On Wealth and Poverty - 2nd edition

Popular Patristics Series #9

by John Chrysostom

The sermons of St John Chrysostom are noted as classical commentaries on the Christian life. Knowing well the realities of life in the world, the temptation of rich and poor alike, this great orator - "the golden-mouthed" - addresses the questions of wealth and poverty in the lives of people of his day. And yet, as the modern reader is confronted with his words, it becomes apparent that he too is being addressed; Chrysostom's words are words proclaiming the truth of the Gospel to all people of all times. The message of the story of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) is brought home to every person in these six sermons of Chrysostom with clarity, insight into the human dilemma, compassion and judgment.

On Wealth and Poverty is part of the POPULAR PATRISTIC SERIES.

Genres: Theology, Christianity, Religion, Christian, Philosophy, Economics, Spirituality

116 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1984

About the author

John Chrysostom (c. 347–407, Greek: Ἰωάννης ὁ Χρυσόστομος), Archbishop of Constantinople, was an important Early Church Father. He is known for his eloquence in preaching and public speaking, his denunciation of abuse of authority by both ecclesiastical and political leaders, the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, and his ascetic sensibilities. After his death in 407 (or, according to some sources, during his life) he was given the Greek epithet chrysostomos, meaning "golden mouthed", in English and Anglicized to Chrysostom.

The Orthodox and Eastern Catholic Churches honor him as a saint and count him among the Three Holy Hierarchs, together with Basil the Great and Gregory Nazianzus. He is recognized by the Eastern Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church as a saint and as a Doctor of the Church. Churches of the Western tradition, including the Roman Catholic Church, some Anglican provinces, and parts of the Lutheran Church, commemorate him on 13 September. Some Lutheran and many Anglican provinces commemorate him on the traditional Eastern feast day of 27 January. The Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria also recognizes John Chrysostom as a saint (with feast days on 16 Thout and 17 Hathor).

John is known in Christianity chiefly as a preacher, theologian and liturgist. Among his homilies, eight directed against Judaizing Christians remain controversial for their impact on the development of Christian antisemitism.

Reviews

[booklady · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a collection of six sermons (on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, Luke 16:19-31) by St. John Chrysostom (c. 347–407) an important early Greek Church Father, Archbishop of Constantinople, who was known as ‘Golden-Mouth’ for his eloquence of preaching.

I could certainly see how he earned his reputation. Each sermon builds on the previous and reads in a familiar spoken voice. You can almost see and hear St. John delivering his address to the people of his time.

He obviously knew his congregation because in the first sermon he refers to a pagan festival and praises Christian restraint from participation therein. There are important spiritual insights which are beautifully developed in these exegetical works all of which cannot be reproduced without retyping the entire document. Here is but a brief summary of a few:

1. The Rich Man’s greatest sin was in his repeated failure to notice his brother (Lazarus) in need over the course of a lifetime. Each day we are given another opportunity to reach out to one another. Perhaps we have missed or ignored people in the past, but what about now?

2. It isn’t how much or how little money one has which determines true Poverty of Spirit. A poor man who blames God or anyone else for his fate and fails to learn any virtue as a result of his suffering is not only poor in the things of this world, but is very far from true poverty of spirit. On the other hand, a person may be rich in the goods of the earth and yet view such wealth as coming from God in trust for his brothers and sisters living in need. It is the lack of attachment to what one has been given and using it to benefit others in need which determines Poverty of Spirit. Our outer circumstances (financial, professional, social, etc.) are actually masks which we wear in this life—masks which clothe our true nature, as a theater costume would an actor. However, it is in the way we distribute the goods (time, talent and treasure) which we receive that we reveal our true character.

3. The eventual and certain punishment of the wicked is not their only suffering for they are also not without continual fear, troubles, storms, confusion and grief in this life and they do not enjoy the hopeful expectations of the righteous. ‘Just as the dogs licked the wounds of the poor man, so demons licked the sins of the rich man; and just as the poor man lived in starvation of nourishment, so the rich man lived in starvation of every kind of virtue.’ p.34

4. Christ gave us the visual picture of Lazarus as so wretched so that no matter what trouble we might encounter we could look to him and gain comfort and consolation from his greater tribulation. Likewise when we look at the rich man we may see past the false finery to the desolation within.

5. ‘There is no judge, no judge at all among men as sleepless as our conscience. ... Nothing is so deadly to sin as self-accusation and self-condemnation with repentance and tears.’ Confess your sin to God not that He may learn of it—for surely He already knows it—but that your burden become lighter and easier. Receive His Forgiving Grace and know the Wisdom and Mercy of God.

There are other points, gems of wisdom and insight, within these sermons which make it well-worth reading, especially in preparation for any Sunday when this is the Gospel of choice.

Special thanks to my friend, Laurie, for the loan of her copy of this book. She read it for a class on the Eastern Fathers and passed it on to me last Wednesday, just in time for me to read it before the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time when it was in fact the Gospel reading. That is what I call a God-Thing.

[Scriptor Ignotus · Rating 4 out of 5]

As in many other American cities, Denver’s burgeoning homeless population has made poverty a more conspicuous feature of urban life. Tent encampments spring up around the city, are dismantled after a period of some weeks under certain local ordinances and with evocations of public safety and hygiene, only to rematerialize a few blocks away. During the winter, the streets of the industrial sectors become lined with rusty trailers, ancient motorless vans, and decommissioned school buses, to be occupied when the nights become too cold to be safely spent outdoors. In the summer, one finds the homeless curled up on sidewalks, on park benches, in libraries, and in the vestibules of retail stores, sometimes in various states of mental or chemical addlement. In a word, it has become impossible in any but the most affluent neighborhoods—and increasingly not even there—to go about one’s day without encountering people who are classically and garishly poor.

The disparities of life now manifesting themselves more sharply throughout the country have become evocative of the developing world and of centuries past—including, of course, the first century, during which an itinerant Galilean preacher and day laborer, taking inspiration from the prophets of previous generations (or did they take inspiration from Him? But this is a theological question), pronounced an unbreakable bond of solidarity between His God and the poor, intoning on the divine chastisement stored up for the wealthy who oppressed, exploited, and imprisoned them. Saint John Chrysostom’s seven sermons on the parable of the rich man and Lazarus are compelling in their simplicity, much like the parable itself; an arresting reminder that when we encounter those in poverty, in want, in dejection, in duress—those from whom we have nothing to gain on this side of the grave—we stand in essence before the judgment seat of the living God. It is disturbingly easy to deaden one’s heart in the presence of the poor, to see them as a nuisance or a blight; especially when the poor themselves are often disturbed and sometimes dangerous people. But the poor also present to us an opportunity for growth in charity and compassion, a vehicle for our own salvation; one which, as the rich man of the parable discovers, we neglect to our own ruin.

