I have never really been a fan of the whole concept of heaven and hell. I don’t believe a loving God dooms anyone to an eternity of suffering. But I also bristle at the idea that those who perpetuate massive injustice don’t have to answer for it in the end.

This is why “The Good Place” is one of my favorite TV shows. Without giving too much away, through the four seasons of the show, we were treated to an unfolding of an extended theology of heaven and hell. The show begins with the main characters believing they are in heaven, the good place, despite leading less-than-stellar lives on earth. There they are promptly thrust into an array of difficult social situations that make it feel less like heaven and more like hell.

Throughout the show, the characters deal with their own faults and sins committed on earth and eventually plead their case to God herself to save them. When they do eventually plead their case to God, played by Maya Rudolph, they urge her to go down to earth and see that it is almost impossible to be a good person because we are caught up in complex overlapping systems of oppression. She comes back to declare that the world indeed has become too complicated, and recounts her experience there embodied as a black woman.

However her solution is not to show grace to humans, but to implode everything and start over. The main characters offer an alternative. They instead create a sort of purgatory where everyone comes after they die, and have to work out all of their flaws, aided by demons. Eventually, in a process that can take hundreds of years if they’re really bad, they get to come to the good place, a neighborhood of peace and joy where they are reunited with their loved ones.

It’s not often that I have a religious conundrum solved by a tv show, but I deeply appreciate this view of the afterlife. None of us are perfect. We all cause suffering to others by our actions and by our failure to take action. I’ve always felt like the threat of hell is ultimately a poor motivator for behavior. It creates guilt and shame and reinforces a concept of a vengeful, punishing God. In contrast, a loving God inspires us to develop our own capacity for love and compassion.

But this story isn’t really about the afterlife. It’s an indictment for how we act on earth, here and now. In a world that feels so full of injustice, this story can be a comfort that justice will eventually be done. But compared to most people in the world, we are the rich man. There are always people we can point to that are abusing their power egregiously. You only have to read the news to see that. But we also aren’t innocent of causing harm.

This is essentially a parable about economics. It is the center parable in a series of seven about sabbath economics in the gospel of Luke, sabbath economics being the radical idea that there is enough for everyone if we would only learn to share.

The parable for this morning specifically addresses the vast gulf between the rich and the poor. And there is more social inequality now than there was at the height of the Roman Empire, with 1 percent of the population of the US controlling 40 percent of its wealth. I remember in an introductory social work class in college where we acted this out on the lawn, illustrating the gap between the lowest paid and highest paid worker in different time periods. (Tell the story of this experiment)

The rich man is used to getting his way and having his every need met. So arriving in the afterlife, he is shocked by the change of events. But instead of realizing the error of his ways, he doesn’t learn. He refuses, even in his state of suffering, to take stock of his life. He asks Abraham to send Lazarus on two different errands, first pleading for him to bring him water to slake his thirst, and then to send him as a warning to his rich relatives. Abraham tells him that his economic position in life and that it has led directly to his suffering in death. What we might in popular culture call karma.

Whereas Lazarus sat suffering at the gates, with his plight explained in unusually rich detail, the rich man had more than enough. And in the story he doesn’t even have a name, just generic rich man, whereas Lazarus is named, and after a lifetime of suffering gets to sit right next to Abraham, the ultimate spiritual ancestor.

Perhaps that is because Jesus is calling us to account, inviting us to insert our own name into the character of rich man. He warns us to take seriously the message of the scriptures and to make amends for our history and our own economic privilege.

The parable is more than just a simple tale of retributive justice. It is better seen as apocalypse, or unmasking. It is meant to wake us up to our own social situation and get us on board with Jesus’ sabbath economics rather than continuing to be part of extractive capitalism.

Ched Myer expands on this biblical idea of sabbath economics in his new book, Healing Affluenza and Resisting Plutocracy through a close reading of the economic vision in the Gospel of Luke.

There are three parts to this vision of sabbath economics, which has its roots in the Old Testament. First, God created an abundant earth, with enough for everyone when human communities live within their limits. Second, disparities in wealth and power are not a natural part of the world but the result of sin, and must be corrected through regular redistribution. And third, the Hebrew prophets and Jesus call people to practice this redistribution, which is how we live out the good news of God.

Jesuit theologian John Haughey laments, “We read the Gospel as if we had no money, and we spend our money as if we know nothing of the Gospel.” Mennonites talk about economics more than most first world churches, but not as often as we should. Which is ironic because economics is a popular topic throughout the Bible, from the laws governing the Jubilee in Leviticus, to the prophets railing against the corruption of Jerusalem, to Jesus, who based the kingdom of God on a gift economy, one of sharing and equality. It’s easy to forget the gospel message of give all you have to the poor and follow me. Very few Christians today take this seriously.

This is the sharp edge of truth we find in Luke’s gospel that is still just as relevant today. We harm people. Our food system is built from the institution of slavery. And though we no longer have literal chattel slavery, those who harvest our produce are not paid enough to live and are often under threat as migrants in a foreign land. Much of our clothing and other goods come from Asia, where they are made in factories under poor conditions. And we know that we have benefitted as a majority white congregation from the system of racial inequality.

All of us are bound up in systems of oppression just by virtue of living in the culture that we do. So where does that put us in regard to this text? In this story we are faced with a hard and uncomfortable truth. Those who cause great suffering also suffer themselves. And that includes us.

And you all know this. You wouldn’t be a part of this congregation if you didn’t believe we are accountable to injustice. I don’t think anyone here is sitting around complacently because they think they’re alright with God. Parables are meant to unsettle, to shock us into action. The rich man pleads for himself, and then for his family. But Abraham tells him they already know what is good. They just choose not to do it. It’s one thing to know what is good. It is another to be compelled to act on that knowledge.

It’s easy in this particular time we’re in to feel despondent and helpless as government institutions meant to protect the most marginalized in our country and the world are being systematically dismantled. At the same time, there are constant wildfires, hurricanes, tornadoes, that are ripping up whole communities, caused by climate change. But we are called to do more than mourn.

We are part of these problematic systems, and so our actions, even when they seem miniscule, change them. Our life is made up of an infinite series of choices—where to live, what kind of work to pursue, what kind of lifestyle we want to live. We make choices about food, clothing, transportation, where to store and how to use our money. All of this comes down to economics.

The economic system of which we are a part can feel like an unmovable monolith. We aren’t the one percent that hold 40 percent of the wealth, but many of us do have wealth.

So here are a few ideas for living out this grace and taking seriously Luke’s message of sabbath economics:

• Start with your own household economy. Move your money from a corporate bank to a local credit union, where more of your investment stays in the community.
• Live into the gift economy by making a giving plan to support people and organizations that you care about and who need help.
• Think about what you buy and from where. This is a big one.
  • Food from the farmers market goes directly to the grower
  • Clothing that is sweat free was made by people earning a living wage

I’m not using these as examples of things I have already done. We all need to change.

Growing up in the Presbyterian church, I was enveloped in the theology of prevenient grace, which for those of you non-Presbyterians, means that God reaches out to us through grace before we even know to ask for God’s love. Or as Frederick Buechner put it, “We swim in grace like fish in water.” This is both a comfort and a call to action. We are wrapped tightly in grace, and our lives should be a reflection of this loving care.

So let’s start living into a world where the rich man and Lazarus both have exactly what they need to live abundantly.