THE TWENTY-SIXTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME – C

Amos 6:1a, 4-7
1Timothy 6:11-16
Luke: 16:19-31

Dear Jesus,

I wonder if there is any other parable that you told that I make more assumptions about than this parable of Dives and Lazarus. I make assumptions about Dives, the rich man in the story. You say that he dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day. That’s all you tell me. But I think surely there must have been more of which he was guilty. Look how he winds up on the other side of that great chasm that separates him from Abraham and confines him to a place of torment. Maybe you forgot to mention that he was a thief or a lecher. Surely he must have been abusive to his family or his hired servants. At least he must have been a glutton with all that rich food and fine wine each day. But while gluttony is a capital sin, I don’t think it is that bad to merit by itself eternal damnation. So, I combine gluttony with a few of those other evils so that I can see the justification for Dives’ final end.

Of course you don’t tell me that much about Lazarus either. And just as I do for Dives, I do for Lazarus only the opposite. Surely there must have been virtues there that you meant to share and so to inspire to go and do likewise. Lazarus must have spent hours in prayer, never complaining about his difficult straits. He continually must have borne a cheerful countenance giving evidence that he took up his cross everyday. Did he habitually put others before himself? Did he regularly reach out to those less fortunate than himself to try to ease their burden? But none of that is in the parable either. You only tell me that covered with sores he sat in view of Dives’ table and would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. The dogs that licked his sores would do that, as was the custom.

Where’s the sin? Where’s the virtue? Or am I missing the point of your story? But you are talking to Pharisees when you tell this parable, to those who were students of the Law and scrupulously tried to follow it. They were the ones who argued about which law was the most important and who knew that living by the law was to live in the Covenant. It occurs to me that Lazarus, if he was covered with sores, might have been a leper. If Dives had had any contact with the leper, he would have incurred ritual uncleanness. He would not have been able to enter into worship before being cleansed himself. Would that have been his excuse? Or was his sin that he didn’t even notice Dives lying at his door. But if Lazarus lay there every day would not Dives be excused of his dereliction? It would be like a clock ticking in a room. It’s not long before you don’t hear the clock anymore. In fact, you won’t even notice when the ticking stops.

I can see you shaking your head in disbelief as you read this. Are you wondering if I will ever get the point, ever hear the message and allow my heart to be broken by it? It’s only then that I will know that attitude needed if one is to approach the Table, if one is to celebrate Eucharist and share in the meal.

I’m afraid of the implications that are beginning to prick my conscience. I’d be very grateful if you would tell me that I have it wrong now, too. What if I were Dives? What if I am Dives? Are you saying that the abhorrent evil is not to notice? Is it enough to merit eternal separation from God that one not see the beggar at the door? Surely there must be other attendant sins like those I listed above. Mustn’t there be? Of course if I don’t see then I won’t act. I’ll be able to go to my bed at the end of each day with a clear conscience because I didn’t notice the plight of the beggar. On the other hand, how could I live if I did notice? How would I ever be able to sleep at night if I let another’s suffering into my life?

Is it grace that would empower me to understand? There is something nagging in the pit of my stomach. I am afraid. It has to do with what I am beginning to suspect about Lazarus which is much more important than anything I need to know about Dives. Lazarus is you, isn’t he? Whom did you come for? Isaiah promised that God would tend to the needs of the poor, the blind, the lame and the hungry. But it wasn’t enough for you to respond to their needs. You took on their flesh, and in taking on their flesh, took on their plight. If Dives ignores Lazarus he ignores you. That’s it, isn’t it? You are daring me to go there and see if I can ever be the same again.

I remember reading about an exchange between Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta and Malcolm Muggeridge who at the time considered himself to be an agnostic. He was visiting Mother Teresa at the time she was becoming renowned for her ministry to India’s poorest of the poor. Mr. Muggeridge was trying to get to the bottom of the woman’s mystery and kept asking her why she did what she did. They were sitting in a death house, a place where they dying were cared for in their final hours by Mother Teresa and her sisters. Somewhat exasperated by Mr. Muggeridge’s repeated question, Mother took the hand of a dying man, one who otherwise would have died on Calcutta’s busy streets, and she said, in effect, when I minister to someone like this poor man, I minister to Christ on his cross. You know that not long after that now famous interview, Malcolm Muggeridge found again the faith of his childhood, came into the Catholic Church and lived that faith to the day he died.

Now I am remembering an encounter in Africa. I stood on the street outside a bank in Kampala. In a moment, a boy clung to my feet as others grabbed at him and tried to pull him away. I saw blood flowing down the side of his face and more flowing down his bear calf. I remember cringing from the blood and wondering what kind of disease I could pick up should I touch him. He looked up at me and sobbed: Please, Uncle, please help me? But what could I have done? I watched as the others pulled him away from me and dragged him into an alley. I could hear the cries, Uncle, Uncle, long after the boy was out of sight. What could I have done?

This is too much. Will you now tell me that boy was you? But if you do, how shall I ever sleep again?

And then there is the question of the separating chasm.

Sincerely,

Didymus