Lazarus, the blind beggar
by Debi Irene Wahl
(Shoemakersville, PA USA)
Luke 16:19
He strode down the sidewalk, his wingtip shoes tapping along at a brisk pace, his blue silk tie the perfect addition to his three-piece suit. His dark sunglasses blocked out the glare of the early morning sun and helped hide the disdain he had for most of the early morning commuters on his way to the office.
Stopping at the magazine shack to pick up his Fortune Magazine, he almost tripped over the legs of the blind flute player that had set up a station along side of the small shack. He tore his glasses off his face to give the poor misfortunate a glare that would have burned holes into a sighted person.
"Sorry, if my feet got in the way," the blind man said.
"You shouldn't be sitting here." The businessman barked, "You're a nuisance."
The blind man nodded slowly, "I suppose it would seem so. Just trying to make a living for myself...so sorry." And he continued his sweet tune on the flute while the businessman fumed.
"Ought to be a law against beggars," He snarked to the man running the shack. The vendor just shrugged.
The businessman headed across the street, against the traffic light, not waiting for the signal and walked through the revolving doors of the gleaming, pristine building.
"Janet!" He called as soon as he marched out of the elevator and into his 12th floor office with a wonderful view of the city.
Janet jumped up from her perch and for the next hour took dictation and information on how to make the man's financial life more enjoyable.
Around noon she approached his office, "Sir, I am going to take lunch if you don't need anything for a while?"
He swiveled around in his leather pilot-style chair which wobbled for the briefest moment.
Ending the call he said briskly, "Did you make a call to the police about that homeless beggar I told you about this morning?"
"Yes, sir, the officer said he would look into it."
"Of course he will," he answered sarcastically. "Go, get lunch. No longer than an hour, I have alot of work for you this afternoon. As soon as you get back, call maintenance, something's loose on this chair. I want it fixed today."
She made a note on her steno pad and left, and he turned to gaze out the window, not noticing how gorgeous the early afternoon had become while he was holed up in the loftiness of the 12th floor.
Sometime later he stood, stretched and grabbed his sunglasses. He was hungry and there was a decent restaurant around the corner that he frequented most days. When the staff saw him coming, the hostess would always put his order in immediately, saving precious office time.
Out on the sidewalk, he noticed the homeless beggar was still playing his flute to the passers by. In irritation he decided to get the man's name and take care of this himself with the police. He stepped into the street and immediately was sent into the waiting arms of Hell as the truck barreled through the green light.
Into the darkness he pitched, screams and wailing surrounded him, the cacophony of noises was brutally painful to his ears.
"What in the world!" He stood up, on wobbly legs, his glasses had fallen to the floor beside him and were immediately burned into a mass of melted plastic.
"Where? Where am I!" He screamed, hollering at the top of his voice, which was almost a whisper compared to the violent calls from the darkness around him.
"You are lost, my son." A voice, somewhere a dim light growing brighter above his head...a sweetness in this madness of tongue-gnawing blackness clinging to him.
"Lost? Lost from what? Did I step into a sink hole?" His confusion was met with wild, hysterical laughter, again from the darkness clinging to him, a frightening sensation that caused him to lose control of his bladder.
"Help me, Dear God, help me!" He pleaded to the blackness in general, the answering moans and agony of others his only answer.
He looked toward where he thought that slight light had come from, "Yes, You are there! Who are You? Where does the light come from? Can I follow it home?"
The sweet voice spoke, sorrow dripping with every word, every nuance.
"I'm sorry, my son. You cannot come Home. You made your choice in life against My path, My direction and now you are in a place that was not created for you, but has become your destiny."
The businessman in his black wingtip shoes dropped to his knees, his hands raised toward that dim light that seemed to grow stronger, tears coursing down his cheeks and onto the silk tie. "Please, please let me see you...help me..." His voice broke off, his throat bone dry.
The light brightened, making the businessman squint. In the short time he'd been in the darkness, light had become alien to him. He saw the light and a face, tender, dear, his mother...no father...no grandfather? This face that had no particular feature yet was so beautiful, his breath was taken from him. On the lap of the beautiful one sat the blind beggar from the morning. His gleaming flute a brilliant blaze of fire and he put it to his lips, drawing forth the most amazing sound the businessman had ever heard.