Chrysostom illustrates the earthly condition of Lazarus in almost Dickensian terms: not only was he destitute and weak from long illness, his body covered with sores, incapable even of shooing away the dogs who came to lick them; but he suffered this lifetime of indignities on the very doorstep of a man who breezed through his life in opulent ease, blissfully untroubled by the silent plight of the poor man who sat continually and unavoidably before him for years on end, whose condition the rich man could easily have relieved at no real cost to himself had he been possessed of a functional conscience. Instead Lazarus was neglected, the good fortune of the wicked rich man serving only as a mockery of his own abjection, “as if [Lazarus] had come for this very purpose, to be a witness of others’ good fortune[.] [H]e lay thus at the gate, alive only enough to be able to perceive his own ill-fortune, enduring shipwreck while in the harbor, tormenting his soul with the bitterest thirst so near the spring.” He endured this miserable life alone, with no companion in his suffering, as passersby likely whispered among themselves about what grave sins he must have committed to deserve such a station.

Then everything is turned on its head in a dramatic reversal so characteristic of the rhetoric of Jesus. The two men pass into the hereafter; likely conceived in this story as Hades or Sheol, a single realm with places of both reward and punishment. The soul of Lazarus is carried to the bosom (or, perhaps, the vale) of Abraham, an afterlife of peace and satiety, while the rich man now suffers withering torment. It is now the rich man who begs from Lazarus: he petitions Abraham to have Lazarus dip his finger in water and let a drop fall into his mouth—but it cannot be so. The rich man lived for earthly treasures, so now that these have passed away no boon awaits him. He neglected to cross from his front door to the gate where Lazarus had languished within his sight, so now he is unbreachably partitioned from Lazarus’s new paradisical abode, the visage of which can now only accentuate his grief. The last has become first, and the first last. “The rich man had his ship full of merchandise, and it sailed before the wind. But do not be surprised: he was hastening to shipwreck, since he refused to unload his cargo with discretion.”

Chrysostom points out that Abraham features prominently in the story precisely because he is a symbol of hospitality: the man who, in his undiscriminating compassion for the weary stranger, entertained angels unawares. We must, like Abraham, be undiscriminating in our charity, making no judgements regarding the merits of the receiver: “For if you wish to show kindness, you must not require an accounting of a person’s life, but merely correct his poverty and fill his need. . . . God has excused you from all officiousness and meddlesomeness.” We must not ascribe moral or spiritual worth to anyone on account of their circumstances in this life; for these are like actors’ masks to be stripped away in the world to come, revealing true wealth and poverty:

“The present world is a theater, the conditions of men are roles: wealth and poverty, ruler and ruled, and so forth. When this day is cast aside, and that terrible night comes, or rather day, night indeed for sinners, but day for the righteous—when the play is ended, when the masks are removed, when each person is judged with his works—not each person with his wealth, not each person with his office, not each person with his authority, not each person with his power, but each person with his works, whether he is a ruler or a king, a woman or a man, when He requires an account of our life and our good deeds, not the weight of our reputation, not the slightness of our poverty, not the tyranny of our disdain—give me your deeds if you are a slave but nobler than a free person, if you are a woman but braver than a man. When the masks are removed, then the truly rich and the truly poor are revealed. When the play ends, one of us looking out an upper window sees the man who is a philosopher inside the theater but a coppersmith outside, and says, ‘Hey! Wasn’t this man a philosopher inside? Outside I see that he is a coppersmith. Wasn’t this other man a king inside? Outside I see that he is some humble person. Wasn’t that man rich inside? Outside I see that he is poor.’ The same thing happens when this life ends.”

A galvanizing indictment of my own apathy.

[Monique Mathiesen · Rating 5 out of 5]

“I beg that, chiefest of all, you will remember constantly that not to share our own riches with the poor is a robbery of the poor, and a depriving them of their livelihood; and that that which we possess is not only our own, but also theirs.” - St John Chrysostom

Powerful collection of homilies on wealth and poverty. So often, the unrighteous have it all while the righteous have nothing. St John argues that it is better to have nothing and not be attached to the luxuries/comforts of this world than it is to have everything and lose our salvation due to apathy, gluttony, and relaxation. Our wealth does us absolutely nothing in the next life, and so we must treat all that we have as a gift from God to share with others.

St. John goes over the parable of Lazarus and the rich man, demonstrating how the rich man realizes his mistake in ignoring Lazarus far too late. He enjoyed his riches in his life, but in death he can’t even get a drop of water. This is a needed warning to us, especially in America, where even the poor have abundance. As the scriptures say, what does it benefit a man to gain the world but lose your soul?

This is a must read.

[David J. Harris · Rating 5 out of 5]

Most excellent.

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of the few complaints I have about the Early Church was that it didn't take seriously enough Christ's calls to poverty, or at least his denunciation of the rich. Chrysostom is precisely the voice which conservative/Republican Protestants desperately need to hear, but I worry that the few times in these sermons where he explicitly calls for works righteousness would turn them off too much.

But the thing is, despite all the hyperfixation on being justified without any works, we still have to do good works. The classic protestant cop-out is that good works are what you do once you've been justified. Ok, so why do no protestants, or at least the conservative ones, seem to care about doing those good works? By their own standard, many of them are damned. The liberal/progressive/radical variety aren't much better, what with baptizing all varieties of clearly denounced sins as holy, but that's a different topic for a different review. Right now, we're focused on putting pressure on us lazy conservatives. We love the Pharisaical smugness of certainty and insularity. We love to denounce the sins we see in others while steadfastly ignoring our own. But what Chrysostom argues here is the antidote to our apathy: we need to give to the poor without first verifying their virtue, we need to give freely and, yes, risk being taken advantage of. God offers us unlimited, repeated, exhaustingly repetitive mercy. We sin and sin and sin and sin and he keeps offering us the same life line. Why are we so quick to forget this, and ask ridiculous questions like "but will this homeless person use the money on drugs?" or "What if people take advantage of the system?" Good God! Are you going to deprive everyone because of the sins of the few? And so what if they do? Perhaps they abuse charity and damn themselves, heaping hot coals on their own head? You have no room to decide which are the worthy poor. The poor are worthy, because we unworthy receive mercy from God:

We show mercy on him not because of his virtue but because of his misfortune, in order that we ourselves may receive from the Master His great mercy, in order that we ourselves, unworthy as we are, may enjoy His philanthropy. For if we were going to investigate the worthiness of our fellow servants, and inquire exactly, God will do the same for us. If we seek to require an accounting from our fellow servants, we ourselves will lose the philanthropy from above: "For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged," He says.


This of course doesn't exonerate all poor people; they don't go to heaven just because they're poor, and rich people don't go to hell just because they're rich. But the moral standards are much higher for the rich. If a poor person steals out of necessity, that is barely a sin, next to the extreme sin of a rich man extorting his employees or customers by charging high prices, lowering the quality of his goods, firing people to replace them with AI, etc. Tell me, if you see any robber-chief prowling the roads, lying in wait for passers-by, stealing from farms, burying gold and silver in caves and holes, penning up large herds in his hideouts, and acquiring a lot of clothing and slaves from that prowling, tell me, do you call him fortunate because of that wealth, or unfortunate because of the penalty which awaits him?


