Sunday's Gospel: The Rich Man and Lazarus

The following is re-published with permission from my column in Catechist magazine:  "Lessons for the Sunday Gospels."  For subscription information, visit Catechist.com.

September 25, 2016

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Gospel Reading:  Luke 16:19-31

Our last Gospel reading for the month continues the trend of unique parables from Luke. We also have a continuation of the themes of repentance and the dan­gers of wealth.

A first thing to notice is that Jesus is once again speaking to the Pharisees. We may be tempted to vilify the Pharisees and see them as the archenemies of Jesus who are nothing like us. But the great error of the Pharisees is the error of us all—an inability to think outside the box of our own minds and an unwillingness to hold ourselves to the same standards to which we hold everyone else. The parables of Jesus urge his audience—including and especially the Pharisees—to reassess themselves in light of his challenging message. When we read and study the Gospels, we must understand that we are not only the disciples of Jesus; we are also the Pharisees.

It is hard to imagine a man who would daily walk past a starving man covered in sores on his door­step. Once again the master story­teller has provided us with a strong and unforgettable image to convey his equally strong and unforget­table message. The rich man was likely not guilty of evil and hatred toward Lazarus. Instead, he was guilty of the insidious condition of desensitization. Lazarus was like a fixture outside the doors of his home; the rich man had stopped seeing him, even though he was there. He went on about his com­fortable life with no regard for the suffering on his own doorstep.

This is a message we contempo­rary Christians can relate to. There is so much suffering in the world that we feel helpless to improve. But if we give up, if we give in to our own comforts and stop seeing the suffering, we fall short. Indeed, Jesus calls us to repent—change our minds, change our ways, do an “about face.” Once again, Jesus calls us to look at life with new clarity, to see the suffering even on our own doorsteps, to stop and take care of the Lazarus that we encounter.

The consequences of desensi­tization and inaction are extreme, not only in terms of judgment and eternity, but in terms of our failure to develop into the compassionate human beings God created us and Jesus calls us to be. The words of Pope Francis come to mind:

"Sometimes we are tempted to be that kind of Christian who keeps the Lord’s wounds at arm’s length. Yet Jesus wants us to touch human misery, to touch the suffering flesh of others. He hopes that we will stop looking for those personal or com­munal niches which shelter us from the maelstrom of human misfortune and instead enter into the reality of other people’s lives and know the power of tenderness. Whenever we do so, our lives become wonderfully complicated and we experience intensely what it is to be a people, to be part of a people" (Evangelii Gaud­ium, 270). 

ASK YOURSELF: What human suffering in my life has become so familiar that I tend to ignore it? How can I deliberately take time to stop, touch, and serve the Lazarus on my own doorstep?

ASK YOUR STUDENTS: Why do you think Jesus made a point to tell us that the man who ignored Lazarus was rich? Is it bad to have money and material things? What is “dan­gerous” about having these things?

PRAY: Jesus, your teachings call me to a new way of seeing the familiar world around me. Please give me clarity and energy to see and serve those who suffer.

LIVE THE GOSPEL: Pick someone you have accidentally or intention­ally ignored recently. Reconnect with them this week. 

A series of drawings of the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus by Eugene Burnand (1850-1921).  

Eugene Burnand (1850-1921)

Eugene Burnand (1850-1921)

Friends with God? Dream On.

The overwhelming response to my question about whether or not we can be friends with God was yes – emphatically yes!  Some of you were clear that you know God can be your friend because he already is!  Others added helpful distinctions:  God is a different kind of friend than our buddies or even our human soulmates. 

I agree with you.  And you all did such a nice job writing about it that I might just need to turn this blog over to the people.  You should share with me more often!

Now I promised you my own thoughts.  If the question were simply asked on a philosophical level, I might wonder.  I might surmise it was wishful thinking on the part of human beings to aspire to be “friends” with God.  But as usual, Scripture sets me straight, and that’s just the way I like it.  Vatican II refers to Scripture as “the words of God expressed in human language” (Dei Verbum 13).  I can’t think of a better way to learn about friendship with God.

The first Scripture verse that always comes to mind when I think about being God’s friend is Exodus 33:11:  “Thus the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.”  The transcendent God of the Israelites was talking with Moses?  No matter how awesome Moses was (and he was), he was still a human being, a creature, an imperfect person.  But there was an intimacy between God and Moses that went down in Israelite lore as genuine friendship.

Abraham was another ancient who was called God’s friend.  He is described as such three times in the Bible:  2 Chron. 20:7, Isa. 41:8, and James 2:23.  How would you like it if this is how people described you?  What if, instead of “short lady with curly brown hair and a bunch of kids,” people said of me, “You know, Amy, the friend of God?”  Gulp!  God give me the faith of Abraham!

