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At the
university where I work—one that boldly proclaims itself to be
“Catholic” in “the Augustinian tradition”—most of my Catholic colleagues
would hear in the story of the poor and rich man resonances of the
Church’s century-old social teaching. Most likely, these colleagues
would interpret the content of Jesus’ parable as a challenge to the rich
people of the world—that’s mainly us, “the have’s” who are citizens of
what’s called the “First World”—not to neglect our moral, spiritual,
and religious obligation to care for the poor—“the have not’s” who are
citizens of what’s called the “Third World”, whether that be the
material poverty we cause by unjustly distributing the world’s resources
or the poverty of spirit we cause by excluding from the economic and
social decision-making process those we have judged unworthy and
incapable, of lesser value as human beings, or just plain old “sinners”
(you know, the type of people with whom Jesus associated).
That would make
for an excellent homily, I think, especially if vivid images of human
beings suffering from material poverty were used to drive home the point
that, as Jesus’ disciples, we bear a responsibility to care for the
poor. Yes, we should use our wealth to provide for their needs because,
after all, God has blessed us with whatever wealth happens to be ours
and it is so much more than the “have not’s.” God has blessed us not
for our own personal pleasure and edification but so that, with hearts
full of gratitude and generosity, we will provide for the needs of the
poor. It’s how we use those blessings that may very well determine
whether we end up in the netherworld (a place of torment) or in
Abraham’s bosom (a veritable Eden).
Sin, then, is
extremely problematic because it enters into our decision-making process
and eventually ends up blinding us to the point that we fail not only to
give thanks to God for His many blessings, but we also fail to recognize
our obligation to provide for the needs of the poor. Then, like the
rich man, we grow complacent and arrogant, failing to see the poor
Lazarus who is begging for the meager scraps that fall on the floor and
we feed to the dog. As my colleagues would remind us, sin isn’t just
personal. No, sin becomes “systematic,” corrupting an entire economy,
nation, or alliance of like-minded nations.
It’s a homily
I’ve heard many times myself!
Unfortunately,
the “gospel of social justice” as it has been called, although important
and not to be neglected, emphasizes only one side of the coin for
Catholics. How? Because the Church is also a dogmatic church, that is,
the Church teaches something called divinely-revealed Truth. This body
of teaching must not be overlooked, neglected, or shoved to the side
simply because we might favor social justice, as good and
well-intentioned as that might be. But all too often, with their
exclusive emphasis upon social justice, many of my colleagues do just
that. That is, they dismiss dogma—and especially the Church’s moral
teaching—as irrelevant to the plight of the poor.
So, rather than
talk about today’s gospel as if it speaks solely and exclusively about
issues relating to social justice—First World wealth and power versus
Third World poverty and disadvantage, for example—I would like to
consider the parable of the rich man and the poor man from the
perspective of dogma, that is, Church teaching. To do so, let’s
consider how sin impoverishes us who are very rich indeed and, in
particular, the sin of greed blinds to the needs of the poor in our
midst.
By all worldly
evidence, Lazarus was impoverished, destitute, and lacking even the
minimum basic needs to lead a normal, healthy life, at least as the
people of this world define “life.” But, Lazarus wasn’t impoverished,
destitute, and lacking the minimum basics needed to lead a normal,
robust spiritual life because, as his name implies, for Lazarus,
“God alone is my help.”
Judged
by this standard, the rich man was truly impoverished, destitute, and
lacking the minimum basics needed to lead a normal, robust spiritual
life. Why? Because, the rich man didn’t make God alone his help. No,
all of his possessions, wealth, power, and prestige only served to
embolden the rich man to believe he alone was the source of his many
blessings. Over time, the rich man viewed his possessions not as God’s
blessings entrusted to him but the result of his efforts, his hard work,
as well as his cunning. The rich man believed all of these material
things made him important and powerful. So much so, the rich man became
incapable of seeing his moral, spiritual, and religious poverty,
destitution, and hunger. For the rich man, God’s blessings were
personal possessions to be enjoyed and savored. As his wealth of
possessions grew, this is what eventually blinded the rich man to the
poor man, Lazarus—a living and breathing human being—who was begging on
the rich man’s doorstep for some scraps of food while the rich man ate
sumptuous meals every day.
Our Church
teaches that sin is something real—something we do or don’t do—and that
we stand in need of forgiveness for our sins. One type of sin, a “sin
of omission” involves not doing something we should do, and in today’s
gospel, that sin of omission is not making God alone our help by
trusting in ourselves. This particular sin makes it difficult, if not
impossible, for us to see Lazarus, but not because we have many
possessions. No, it’s because we fail to make God alone our help.
Now, that’s all
very abstract. Let’s consider this moral teaching in the concrete.
Many of us are
married. God has blessed us and enriched our lives with the wonderful
gift of a spouse. How often in the past week have we who are spouses
given thanks to God for blessing us with this special person? How many
prayers have we offered to God this past week for our spouse? Not only
that, what impoverishment, destitution, or hunger has our spouse
exhibited during this past week—like Lazarus at the door—that God has
entrusted to us alone—in our riches—to provide for?
As the blindness
of the sin of omission darkens our vision because we have not made God
alone our help—a sin of omission—we not only no longer feel blessed for
the gift of our spouse but we also feel little if any obligation to care
for our spouse in his or her poverty. Has it truly been the case during
the past week—like the rich man—that as long as we had everything we
wanted, we not only didn’t make God alone our help but also could have
cared less about the spouse whom God has entrusted to our care? If so,
in our spiritual poverty, this sin of omission demands forgiveness.