Throughout these sermons I got an extremely strong sense of the Robin Hood impulse, the healthy, Christian disdain for excessive wealth which hoards and luxuriates and only gives because of tax breaks, and not out of genuine care for neighbor. The problem today is that most of us are some variety of comfortably middle-class, which we think exonerates us from needing to give; but Chrysostom catches us too, commanding an easily achievable but fear-inducing standard: "do not spend...beyond [y]our needs...but give equal shares into the hands of the poor." If this sounds radical, or like it would bankrupt you, maybe you are actually poor enough that you can skip this part. But for most of us, we need to radically consume less, and give radically more. We buy so much food which goes to waste, we pile up disposable plastic nothings, we waste and ruin the world to satisfy a petty, idle urge to buybuybuy. It's a deadly sin, and it damns us far more than the usual things conservative Christians harp on about, such as sexuality.

God allows two kinds of poverty to test us: literal and physical. The literal variety is easy enough to see, to measure, and to ameliorate; the latter, however, comes in the form of sickness, of chronic illness, of misfortune and bad luck. Interestingly, Lazarus (ignored by the rich man in the parable) can stand in as a metaphor for physical issues:

"I sent," He says, "the poor man Lazarus to your gate to teach you virtue and to receive your love; you ignored this benefit and declined to use his assistance toward your salvation. Hereafter you shall use him to bring yourself a greater punishment and retribution."


When we have medical issues, we have a few options. We can complain constantly and make it everyone else's problem, which is the most common thing we do. We can blaspheme and curse God for our misfortune, which is always a temptation. Or, we can do the wise thing, and give thanks anyway, bear through the pain, and learn lessons from it. We are given an opportunity to improve ourselves, but, given that we protestants think ourselves already perfect and above everyone else, we refuse to acknowledge the challenge, dismissing it out of hand. Strangely, we've given up the beautiful meaning-making power of religion without fully giving up God. We acknowledge all the niceties of religion, but don't put any of them into practice, don't really take them seriously.

The parable of Lazarus and the rich man is doubly interesting because Lazarus rests in the presence of Abraham; Chrysostom points out that the reason for this is that Abraham was legendary for his middle eastern hospitality. He accidentally entertained angels, after all. Thus he's the exact opposite of the rich man who never ran into any difficulties and wasted all his money on parties and selfishness instead of helping the man dying at his front door. For, "This is why God has allowed you to have more: not for you to waste on prostitutes, drink, fancy food, expensive clothes, and all the other kinds of indolence, but for you to distribute to those in need."


It's interesting that Chrysostom has a fairly works-righteousness view of the afterlife, since both he and Luther have more literalist views of scripture (Chrysostom being of the Antiochene school, and Luther being heavily influenced by Nicholas of Lyra). However, their pastoral concerns skew strongly in two different directions: Luther's by favoring the conscience (one might say the ego, *cough cough*), and Chrysostom's by favoring the neighbor. I'll let you figure out which one I'm feeling more favorable to right now.

Thus, Chrysostom's words ring with a certain urgency: "It is a great good to have your hope of salvation in your own righteous acts; no friend will ever stand for us hereafter." Of course, the standard Lutheran response to this would be that "Christ will stand for me and his righteousness will be imputed to me;" but this misses the point of what Chrysostom is saying. He acknowledges elsewhere that God's mercy is the only reason any of us can be saved. No one disputes that. He is simply acknowledging Christ's clear statements about those who never visited prisons or fed the poor or helped their neighbors will be rejected by him. That isn't a parable you can hand-wave away, it's a direct command to do good in the world. If you have nothing come to mind concerning how you've been selfless in your life, you should re-examine your pharisaical approach to religion, because it's you (and me) that Christ told those parables about, not just to the first century Jewish leaders.

By the final sermon, however, Chrysostom sounds about as exasperated as Christ does throughout the Gospel of Mark; people love flocking to him: in Christ's case to get healed, and in Chrysostom's case to hear beautifully written Greek speeches, but they don't put their preaching into action. And that's the rub: theory is worthless without praxis, orthodoxy is worthless without orthopraxy, and faith is worthless without works. To read this text and think smugly about how evil the rich are, but to change nothing in your life, is to be just as damned as the rich, is to learn nothing, is to heap more pride and sin upon your soul. God protect us from that.

[David · Rating 4 out of 5]

After finishing Basil the Great's On Social Justice, I tackled John Chrysostom's On Wealth and Poverty, seven sermons on the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. While not as directly challenging as Basil's work, it is still an enriching read. It is clear why Chrysostom was known as a great preacher. Where Basil is blunt and to the point, Chrysostom is full of beautiful prose. He even had to tell people to stop cheering for his sermon and actually apply it to their lives.

My favorite thing about Chrysostom was the centrality of scripture, he had whole sections reminding people to search scripture on their own. Always cool to find that sort of thing in the early church to remember the Protestant Reformation did not invent that. Also cool to see ancient preachers go on tangents, as someone who enjoys a good tangent or two myself when I stand up in front of people.

When Chrysostom gets to the point, there is a lot to think about. One thing he emphasizes over and over is that even good people commit sins and even bad people do some good (I wonder how Augustine felt about his thoughts on sin here?). Thus, he argued, the rich man received his reward for the good he did in this life, little good as it was. And Lazarus suffered, perhaps as punishment for his sin. But in the next life they each got what they deserved. From this, we are reminded to not praise those in comfort, for they are getting their reward now. And those suffering are looking to future rewards.

All in all, read both these works and read them again. Let them read you and change you. I know I will, at least I hope I will.

[Adam Ross · Rating 3 out of 5]

A good set of sermons from the church father, John Chrysostom, concerning the parable of the rich man and the poor man Lazarus. There wasn't really as much about economic wealth and poverty as I thought there would be. What there was here was very good. Chrysostom is always challenging, and his views on wealth was no exception. He argues that the affluent rich are obligated to help the poor. Those rich people who spend their wealth on themselves beyond caring for their family are actually stealing from the poor. Their wealth was a gift of God, and just like the servant with the single talent who buries it in the ground, God expects us to use our excess to relieve the pangs of want in others.

The book has some flaws, though. Chrysostom slips to easily into his gnostic patterns of "above" and "below," and presents calamity befalling people as God's wrath crushing them for the smallest of sins. This is not exactly the God of grace, but the big, angry smiter in the sky. In many ways, it occasionally reminds me of the excesses of the puritan preachers. Nonetheless, a lot of important stuff here.

[Naum · Rating 4 out of 5]

Remarkably lucent and accessible for a 4th century text (or perhaps, more credit is due to team performing English translation text).