Jesus, of course, called his disciples his friends.  And not only his disciples.  Remember this one:  “The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’” (Matt. 11:19)?  This was an accusation levelled at Jesus – friend of sinners!  Never has a truer accusation been made!

Of course, we would be entirely remiss on the topic if we did not recall the remarkable words of Jesus said in farewell to his eleven faithful disciples (Judas had left the table):  “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father. You did not choose me but I chose you” (Jn. 15:12-16).  No commentary needed.  These are words to pray by.

And finally, I share with you a passage that says it all.  Yes, Judas had left the table, only to be reunited with Jesus in the garden, where he would kiss Jesus and betray him unto death, even death on a cross.  How did Jesus address Judas as he approached in the garden?  He called him “friend” (Mt. 26:50).

Catherine Doherty wrote that “all men who have religion of some sort are dreamers, and dreamers of a very special kind.  They dream of unity between God and men.”

Friendship is about intimacy.  It is an intentional intimacy.  One of you aptly quoted the wisdom of St. Catherine of Siena:  “God is closer to us than water is to a fish.”  This is the stuff of dreams, indeed, but we know this dream is true.  So dream on, friends of God, dream on!  

Moses and the Lord had an unusual friendship, as depicted in this gorgeous painting by Jack Baumgartner of Moses in the cleft of rock as the glory of the Lord passed by (Ex. 33).  Moses in the Rock.  Copyright 2016 Jack Baumgartner.  Published with permission.  Click on painting to view more of Jack's work.

The Sacred Dynamic of Frank Conversation

Last Sunday’s Gospel reading was the familiar story of Martha and Mary (Luke 10:38-42).  As the reading began, I wasn’t expecting to hear anything new.  I know this one; I know the words of Jesus; I know the lesson.

But I was blessed to be surprised.  I was surprised by the words of Martha.  Not because she sounded distressed, or frustrated, or annoyed with her sister.  I wasn’t surprised by her resentment or even her logic. 

I was surprised by how bold she was with Jesus, how frank, how confident.

Thinking back over the Gospels, there were many people who were quite deferential toward Jesus.  They spoke and acted with fitting respect for the masterful teacher and wonder-worker he was.  But there were others who were surprisingly informal with Jesus.  Perfect strangers approached him – they asked him for things, they touched him, they laid their heaviest burdens on him.  Indeed, many who approached Jesus did not just ask; they commanded!  Remember Jairus:  “My daughter is at the point of death.  Come and lay your hands on her” (Mk. 5:23) or Bartimaeus of Jericho:  “Let me see again” (Mk. 10:51).

Martha’s command was just as direct:  “Tell her to help me.”

Certainly the presence of Jesus made people take notice.  There was charisma, authority, even power over the natural world.  But apparently he was not intimidating.  There was something about his presence that drew people close, unmasking them and inviting frank conversation and bold requests.

Now of course, when we are frank and bold with Jesus, he may be frank and bold with us.   Martha may not have liked Jesus’ gentle rebuke.  But John’s Gospel tells us that Jesus loved her (Jn. 11:5), and she certainly knew that.   There was no need for Martha to hide her heart from Jesus.  The honesty, the unmasking, is what allowed Jesus to penetrate that heart, to love it and transform it.  This is the power of honest prayer, the sacred dynamic of frank conversation.

The Good and The Bad at the Table of the Lord

On Sunday’s celebration of Corpus Christi, I was struck by a line in the Lauda Sion sequence recited at Mass:  “Bad and good the feast are sharing.”

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how God seems to have a preference for imperfect people.  Read a few pages of Scripture and you discover a murderer was the greatest prophet of the Old Testament (Moses), and one who was at least complicit in murder was the greatest missionary of the New Testament (Paul).  King David was an adulterer but also a man after God’s own heart.  Peter betrayed his best friend and his Lord but in the eyes of that same Lord, he was a Rock.

Bad and good this feast are sharing – this Eucharistic feast, this feast of life, feast of divine love that seeps in and around us.  If we had to be “good” before we could come to the feast, what would be the point?  It is this feast that heals the bad in all of us. 

When it comes to human beings, God prefers transformation to perfection.  This is what his friendship and his table are all about.

“Very bread, good shepherd, tend us,
Jesus, of your love befriend us,
You refresh us, you defend us,
Your eternal goodness send us
In the land of life to see.”

— Lauda Sion Sequence, Corpus Christi

The Table by Julie Delton.  Originally published on the cover of The Christian Century magazine and published here with permission.  Click on the image for more of Julie's artwork (www.juliedelton.weebly.com).

Walk the Walk

“Whoever says, ‘I abide in him,’ ought to walk just as he walked.”

-- 1 Jn. 2:6

Rembrandt's Head of Christ (1648)