There was a rich white man named Dives who used to dress in
fine linen suits and who feasted every day on tasty victuals and wines. At his
gate there used to be a poor black man named Lazarus, covered with sores (he
did not have health insurance, of course). He longed to fill his belly with
even the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. And dogs came to lick at
Lazarus’ sores. (Did we mention that he had no health insurance?)
Now it happened that the two men died on the same day.
Lazarus was carried away by the angels into the Bosom of Abraham, the rich
white man was buried in the family plot and descended into the underworld.
Tormented in Hades, he looked up and saw Father Abraham a
long way off with old Lazarus in his embrace. He cried out, “Father Abraham,
have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his littlest pinky finger in water
to cool my parched tongue. I am in agony here in these flames.”
And Father Abraham said, “My son, remember that during your
life you had your fill of good things – you lived a life of privilege, white privilege
But Lazarus lived a difficult life; now he is being comforted while you are in
agony.”
So Dives said, “Father Abraham, send someone, I beg you.
Send someone to speak to my five brothers. Send someone to warn them about this
white privilege so they won’t end up here in torment.”
But Father Abraham said again, “They have James H. Cone, Howard
Thurman, and Cornel West; let your brothers listen to them.” The rich white
man said, “No, Father Abraham. But perhaps if someone came back from the dead
they’d listen…”
Father Abraham said, “If they will not listen to Cone,
Thurman, and West, they will not be convinced even if Martin Luther King Jr.
came back from the dead.”