A short book (~140 pages) featuring 6 sermons of church father John Chrysostom on a single parable -- the parable of the rich man and Lazarus (not the Lazarus Jesus raised from the dead, but the festering boil Lazarus that went to Heaven whilst the rich dude behind the "gates" festered in hell, getting his just deserts in the present life).

Timely missive, with the exception of a few anti-semitic cracks (I reckon the early Christians equated Pharisees and Jewish leaders with ALL Jewish folks, and castigated the entire lot for the death of Jesus), some ruminations on earthquake that seem more to the style of fundamentalist televangelists.

[Timothy Bertolet]

A series of sermons on Luke 16 and the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. In a day and age where we often equate riches as a sign of God's blessing and poverty as a sign of God's neglect, Chrysostom brings a sobering and convicting reminder that this is not the case.

Reading this treasure from church history brings personal conviction particularly for those situated in an American church that is culturally affluent and often well-to-do financially. Chrysostom speaks boldly against sins that are as prominent in our day as they were in sins. Chrysostom challenges us to use our wealth for God's glory and ultimately to repent before God rather than being comfortable and complacent.

Recommended Read.

[Nathan]

truly a legend of preaching, lots to learn from his rhetoric. strong attention to the details of the text (luke 16) while also freely exploring connections/tangents from throughout the bible; strong ability to find clear ways to exhort his congregation to godly living. wasn’t exactly the review of wealth and poverty as the title and our modern conceptions might anticipate (perhaps bc it’s a title posthumously applied to a collection of sermons), but helpful in reframing one’s perspective: we should see all things in light of their eternal reality. what is being poor in this life if we are storing up riches in the life to come?

along w st basil, he more readily speaks of the rewards of righteous works and the punishments of wicked works (both in this life and the next)

[Jonathan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Takes the strength of Christ's words on wealth and poverty and applies them directly to the lives of his people. If only the church could remember its roots on this topic...

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

Of the more important collection of sermons to be read in our day.

[Jay · Rating 5 out of 5]

“There was even something more in addition to these evils, namely that his reputation was slandered by foolish people. For most people, when they see someone in hunger, chronic illness, and the extremes of misfortune, do not even allow him a good reputation, but judge his life by his troubles, and think that he is surely in such misery because of wickedness.” p. 32

“So if you see someone greedy for many things, you should consider him the poorest of all, even if he has acquired everyone’s money. If, on the other hand, you see someone with few needs, you should count him the richest of all, even if he has acquired nothing.” p. 40

“I also always entreat you, and do not cease entreating you, not only to pay attention here to what I say, but also when you are at home, to persevere continually in reading the divine Scriptures. When I have been with each you in private, I have not stopped giving you the same advice… The monks, who are released from the clamor of the marketplace and have fixed their huts in the wilderness, who own nothing in common with anyone, but practice wisdom without fear in the calm of that quiet life, as if rising in a harbor, enjoy great security; but we, as if tossing in the midst of the sea, driven by a multitude of sins, always need the continuous and ceaseless aid of the Scriptures. They rest far from the battle, and so they do not receive many wounds; but you stand continuously in the front rank, and you receive continual blows. So you need more remedies. Your wife provokes you, your son grieves you, your servant angers you, your enemy plots against you, your friend envies you, your neighbor curses you, your fellow soldier trips you up, often a law suit threatens you, poverty troubles you, loss of your property gives you grief, prosperity puffs you up, misfortune depresses you, and many causes and compulsions to discouragement and grief, to conceit and desperation, surround us on all sides, and a multitude of missiles falls from everywhere. Therefore we have a continuous need for the full armor of the Scriptures.” pp. 56-57

“Once a vine is harvested, it stands bare of fruit, with only leaves remaining; but the spiritual vine of the divine Scriptures is different. I f we take everything we can find, the greater part still remains behind. Many indeed even before us have spoken on this subject, and many also perhaps will speak after us; but no one will be able to empty all its wealth. Such is the nature of this abundance; the deeper you dig, the more divine thoughts will gush forth, for it is a never-failing spring.” p. 75.
“You see, when continual troubles come upon you in quick succession, you must not be confused, you must not be annoyed, but wait for the end.” p. 87

“My Master was slain and poured out his blood for man. Shall I despise him? What pardon would I have?” p. 93

“How, tell me, after this will we be able to silence the pagans or the Jews? How will we be able to attract them, how will we persuade them to come over and enroll themselves in piety, when they see those who are enrolled with us mixed up with them at those deadly shows that are filled with all kinds of corruption?” p. 119.

[Ryan Jankowski · Rating 3 out of 5]

On Wealth and Poverty is a compilation of 6 sermons on Lazarus and the rich man (sermons 1 through 7 with the exclusion of 5) by John Chrysostom. It is spectacular that so many of Chrysostom's sermons have been preserved as they provide a wealth of insight into what preaching looked like in the 4th and early 5th century. A radically different cultural and economic context to be sure, but he communicates a message that transcends those things.

Overall Chrysostom has what I would deem a healthy view toward wealth. The rich are stewards of wealth which are owed for the distribution to the poor. Wealth in itself is neither good or evil. He writes, "Wealth will be good for its possessor if he does not spend it only on luxury, or on strong drink and harmful pleasures; if he enjoys luxury in moderation and distributes the rest to the stomachs of the poor, then wealth is a good thing."

Though his conception of 'luxury' would seem rather extreme by today's standards, which leads him to a position that many would describe as a harsh form of legalism. He clearly hates the chariot races and labels participation and enjoyment of such as satanic. Similarly, the use of perfume would fall under the umbrella of bad stewardship and therefore should be avoided. In his view, there is not room for moderation in all things.

Yet despite some of his extremes, he clearly has a passion for the poor and the afflicted. He spoke boldly of the Christian's responsibility in this area and not without consequence. This is certainly a most relevant message for us today.

[Bishoy Mansour · Rating 5 out of 5]

Such a good book. My only criticism is that it has a lot of overlap in some topics but that’s it. John chrysostome does it again. The way he speaks (in this case the book was transcriptions from sermons) is soooo good. He just has a way of putting things together to make me feel like I’m getting slapped in the face by his logic. Very insightful explanation of the parable of Lazarus and the rich man. Finally, I love how he speaks like modern priests do when they explain topics, questioning and teasing the crowd.

[Cole Shiflet · Rating 4 out of 5]

“Once a vine is harvested, it stands bare of fruit, with only leaves remaining; but the spiritual vine of the divine Scriptures is different. If we take everything we can find, the greater part still remains behind.”

Thought-provoking, challenging, and pointed. John Chrysostom takes Luke 16:19-31 and digs deeply into the rich Scriptures over seven homilies to explain what this passage means. Interestingly enough, reading this provides a sharp critique of our culture today.