"I've heard that song..." He spoke in awe, "Somewhere."
"Yes, it is the one your mother used to sing to you as a child, as she spoke to you of Me and My love for you. This is my child, Lazarus, and he has played this song for you everyday as you hurried to your business on the 12th floor within the pristine walls of the building. Most days you ignored him, some days you kicked at him, often cursing as he played my song for you."
Realization hit the businessman so hard he fell onto his side. "I know this scenario, my mother read to me from the Bible of the story...Oh God, is there no way out for me? For me to have another chance?"
The voice spoke from the light, honey over wafer thin crackers, sweet, salty and crisp, delicious, was the thought it gave the man. That voice...
"My son, you have made your choice. There will be no second chance."
"What of my brothers?" The businessman asked, "They follow my footsteps, I've taught them everything they know...which is nothing eternally."
"They will not hear, my son."
"But if someone would come back from the..." He began to argue as though he were still in his office and bickering with a trader on his stock market floor.
"Tut, tut, no... we need speak no further, for you do remember the story so long ago, read to you by your mother who served me and who longed for you on her deathbed even as she reached toward me and Home."
The man began to weep, great sobs wracked his body, still lying on the floor of the darkness, the smell of rotten eggs filling his nostrils with their stench and he cried, he cried as though his heart was being torn from his chest, which it was, as the voice, that lilting voice, disappeared with the sounds of the comforting flute fading into darkness, darkness, darkness,
"Oh God...Oh God...Oh God..."
"Oh God! Sir, are you alright?"
The voice shook the businessman awake from where he had fallen asleep on his desk in the 12th floor of the pristine building that housed his office.
He sat straight up in his leather pilot-seat chair, which wobbled just the briefest moment. He straighted his blue silk tie and looked around him in the room.
"Did I fall asleep?" He asked.
She smiled, a tentative smile, not usually needing it during the day when she was at the office. "Yes, sir, I believe you did. Have you had lunch?"
He shook his head slowly side to side. "No, but I'm not hungry." She waited, her eye lifted, not used to this disoriented side her boss was showing.
"I'm fine, I'm going to finish up something important and then head out to take care of that blind beggar." He turned to gaze out the window where the sun shone brightly in the late afternoon.
"I won't need anything the rest of the day. Take the rest of the day off, with pay. I'll see you tomorrow."
She stood, uncertain for just a moment and then smiled broadly as she turned to head back to her perch outside of his office, "Thank you, sir."
In the quiet of his 12th floor office, in the pristine building, the man knelt beside the wobbly leather chair and prayed. Earnestly he sought the Savior his mother had taught him of so many years before, asking forgiveness and giving his life to the One who brought brightness into the darkness of his soul.
And the rest of the afternoon, he took time to call his two siblings, those he had taught the ways of the world to. They were startled to hear from him during the business day but also touched. As he made arrangements to meet with each later in the week to "share something amazing", they were struck by the kindness of his tone, a kindness that hadn't been there in a very long time.
Finally he was ready to seek the blind beggar. He stood, his black wingtip shoes tapping a brisk pace as he headed out the door of his office, down the hallway, skipped the elevator, and lightly jogged the 12 floors down to the sidewalk. He stepped into the street and was immediately sent into the waiting arms of Jesus as the truck barreled through the green light of the intersection.
Many hours later, after the coroner left the scene and the shaken truck driver was sent home with an escort, the police officer decided to "kill two birds with one stone" and walked over to the magazine shack where the vendor stood, still gossiping about the death of the businessman with his early evening regulars.
"Say, we had a call this morning about a nuisance blind beggar that sits here and plays a trumpet or something every day?" He asked the vendor.
"What are you nuts! I sell magazines, newspapers here, I can't let no beggar hang around, it would kill business."
The police officer shrugged and headed back to his waiting patrol car, sitting on the sidewalk outside the pristine building.