Many of us are
parents. God has blessed us with wonderful gift of children. Remember
when we hoped and prayed that God bless us with children? How often in
the past week have we who are parents given thanks to God for blessing
us with our children? How many prayers have we offered to God this past
week on behalf of our children? Not only that, what impoverishment,
destitution, or hunger has each child exhibited during this past
week—like Lazarus at the door—that God has entrusted us alone—in our
riches—to provide for?
As the blindness
of sin darkens our vision because we have not chosen to make God alone
our help—a sin of omission—we not only no longer feel blessed by God for
the gift of children but we also feel little obligation to care for our
children in their poverty. Has it truly been the case during the past
week—like the rich man—that as long as we had everything we want and
everything went along as we wanted, we not only didn’t make God our help
but also could have cared less about the children whom God has entrusted
to our care? If so, in our poverty, this sin of omission demands
forgiveness.
This lesson
applies also to our young people. God has blessed us with parents who
love us, care for us, and provide us practically everything we want.
How often in the past week have we given thanks to God for blessing us
with parents who love us, care for us, and work so hard to provide
practically everything we want? No only that, what impoverishment,
destitution, or hunger have our parents exhibited during this past
week—like Lazarus at the door—that God has entrusted us alone—in your
riches—to provide for?
As the blindness
of sin darkens our vision because we have not chosen to make alone God
our help—a sin of omission—we not only no longer feel blessed by God for
the gift of loving parents but we also feel little obligation to care
for our parents in their poverty. Was it really the case this past
week—like the rich man—that as long as we got everything we wanted, we
not only didn’t make God alone our help—like the rich man—but also could
have cared less about our parents whom God has entrusted to our care?
If so, in our poverty, this sin of omission demands forgiveness.
While we may be
surrounded by many possessions and think ourselves very happy, we’re
probably like the rich man who was impoverished morally, spiritually,
and religiously. More than that, we have become so blinded by our many
possessions that we don’t make God alone our help and care very little
about anyone except ourselves. What we need is forgiveness for our sins
of omission, but we don’t even realize it, just like the “poor” rich
man.
How many of us
complain about our spouses and quality of our marriages? How many of us
complain about our children and family life? How many of us complain
about our parents? As much as God has blessed us, we omit these people
from our prayers and we don’t even give them the scraps of time, talent,
and treasure that fall from our table. We treat them worse than we
would a dog!
Now, that’s some
pretty strong language!
But, think about
it: so richly blessed by God, we’ve grown blind to the needs of the poor
in our very midst, the Lazarus knocking at our door. The sin of
omission that we allow to grow and fester in our marriages, in our
homes, and in our families is the fecund breeding ground for our lack of
care for the poor in the Third World. Social justice is important, yes,
but unless we provide for the needs of the poor in our midst—in the most
fundamental building block of society, the home—providing for the needs
of the poor everywhere else is quite likely nothing more than social
work. “Charity begins at home” is an old aphorism that addresses this
idea directly. It is easier to care for nameless and faceless poor than
it is to care for the poor who really is my mother, my father, my
brother, or my sister. Likewise, it’s so very easy to look
everywhere else but at home so that we don’t have to admit that we find
ourselves living in the netherworld we have created, all the while
crying out that we want to be in the bosom of Abraham! Today’s
gospel tells us there is a very great chasm between here and there!
What is today’s
gospel teaching us about sins of omission so that we might leave Mass
today better prepared to be a “light to the nations”?
First: I must
learn to live as if God alone is my help. In our culture, we learn
from a very young age to work hard and to reap the rewards of our hard
work. However, as our material prosperity increases, it becomes so easy
to trust only in ourselves. Like the ancient Jews, our prosperity
only masks a deep spiritual poverty which blinds us to our need for
God. The gospel reminds us to become a “Lazarus,” a person for whom
“God alone is my help.”
Second:
I must learn to recognize how my spiritual blindness is keeping me
from seeing what I need to see. God has blessed us in so many, many
ways, for example, with a spouse, with children, with a family and with
parents. But, in our blindness, we not only fail to see these people as
blessings and to thank God for them, but we also fail see what our
spouse, children, and parents need because we’re consumed with getting
everything we want for ourselves. (By the way, that’s two sins of
omission right there!) We need healing from our blindness so that we
will see what others need and to provide for them in their poverty.
Third:
I must see the poor in my midst. Yes, there absolutely is
poverty on a global scale and social justice demands that we feed the
poor in their hunger. Yet, today’s gospel reminds us that, in our
riches, we are easily blinded to the poor standing right on our
doorsteps, knocking on our doors, or seated around our tables. Unless
we are healed of our blindness, unless we see these poor, and unless we
feed their hunger with more than just the scraps that fall to the floor
from our tables, we’ve failed to care for the blessings—the poor in our
midst—whom God has entrusted to us.
Sins of omission
are real. Our need for forgiveness for our sins of omission is real,
too. Everything we possess is meaningless if—like the rich man—we
surround ourselves with everything we want but fail to provide for the
needs of the poor—the Lazarus who is our spouse, mother, father,
brother, or sister—who trusts that God alone is his help and whom God
has blessed us to provide for in their need.
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HOMILY