[Misael Galdámez · Rating 5 out of 5]

Who needs Marx to critique American understandings of the good life, materialism, and wealth when you have St. John Chrysostom?

"Not to share our own wealth with the poor is theft from the poor and deprivation of their means of life; we do not possess our own wealth but theirs."

[Adam Thomas · Rating 5 out of 5]

A powerful collection of Chrysostomian sermons on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, with some very thought-provoking imagery and some very pertinent challenges for our modern Western church. Full reflections at: https://adamthomas.substack.com/p/wea...

[John Coatney · Rating 5 out of 5]

A series of homilies on the Parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus. Humbling and thought-provoking.

[Youssef Botros · Rating 5 out of 5]

Away from St. John’s loquaciousness, this piece grants us an opportunity to open our eyes to what true wealth is and to enjoy any current poverty. The desire to be virtuous while and after reading this book cures the wounds that were present from any worldly understanding of righteousness.

[Adonis McReynolds · Rating 4 out of 5]

Convicting. A reminder that money does not belong to us.

[Charles Haywood · Rating 5 out of 5]

As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be rich. I was not wealthy growing up, nor was anybody I knew. Today, however, as I state perhaps too often, I am rich. I bathe twice daily in French champagne and always cover my burgers in gold leaf. The problem is, as most everybody knows, that being rich sits very uneasily with Christian faith. At a minimum, being rich is a grave danger for a man’s soul. To gain insight into this problem, or maybe seeking reassurance, rather than rely on my personal interpretation of Scripture, which is worse than useless, I turned to one of the Fathers of the Church, Saint John Chrysostom.

This book, On Wealth and Poverty, is a compilation of six sermons delivered by Chrysostom, probably in A.D. 388, when he was a simple, but very popular, priest in Antioch, after being a monk for some years and a decade before he was sent as bishop to Constantinople. The book is one of the “Popular Patristics” series offered by St. Vladimir’s Press, sixty or so relatively short and quite readable paperbacks. I liked it so much I have ordered the entire series, which will fit nicely into the giant rich man’s library I am currently building.

Saint John was not called “Chrysostom,” which means “golden mouthed,” in reference to his famous sermons, until after his death. He was simply “John of Antioch,” the city where he was born and spent much of his life. Antioch was not some random provincial town, but one of the largest cities in the Roman Empire, with a population of hundreds of thousands (and a church founded by Saint Paul), though very little remains (at least above ground). The “Antiochene School” of Scriptural exegesis downplayed allegory, which elsewhere was very popular among the early Fathers (especially Origen and the Alexandrian Fathers), in favor of a more straightforward, less ornamental, reading. This is, according to the translator’s notes in this book, the school to which Chrysostom belonged, and it is certainly true that, at least in this book, there is little allegory.

A very large amount of Chrysostom’s work, mostly homilies but some longer works, has survived. This seems odd at first, given how much writing from the Classical world has disappeared (including, fascinating to me, the entire twelve volumes of the autobiography of Augustus). Maybe it’s not that surprising, however, given that Chrysostom lived in the East, not the West. Under the influence of anti-Christian writers such as Edward Gibbon, and more recently of philo-Muslim writers, modern Westerners often ignore the Eastern Roman preservation of Classical literature, and instead incorrectly ascribe most of what was preserved to Muslim scribes (or non-Muslims in Muslim lands), who in reality were largely irrelevant to preservation of ancient writings. Believing this myth is like believing the old story that Europeans liked to put ultra-expensive spices on rotten meat to cover up the putrid taste. Presumably so much of Chrysostom’s work survived simply because it was originally in Greek (his homilies were taken down by stenographers as he spoke) and was widely distributed for a thousand years through the East, while Latin works from the late Roman Empire disappeared along with the western Roman Empire, except to the extent copied by monks, preserved on palimpsests, or translated into Greek in the East (and surviving the Muslim conquests).

In any case, we have these sermons, which strike a contemporary tone, despite their great age. They all revolve around one of Christ’s most famous parables, that of Lazarus and the (unnamed) rich man. It is found in the Gospel of Luke (and only in Luke), Chapter 16, verses 19 to 31. Even today, most people are probably familiar with the parable. In short, there was a rich man, who lived life luxuriously, sensuously, and without worry, while ignoring the pitiful and diseased beggar Lazarus who lay paralyzed at the rich man’s gate. When each died, Lazarus was found righteous and sent to live forever in Paradise with Abraham, while the rich man was found unrighteous and was sent to Hell. Suffering, the rich man begged Abraham to send Lazarus with some water to cool his tongue, but Abraham said that was impossible, nor could Lazarus be sent to warn the rich man’s still-alive brothers, “for if they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” The end. For two thousand years, men have wondered, with trepidation, what this story means for them. Chrysostom offers a detailed, and practical, exposition.

The purpose of Chrysostom’s sermons is to address those “who are troubled by the prosperity of the wicked and the poverty and tribulation of the righteous.” That is, he is tackling a challenge to Christian faith presented by an apparent absence of justice. He also aims to guide, to “provide the remedies, self-control for the rich and consolation for the poor.” Chrysostom’s ultimate purpose, naturally, is to bring his listeners to a life of eternal happiness, rather than torment (no Origen-style universalism for Chrysostom). “As a little drop is to the boundless sea, so much a thousand years are to that future glory and enjoyment.”

At one point (not in these sermons), Chrysostom says that ten percent of Antioch is rich and ten percent is poor. His main audience, therefore, is neither the rich nor the poor, but rather what might be called, somewhat anachronistically, the middle class. This was, at that time, those not in immediate danger of actual starvation, but not living in luxury, who therefore partook of both elements of being rich and of being poor.

Direct injunctions meant to jar the listener occur throughout the sermons; you have to remember these were originally speeches, not writings that could be re-read and pored over. “Pay attention to me!” “[T]he failure to share one’s goods with others is theft and swindle and defraudation.” The Sabbath is not a day for idleness, but for “spiritual work.” Chrysostom also attacks the dubious activities of his parishioners outside the church. In fact, he begins the first sermon with an attack on the Saturnalia, which occurred “yesterday,” praising his parishioners (perhaps with faint sarcasm; it is hard to tell) for avoiding participating in “drunkenness” and “disorderly dancing.” Throughout the sermons, he also decries the “racecourse” and its “spectacles of Satan,” directly criticizing the parishioners for frequenting the (chariot) racecourse. It’s not clear exactly why, but presumably it was not merely racing that Chrysostom disapproved of, but other associated entertainments, vices, and occasions of sin.

