prophets, you will not follow Jesus any better.

The other interesting thing in the story is that Lazarus does not go to heaven because of his good deeds. One can say that the rich man goes to hell for immorality; not obvious or aggressive immorality, not bad deeds, but for a lack of concern for a poor man at his door. A frightening warning for the rich. But there is no act of Lazarus’s, on the other hand, that establishes his own concern for others. For all we know, if he possessed riches, he would act just like the rich man in the tale. 

Abraham actually says plainly that Lazarus goes to heaven not because of his merit but because of his suffering: “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.’”

Suffering, then, is redemptive.