Any
way you look at it, the readings for the past two or three months have
been something of a full court press. Today’s are no exception.
The prophet Amos sets the stage and the tone.
Amos was prophesying during the long reign of King Jeroboam. It was a
time of great economic prosperity for the kingdom of Israel. Not
unlike our time, the wealthy had become super-wealthy and were living
luxurious lifestyles miles ahead of the poor. Along with their
high living came a kind of moral blindness, a selfish isolation, and a
steady collapse of moral standards. The great commandments of
God’s Law about practicing justice and caring for the poor, the widows,
and the orphans were all but forgotten. The rich grew richer and
the poor grew poorer.
That’s the context for today’s passage from
Amos where we heard him railing against the comfortable and the
complacent, “lying upon beds of ivory, stretched comfortably on their
couches…drinking wine from giant goblets and anointing themselves with
the best oils.” Later in the prophecy, Amos will issue a stern warning
that those who amass their fortunes and balance their books on the backs
of the poor will one day be held to account by God.
The reading from Amos was perfectly paired with
the parable that Jesus told about the rich man and Lazarus. Did you
notice that the poor man of the parable has a name – Lazarus - but the
rich man goes nameless. This is surprising because, whose name do
you know better, Bill Gates, Jeff Bezos, or the beggar on the street
corner? We tend to know the rich person’s name, don’t we?
The poor one’s? Maybe not so much. But in Jesus’
parable, it’s the poor man who has a name while the rich man goes
unnamed. There has to be a message there – not that the poor are more
important than the rich; no, but the message could be that the poor, who
often go nameless, do, in fact, have names and maybe we ought to get to
know them.
It’s worth noting, too, that in the parable,
it’s from the rich man that we learn the poor man’s name. “Father
Abraham,” he said, “have pity on me. Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his
finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am suffering in these flames.”
The sad thing is that it was only after he died that the rich man
actually used Lazarus’ name. When he was alive, while Lazarus lay in
misery at his door, the rich man didn’t bother with his name. He looked
the other way. And we’re left wondering if the rich man had bothered to
call Lazarus by name, would he have come to regard him as a brother, a
fellow human being, and not just as ‘that beggar!’ We don’t know.
All we do know is that his ignoring of Lazarus had more than passing
consequences. It had eternal consequences.
My friends, this story touches us in a most
personal way. Many of us are that rich man. I know I am. I thought of
that when I read a story in the Times this week that only two major
cities in this country have a higher median income than Seattle. So,
this parable is timely. And many of you take it very much to heart. You
do. You not only don’t ignore the Lazarus you meet on the street, you
actually go out to meet him, or her, and you do everything you can to
minister to Lazarus as you volunteer at the winter shelter, the
Cathedral Kitchen, the Solanus Casey Center, the St. Vincent de Paul
Society; the Immigrant Assistance program, the mental health ministry,
or you make sandwiches for the homeless. You call Lazarus by name and
you minister to him.
And some of you who are blessed with
considerable means and who might be expected to line up with the rich
man of the parable, are not at all like him. You are aware of the plight
of Lazarus. You don’t look the other way. Instead, you very
intentionally commit significant resources to reach out to him.
But Lazarus is not only at our personal
doorstep, he is also at the world’s doorstep. There is a global Lazarus.
No one has been more outspoken about this than Pope Francis. On his
trips around the world he has made it a point to personally witness the
tragic plight of thousands of migrants and refugees fleeing war,
terrorism, and poverty, and he has challenged the world community to
reach out to these suffering brothers and sisters with aid and asylum
and hospitality. But as you know, his is not a very popular message
among some. It’s highly controversial. And from more and more world
leaders, including, sadly, our own, instead of hospitable and welcoming
words, we are hearing exclusionary words, harsh and heartless words,
words calculated to stir up fear – fear of the other, fear of the
foreigner, fear of Lazarus.
We should be grateful for Pope Francis. For
him, this is about morality, not politics. To quote him: “These are our
brothers and sisters, they are not pawns on the chessboard of humanity,
they are not disposable. Their cry rises up to God. We must find ways to
welcome them….”
My friends, I’m aware of the complexity of this
issue. I read and watch the news as you do. But welcoming the stranger
and reaching out to people fleeing for their lives is basic humanity and
it’s in our DNA as Christians – from as far back as the Holy Family’s
Flight into Egypt. And in the swirl of overheated rhetoric, as we form
our consciences about what is the right thing, the moral thing, with
regard to immigrants and refugees, we will do well to keep the teaching
of Pope Francis in mind and to remember that they want the same things
we do, the same thing our parents and grandparents wanted when they came
to this land: safe haven for themselves and their children: freedom,
food, shelter, medical care, a way to make a living, a place to call
home.
My friends, Lazarus is at our door. And it
matters mightily whether we care for him or her. It matters now and it
matters eternally!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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