In addition to these injunctions, interesting asides also pop up. Chrysostom notes at one point that it is acceptable to dull emotional pain with alcohol, to drink, as Noah did, because he did not “desire drunkenness and passion but used them to heal his wound,” and that this is commonly done at funerals, to give “undiluted wine” to those closest to the dead. And contrary to the silly myth propagated by Protestants and modern anti-Christians that the pre-modern Church forbade reading Scripture, Chrysostom insists his parishioners read the Bible. “I also always entreat you, and do not cease entreating you, not only to pay attention here to what I say, but also when you are at home, to persevere continually in reading the divine Scriptures.” He makes explicit that this is not a mere aspiration, but required for every single person, whatever his occupation or station in life—and in fact that the Scriptures are more important for those living in the world than for monks.

The first sermon focuses on the lives of each man in the parable. Chrysostom emphasizes that the rich man behaved not just badly, but as badly as was possible. He ignored the cardinal commandment of almsgiving, and he had no possible excuse. Lazarus was very visibly present, in his sight, every day, a constant reminder. The rich man had no worries that he could claim distracted him from his duty of charity. He lived in luxury, a debilitating luxury of excess, particularly of food, that not only of itself was bad, but made him unable to perform necessary work, spiritual work. By contrast, Lazarus had, perhaps, adequate excuse to complain of his lot, but did not. He suffered, and Chrysostom enumerates them, nine “misfortunes,” not merely poverty and ill-health, but friendlessness, being reminded of his wretched state continually, being slandered (for many would have considered his state a punishment for his sins, a claim Chrysostom emphatically rejects) and more. All these would “darken the soul” of any man, yet Lazarus persevered. Thus, each man received his just deserts, the fruit of his chosen actions.

In the second sermon, Chrysostom deepens his analysis, turning to each man after death. What seemed obvious to everyone, that the rich man was fortunate and Lazarus unfortunate, turns out to be an inversion of the true reality. Even before death, “the rich man is not the one who has collected many possessions but the one who needs few possessions, and the poor man is not the one who has no possessions but the one who has many desires.” In the end, it is Lazarus who is rich, and the rich man who is poor. Chrysostom compares the two men to players on the stage—a man who plays a king, when he takes off his mask in the street, is a mere coppersmith. So with many of those who appear fortunate in this life. It is not money itself, however, but greed, the lust for material things, that is the core vice—both of itself, and even more to the extent it results in not generously giving alms.

Chrysostom here emphasizes that the duty of almsgiving is completely disconnected from the moral status of the recipient. “When you see on earth the man who has encountered the shipwreck of poverty, do not judge him, do not seek an account of his life, but free him from his misfortune.” “Charity is so called because we give it even to the unworthy.” This is an important principle, although it is true that some people are looking for aid when they have no need. If the asker is merely a fraud, perhaps he should be denied alms, but I doubt if Chrysostom would encourage excessive investigation. Too much focus on this question backs you into seeking an “account of his life.” For example, what if someone asking for, or receiving freely offered, charity carries a new iPhone? Chrysostom would no doubt say that is irrelevant; if he is now hungry or cold, how he unwisely earlier spent his money so that he ended up hungry or cold now does not matter. Similarly, “get a job” is not a good response to someone asking for help, even if it is true that jobs are easy to get and a job would alleviate the asker’s need. Who knows why he does not? Maybe he is an addict, or simply unable to hold a job, due to one character defect or another. Or maybe he is just very unintelligent, and cannot plan for the future. Giving alms is the core matter, and distractions from that goal should be minimized.

In the modern world, however, most people don’t give alms to the poor, though they often give money to political causes and claim that as alms, but they are very insistent that the government hand out money to those they consider, from a distance in most cases, to be in need. Chrysostom, no surprise, never mentions any duty of the government to give alms; his is a personal command, for each person to take action himself. The late Joseph Sobran (another far-seeing man of the Right cut off at the knees and reduced to obscurity and penury by that Judas, William F. Buckley) used to joke that the Left had combined the two commandments, “Love thy neighbor as thyself” and “Give all that you have to the poor,” into a new command, “Give all that thy neighbor has to the poor.” This captures the problem (or rather one of several problems) with turning over our personal responsibilities to the government. When the government becomes the main almsgiver, not only does this enable people to choose not to give alms at all while soothing their conscience, but the system, as with all government action, tends to corruption, both in the looting of money destined for the poor, and in redirecting aid for the needy to other, political ends (as well as encouraging characterizing as alms insane demands not found in any legitimate Christian doctrine, such as willy-nilly allowing aliens into our country). The government should give no “alms”; giving should be done exclusively by individuals and institutions such as churches—although, to be sure, it is hard to see how that could be implemented today, since the habit of almsgiving has largely disappeared, and moreover many churches are extremely corrupt in their giving of “alms” (notably Catholic Charities, the largest charitable organization in America). When all the West is broken and remade, hopefully soon, then this can and should be done.

The third sermon focuses on the rich man’s request for a drop of water to be placed on his tongue, and the uncrossable gulf that separates the rich man from Paradise. Repentance before death is essential; Chrysostom paints a chilling picture of the soul, having just left the body, in terrible fear of judgment. At some length, Chrysostom states how evil men almost always do some good thing in their life, and good men almost always do some evil thing. Both good and evil are recompensed, either in this life or the next, and we should wish to make recompense now, rather than later, for if we sin extensively in this life and face no punishment now, it will be required later—thus, we should weep for someone such as the rich man, seeing him as the most unfortunate of men.

Here, Chrysostom seems to imply some type of zero-sum game, where we can choose suffering now or suffering later, but a more subtle reading is that receipt of only good things in this life tends to prevent a man from spiritual growth, and encourage spiritual backsliding—and that the opposite also tends to be true, that the poor necessarily find it easier to attain to the Kingdom of Heaven. The obligation of the rich, other than almsgiving, is “to bridle foolish desire, to stop vainglory, to restrain presumption, to refrain from luxury, to persevere in austerity.” A man may not suffer, as such, but he cannot enjoy total comfort and ease on Earth, refusing to restrain himself in these ways, and still attain the Kingdom of Heaven. He must choose a “hard and laborious” life—not by becoming poor, but by spiritual focus, and by sharing. It is not possible “to enjoy relaxation both here and hereafter.”

A similar lesson, mentioned by Chrysostom in passing, is found in the related Parable of the Rich Fool, found also in Luke, at 12:13–21, who, having gained riches, wanted to relax and enjoy his wealth. I note that Chrysostom does not focus on any difference between striving for riches and having riches already, although it seems to me these are conceptually distinct, if closely related. True, in the ancient world most rich people were probably rich because their ancestors were rich, but even those already rich frequently strive continually to gain more, and those who are not rich strive to become rich. Seeking wealth, whether as an occupation (or avocation), or by dubious shortcuts, seems to present somewhat different spiritual pitfalls from possessing wealth, yet this question does not seem to draw attention from Chrysostom.

The fourth sermon occupies itself with the rich man’s second request, that Lazarus visit his brothers. Aside from that Scripture is a better guide than any possible non-divine messenger, being given to us by God directly, Chrysostom claims that if the dead were to return on a regular basis, “in time we would hold even this in contempt.” Moreover, the Devil would twist this channel of communication and use it to transmit lies. Thus, in His wisdom, God has “shut the doors.” Scripture, combined with the sure guide of conscience, provides all the help we need.

