Doors and Gates

Texts: Amos 6:1a, 4-7; 1 Timothy 6:6-19; Luke 16:19-31

 

I happened to be on the University campus this week, and I had to chuckle to myself when I saw two young students approach one of those old-fashioned doors that you still see around from time to time.   You know, the kind of doors that you have to open for yourself.  This one had a sign on it in very large capital letters; it read PUSH.   On the outside of the door it had a similar sign in equally large capital letters, reading PULL.  That's how old-fashioned the door was.

 

Too old-fashioned, it seemed, for these two bright young students, who when I first saw them were standing patiently face-on to the door waiting for it to open.   Then they glanced up, and around….  I took pity on them, said "Allow me", and pushed it open.  I could see from the looks they gave me that they were in awe of my technological know-how.   It was one of the better moments of the last week, and it got me thinking about doors and gates, those I've known, and those I've had trouble with.  And about the sort of messages, written or unwritten, doors and gates give to people.  And their growing importance in our society today, as we become ever more security-conscious.   All sorts of deep thoughts about doors and gates!

 

My Warden here, for instance, has very impressive front gates, and I remember being nearly defeated by them the first time I tried to gain entry to the property.   The problem wasn't with the gates; the problem was with my gender; there is a clear notice telling visitors how to open the gates, but, of course, being a male, I never read instructions until I have failed at something at least three times!

 

But there's that same combination of door/gate and messages.  The Varsity door says, in effect, you can come in but you have to make a bit of an effort.   We might say you have to pull or push your way in.  My Warden's gate says you can come in, but you have to use a bit of intelligence.   You have to read the instructions, understand them and even follow them if you want to get through the gates.

 

In some cases, of course, the message is quite clear.  The padlocked gate with the words, PRIVATE PROPERTY – KEEP OUT, or TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED doesn't leave much room for doubt.   No matter how physically or mentally able we are, we're not welcome.  And in between the two extremes of welcome and unwelcome, there are a whole range of more ambiguous possibilities.   The property we bought recently has a sign that says "Please shut the gate".  It's a bit of a puzzle to me because it's on the outside of the gate, but not on the inside, so unless you come out backwards you're unlikely to see it.

 

Then there are the warning notices, "Beware of the Dog" being the obvious example; or the variant near the vicarage that says, in ruder language than I'm going to use, "Never mind the Dog – beware of the kids"!   And my all-time favourite, which I came across in a lift some years ago, read "Please don't exit the lift until the doors are open."

 

Gates and doors are necessarily ambiguous.  They serve two opposite purposes.   When they are open they let people in or out.  When they are closed they are intended as a barrier, to exclude people.  They serve as markers – the meeting point of the public and the private domain.   In a sense, every door or gate is a drafting-gate; the occupant's hand is, as it were, on the drafting-gate, deciding who can and who cannot come into the fold.   Who can come into our own private space?  Those we know and love, certainly, but what about the stranger, the vagabond, the beggar at our gate?   What are we to do about them?

 

Our gospel story this morning challenges us to think very clearly about questions of this kind.  It's typical of the stories only St Luke has – that's why he is by far the most troublesome of the gospel writers.   As always he draws his picture vividly.  He may or may not have had in mind the passage from Amos we had this morning.   He certainly has the same satirical edge that Amos is famous for.  He describes this unnamed rich man living in luxurious splendour.  For some reason he is fixated on the rich man's fine clothes – he's dressed in purple and fine linen.  (I'll refrain from observing that he sounds like a bishop in full regalia.)

 

The critical point for the storyline is that this man has a gate.  Let's pause for a moment and picture that gate.   How high might it be?  Is it wide or narrow?  What's it made of?  Does it have a notice or sign on it?  If so, what might it say?  St Luke doesn't tell us any of these details, of course, but we can imagine a fairly imposing gate.

 

What St Luke does tell us is that outside the gate there is a beggar.  A crippled beggar, it seems, because he was "laid there".   Someone placed him outside the rich man's gate.  We can guess why.  But how do we feel about that?   How would we feel if a street collector parked themselves at our gate and rattled their tine every time we went in or out?  At this stage, are our sympathies with the rich man or with the beggar?

 

The beggar's in a terrible state; he is covered in sores, which the local dogs lick.  That's a revolting thought, isn't it?   Where are our sympathies now?  Wholly with the beggar, or do we have some feeling for the rich man?  And talking of the rich man, did you notice what St Luke does not say?   I have heard people preach on this story and tell us that day after day this rich man ignored the plight of the needy beggar at his gate.  That may very well have been so, but that's not in the story as St Luke tells it.

 

As St Luke tells it there is a rich man, a gate, and a beggar.  That's all he says, before going on to say what happened when the two men died.   There is another omission, too.  St Luke doesn't name the rich man.  He doesn't tell us who he was, and he doesn't tell us what his attitude towards the beggar actually was.     He leaves us to fill in the gaps.  He invites us to put ourselves in the picture.  Which one are we?   Do we identify with the beggar at the gate – or with the rich man in the house?  Are we outside the gate or inside?   Do we want the gate opened or shut?

 

Today, here at St Barnabas, Warrington (in the Province of Otago!) Audrey and Alan, and Christine and Leslie, are bringing Jessica to a very important gate – in fact, to the most important gate of all.   In the material, physical world we might call it the Gateway of the Church.  In the spiritual realm we might call it the Gateway of Heaven.   It too has a sign on it with some words in large capitals.

 

It doesn't say "Pull" or "Push", which is just as well because Jessica is a bit young for that.  It doesn't have any instructions, which is just as well because Jessica is a bit young to read.   And she won't need a swipe-card, a PIN number or any other form of high-tech I.D.

 

The words on that gateway this morning, in very large capitals, read "WELCOME JESSICA".  And that gate will swing open for her at the very moment that she is baptised.   It will be opened for her from the inside.  At the very moment that the baptismal waters are sprinkled on her head so the Holy Spirit of God will come to her and the gateway will be opened.

 

Many people say that we enter heaven when we die.  Many people in the Church still believe that.   I don't know why.  That has never been the teaching of Scripture – it is certainly not the teaching of St John or St Paul.  We enter heaven through baptism.   The gate opens and there before us is the path of faith on which all the baptised are journeying towards the full presence of God.

 

We rejoice this morning that Jessica is to join us on that journey.  All glory and thanksgiving be to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.   Amen.