Homily for Sunday Ordinary 26 C

I think the key to this parable is the gate. The rich man is on one side; Lazarus is on the other. In the story, the gate never opens. In fact, its role as a barrier eventually translates into an uncrossable chasm in eternity.

I am away this weekend.

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Transcript

A reading from the Holy Gospel, according to Luke. 

Jesus said to the Pharisees, There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen, And dined sumptuously each day. And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores. He would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man's table. Dogs even used to come and lick his sores. When the poor man died, he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried, 

And from the netherworld, where he was in torment, He raised his eyes and saw Abraham far off, And Lazarus at his side. And he cried out, "Father Abraham, have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, For I am suffering torment in these flames." Abraham replied, "My child, remember that you received what was good during your lifetime, While Lazarus likewise received what was bad. But now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented. Moreover, between us and you, a great chasm is established to prevent anyone from crossing Who might wish to go from our side to yours, or from your side to ours." 

He said, "Then I beg you, Father, send him to my father's house, For I have five brothers, that he may warn them, Lest they too come to this place of torment." But Abraham replied, "They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen to them." He said, "Oh no, Father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, They will repent." Then Abraham said, "If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, Neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead." 

The Gospel of the Lord 

There was a rich man who—wait, what? Didn't last Sunday's Gospel begin with those same words? There was a rich man who... had a steward. We're reading in Luke's Gospel, so you should be thinking, "I'm not sure I like people who get identified as a rich man who—"

 We know the dad in the prodigal son's story is really rich. He can kill a fatted calf. He's got a robe and a ring. He can throw a banquet. But he's never called a rich man. He's a generous man. If you get called a rich man, there's probably some reversal of fortune in your future. 

The Gospel of Luke, more than any other, expresses a preferential option for the poor. We hear this in Mary's Magnificat. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich. He has sent away empty. This is echoed in the blessings and the woes. Blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of heaven. But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. 

Pope Leo XIV took a little heat earlier this month from the $434 billion man Elon Musk, to the extent that Mr. Musk was forced to resort to scripture. In his first press interview with Crooks, Pope Leo was asked about the problem of social and political polarization. One factor he identified as very significant is the continuously wider gap between the income levels of the working class, and the money that the wealthiest receive. Pope Leo worried that CEOs that 60 years ago might have been making 4-6 times more than what the workers are receiving, now are paid 600 times more. 

Recently, the news reported that Elon Musk is going to be the first trillionaire in the world, the Pope continued. What does that mean? And what's that about? The Pope's first concern, of course, is with the souls of the same. If that's the only thing that has value anymore, then we're in big trouble, Pope Leo said. Or, as Thomas More might have put it in "A Man for All Seasons," it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world. But for Tesla, Elon? For Tesla? 

Mr. Musk did not take the Pope's gentle reproach lying down, turning to X, the powerful social media platform that he owns. He reposted a comment that described the Church's fabulous wealth at perhaps $2 trillion. A figure apparently calculated by the value of anything Church-related, like parish schools, museums, hospitals, and miscellaneous properties. The world's wealthiest person counterscolded Leo. Why do you see the speck in your neighbor's eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye? (Matthew 7, verses 3-5) Perhaps Mr. Musk does not realize that Pope Leo, even as he stands at the top of the global Catholic hierarchy, does not personally own all the properties, artworks, and brandon tangibles that constitute the Church's wealth. 

The rich man in the Gospel was a winner in every sense, Robert Capon points out, until he wasn't. He never embraced the one truth that could have saved him, the death-resurrection reality that Jesus embodies. Lazarus, on the other hand, starts out as a loser, plays the only hand he has, and then, in one stunning reversal, wins everything. This isn't really about the afterlife. It's about how we live now. Do we cling to the illusion of control, of wealth, of success? Or do we die to those illusions so that we might truly live? 

I think the key to this parable is the gate. The rich man is on one side. Lazarus is on the other. In the story, the gate never opens. In fact, its role as a barrier eventually translates into an uncrossable chasm in eternity. 

In the opening scene of the Passion in Mark, Chapter 14, a woman enters the room and breaks open an alabaster jar of expensive nard. Some complained, "Why wasn't this ointment sold and the money given to the poor?" Jesus responds, "The poor you always have with you." We always think that this comment stipulates the existence of the poor. But Jesuit Father Greg Boyle insists that Jesus is not talking about the inevitability of the poor. He's talking about social location. I expect the poor to be with you because it is where I will be standing. 

One of my friends used to work downtown. He always carried two-dollar bills with him so that whenever he met a beggar on the street, he had something to put in their open hands. I like his approach way better than mine. I'm always stuck wondering whether I should give money or not. 

"A penny given a poor man grudgingly," wrote the French Catholic mystic Léon Bloy. "Pierces the man's hand, falls, pierces the earth, bores holes in suns, crosses the firmament, and compromises the universe." So don't do that. But if you are inclined to give, then give wholeheartedly, not for charity, not for empathy, not for any groaning abstraction, but that the divine economy of giving might circulate through you unobstructed.

The person before you needs money, and you need to give it. Unplug the wellspring of life and hand it over.