Chrysostom often recurs to the conscience, though I think he perhaps overrates its efficacy. “For the righteous, both the life hereafter and this life provide great pleasure; but the wicked and greedy are punished both here and hereafter.” He explains that he means the unrighteous are tormented in this life by a bad conscience. But I doubt if that is generally true, in his time or ours. It is usually accepted that a conscience must be correctly formed by upbringing and prayer; when both those are lacking, you may get ennui, a feeling of meaninglessness, depression, or existential dread, but I think it very unlikely most unrighteous people are tormented by their consciences. People have a great capacity for self-deceit and self-justification. (For example, the slimy billionaire Michael Bloomberg, not known as a paragon of virtue, famously said when asked, “I am telling you, if there is a God, when I get to heaven I’m not stopping to be interviewed. I am heading straight in. I have earned my place in heaven. It’s not even close.”) Certainly the parable itself does not suggest the rich man had any such internal worries. Similarly, Chrysostom assures his listeners that the conscience is always neither too severe nor too lax, which seems a bit optimistic, given that it appears obvious many people have consciences that are too severe or too lax.

The fifth sermon, given some months later . . . [Review completes as first comment.]

[Adam · Rating 3 out of 5]

Second sermon is the best.

[Aaron Schuschu · Rating 4 out of 5]

Christianity has strayed so far from this

[Xavier Tan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a hard book to read, and indeed, St John Chrysostom acknowledges at multiple points that his teachings are hard, even for himself. This book contains a series of six sermons on the parable of Lazarus and the rich man in Luke 16. Through this parable, the good saint strikes at the heart of modern readers in the developed world, as our state of life is most certainly closer to that of the wealthy and rich man than the poor and Lazarus in his sermons. He teaches that we should not judge one's fortune based on their wealth but on the state of their soul – this I think we can all get behind. What is harder comes after – Chrysostom teaches that the rich hold their possessions as stewards for the poor, and that they should spend only on what is needful and give the rest away to the poor. To fail to share one's possessions in this way, St John argues, is "theft and swindle and defraudation" – and this charge stands even if one does not take a penny from another. He also urges his hearers to be generous without inquiring on the 'worthiness' of the poor that they are giving to, for we have received God's great mercy without His inquiring into our worthiness.

Summary of book

In the first sermon, Chrysostom charges that the rich man neglected Lazarus and called his "daily luxurious and unscrupulous feasting" a "wickedness" (pp 21, 23). Later in the sermon, he also called the "rich and greedy" "a kind of robbers lying in wait on the roads, stealing from passers-by, and burying others' goods in their own houses as if in caves and holes." (p 36) In contrast, Lazarus was righteous (as evinced by the state of his afterlife) due to "his patient endurance of poverty" (p 23). The preacher thus warns his hearers: "luxury often leads to forgetfulness. As for you, my beloved, if you sit at table, remember that from the table you must go to prayer. Fill your belly so moderately that you may not become too heavy to bend your knees and call upon your God." (p 27) He also tells his congregation not to judge whether one is fortunate or miserable based on their wealth or poverty:

"Knowing all these things, let us be wise. Let us not say that if God loved so-and-so, He would not have allowed him to become poor. [...] "For the Lord disciplines him whom He loves, and chastises every son whom He receives." [...] [Let us call the rich and greedy] miserable because of what will come, because of that dreadful courtroom, because of the inexorable judgment, because of the outer darkness which awaits them. [...] my beloved, let us call fortunate not the wealth but the virtuous; let us call miserable not the poor but the wicked." (pp 35-37)

In the second chapter, Chrysostom moves on to the death of Lazarus and the rich man.
He then teaches, hard to our ears:

"Indeed Lazarus suffered no injustice from the rich man; for the rich man did not take Lazarus' money, but failed to share his own. If he is accused by the man he failed to pity because he did not share his own wealth, what pardon will the man receive who has stolen others' goods, when he is surrounded by those whom he has wronged? [...] the failure to share one's own goods with others is theft and swindle and defraudation." (p 49)

How, then, are we to live? St John tells us to think of ourselves stewards/trustees of the poor, using our possessions sparingly and for our needs:

"let us use our goods sparingly, as belonging to others, so that they may become our own. [...] do not spend them beyond our needs, and do not spend for our needs only, but give equal shares into the hands of the poor. If you are affluent, but spend more than you need, you will give an account of the funds which were entrusted to you." (p 50)

He reiterates this in his conclusion: "I beg you, remember this without fail, that not to share our own wealth with the poor is theft from the poor and deprivation of their means of life; we do not possess our own wealth but theirs." (p 55)

Chrysostom also tells his listeners to be hospitable, pointing to Hebrews 13:2, Job 31:32, and Abraham's hospitality. He also tells us to be hospitable to the poor without inquiring on their 'worthiness':

"Let us also do this, I beg you, without making any inquiry more than necessary. Need alone is the poor man's worthiness; if anyone at all ever comes to us with this recommendation, let us not meddle any further. We do not provide for the manners but for the man. We show mercy on him not because of his virtue but because of his misfortune, in order that we ourselves may receive from the Master His great mercy, in order that we ourselves, unworthy as we are, may enjoy His philanthropy. For if we were going to investigate the worthiness of our fellow servants, and inquire exactly, God will do the same for us." (p 53)

The third sermon opens with Chrysostom entreating his hearers to "when you are at home, to persevere continually in reading the divine Scriptures." (p 58) It then moves to Abraham's words to the rich man: "You have received the good things due to you in your life, and Lazarus likewise the evil due to him." (Luke 16:25) From this, Chrysostom teaches:

"For when our good actions are small and slight, but the weight of our sins is unspeakably great, if in this life we enjoy prosperity and do not suffer any misfortune, we will certainly depart bare and naked from the exchange of good things, since we will have received all our due in this life. Likewise when our good actions are many and great, but our sins small and slight, if we suffer any misfortune, we put away even those small sins in this life, and in the next life we receive as our due a pure reward made ready for our good deeds. Therefore when you see anyone living in wickedness but suffering no misfortune in this life, do not call him lucky, but weep and mourn for him, because he will have to endure all the misfortunes in the next life, just like this rich man. Again, when you see anyone cultivating virtue, but enduring a multitude of trials, call him lucky, envy him, because all his sins are being dissolved in this life, and a great reward for his endurance is being prepared in the next life; just as it happened for this man Lazarus."

It is "impossible", St John teaches, "for one who enjoys an easy life and freedom from want in this world, who continually indulges himself in every way, who lives randomly and foolishly, to enjoy honor in the other world" (p 67)

Chrysostom thus urges his hearers to "endure bravely", "giving thanks the more to God, the more the suffering grows worse", and "worship instead of despair. Confess to the Lord, cry our loudly in prayer, cry our loudly glorifying God." (pp 69-70) He then leads his congregation in prayer, praying that God count them worthy when they meet Him face-to-face, and that He grant them this by the grace and love of Jesus Christ (p 78).

The fourth sermon moves to the rich man's petition to Abraham to send Lazarus to his family and Abraham's response. Chrysostom observes that the Jews proved Abraham right as, though they had Moses and the prophets, they persecuted the apostles even after Jesus had risen from the dead (pp 84-85). He goes on: "every dead person is a servant, but what the Scriptures utter, the Master has uttered. So even if a dead person rises, even if an angel descends from heaven, the Scriptures are more worthy of belief than any of them. [...] Therefore let us not seek to hear from dead people what the Scriptures teach us much more clearly every day." (p 85)

St John then exhorts his hearers to repent of their sins, and "kill [sinful desire] by confession and tears." He gives them comfort, as they are not confessing "to a human being", but "rather to the Master, who protects and cherishes you, to the physician you are showing your wound. He is not unaware[,] even if you do not confess [...] So why do you not confess? [...] He wishes you to confess, not in order to punish you, but in order to forgive you: not in order that He may learn your sin [,] but in order that you may learn how great a debt He forgives you." (p 89)

The next sermon was preached after an earthquake struck Antioch, where St John was pastoring. He opens by telling his hearers that God sent the earthquake to show his power and urge them to repent, and "shatter" "theft", "greed", "tyranny", "arrogance", "domination", "oppression", "plundering of the poor", and "arrogance of the rich" (p 97). He then returns to the parable, observing that the rich man was nameless, ignored Lazarus though he laid at his doorstep, and covered the rotting state of his soul (Chrysostom uses refers to it as "stinking", infested with "parasites", and "perish[ing] from hunger", etc.) with garments, perfumes, and expensive tables (pp 105-107). After death, "The stage sets were removed and the masks were taken off", and the true states of Lazarus and the rich man were made visible – completely inversing their conditions while they lived on earth (pp 108-110).

Chrysostom thus urges his hearers to consider: "What benefit is it to a man who has other people's possessions but does not have his own? What benefit is it to a man who has gained money but had not gained virtue?" (p 116) The rich man received the good things he was due, just as Lazarus received the bad things he was due in their lives (Luke 16:25) – the good Saint draws from this a principle of retribution: sin requires what it is due, as does righteousness (pp 119-120). St John thus urges his listeners to live righteous lives, as both their righteousness and sin will be accounted for by God; but with patience and endurance, we may "receive as our due the good things which are prepared for the saints who love God; which we all attain, by the grace and love of our Lord Jesus Christ" (p 124).

In the final sermon, Chrysostom links Jesus' command to "enter by the narrow gate" (Matthew 7:13-14) with the parable – observing that the rich man entered by the wide gate and walked in the easy road while Lazarus by the narrow and walked on the difficult road (pp 131-133). He thus holds up the ends of both roads to his hearers and tells them to constantly keep them before their eyes, "to flee the easy way [(and the "spectacles of Satan")], considering what befell this rich man, and to pursue the narrow gate and the way of tribulation, so that after tribulation here we may be able to reach the place of comfort." (pp 139-140)

Conclusion
Chrysostom's words are truly striking, and writing from my position in one of the largest denominations in my city (with the trope that many members are rich and out-of-touch being so widespread that it made its way into a big 2018 romcom film), I cannot help but feel that St John poses a challenge to us which we must rise to. The Methodist movement began as a movement which, among others, served the poor and required works of mercy, and while there are many parts of the Methodist church that are staying true to that ethos, it is truly a pity that so many of us have gone astray and fallen into the trap which Chrysostom points out so clearly for us in his preaching. May we find our social justice roots again as we follow the God who has a heart for the poor and downtrodden. Lord, have mercy.

[Jim B · Rating 4 out of 5]

How often do you come across thoughts that you have never encountered before? Especially if it is in an area that you specialize in?? These four sermons on the story of the Rich Man and Poor Lazarus are filled with observations and thoughts that were fresh to me, which is amazing when you consider that St. John died in A.D. 407!

Of course, I was raised in the approach that an interpreter should not read more into a parable than Jesus (or the teller) intended to be the point. But Chrysostom is not converting the details into some sort of symbolic meaning, but illustrating the teachings of the rest of Scripture with an unforgettable parsing of what we are told in this story.

From the title and the text, you expect application to charity for the poor. But in this quick little book, you get so much more, and especially strong urging to take heart in suffering and to persist in warning a fellow sinner especially if it seems hopeless (see the quote about Judas).

I was surprised by two things about this series of sermons: 1) how little is said about the grace of God in Christ and His payment for sin. It's there, but not at all as it would be in a sermon today. 2) by comparison, how little is said today about repentance in sermons when Jesus said that "repentance and forgiveness of sins" would be preached in His name. Chrysostom was accustomed to calling people to repentance.

[Barry · Rating 3 out of 5]

Comprised of a series of seven sermons on the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31), John Chrysostom takes meandering sermons to a whole new level. There's not a stitch of exegesis in these sermons, and there is a high level of social commentary. Incidentally, these are things I decry in modern sermons. However, in written form these sermons read well, and Mr. Chrysostom's eloquence, wit, and candor shine brightly. He does an excellent job at provided vivid examples and illustrations of his points, and hundreds of years later they still ring true. Also, he sheds light on some interesting aspects of theology, and while I don't agree with all his points, he cannot be faulted for pulling punches or mincing words.

Dry because of their age, these sermons have enough good points to make it worthwhile. Though I would cringe to hear someone preach these, on account of the meandering and eisigesis, they are worth the short read if for no other reason than their historical value.

[greg · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderful set of sermons on the parable of Lazarus and the rich man that detail practical applications of Christian theology with regards to charity, justice, providence, and the after life. St. John's ability to tap the short parable and reveal the depth of it's wisdom could be considered valuable in its own right, even for unbelievers. The introductory portion of this book gives a concise, but useful, overview of the profound Orthodox saint and the historical context for the sermons.

[Kristie · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a book of St. John Chrysostom’s sermons on the parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man from Luke 16. He goes line by line through the parable as he himself suggests, “We ought to be interpreters even of syllables. ‘Search the Scriptures,’ it is written; for often, one iota or one dot awakens an idea.”

St. John Chrysostom sees God’s mercy in everything, even His punishment. He constantly praises almsgiving and places almsgiving at the pinnacle of virtue.

[Kareene · Rating 4 out of 5]

Capitalism recognizes the truth - that wealth is transitory, that its source is creativity, courage, and technological adventure. Nevertheless, it is important to stay grounded, and remember how the world used to be, and can be no matter how optimistic you are of the future. Things change by the blink of an eye - one day you're rich, the next day you will have nothing.