Charity. Rich Man, Lazarus (2025-09-28, 26th Sun)

 __  Click here for Audio of Homily__ 

__  Click here for You Tube channel __

 Homily on Luke 16:19–31

[01, 02] A few years ago, I was traveling with my parents from Newark Airport to Florida. We were originally scheduled to be on the same flight, seated together, but—24 hours ahead of time—weather delays and rescheduling separated us. My mother and father were moved to an earlier flight, while I was left with a later departure.

I tried to convince my dad that it would be better to stay together, but he was determined to keep his earlier ticket. He asked me, “Why would I fly later when I have an earlier flight?” To me, this was a mystery greater than the Trinity at the time!

At the airport, we arrived all together but still had separate tickets. I was waiting and hoping to get on standby when I recognized someone—an old acquaintance named Richard, who also happened to know my father. Richard was on the same flight as my parents, and when I explained the situation, he agreed to keep an eye on them. In the end, through a series of changes, all of us—Richard and his wife, my parents, and I—ended up on the same flight after all.

What touched me most was the relief of being recognized in a crowded place, and how much comfort it brought to know someone generous who was looking out for us.

[03] Gospel Connection

In today’s Gospel, Lazarus is the one who longs for generosity, to be seen, to be recognized. The rich man walks by him every day, but never really sees him. The poor man is invisible—until after death, when the angels finally carry him to Abraham’s side.

Jesus tells this story to remind us that there is a great chasm between rich and poor, between self-absorption and true charity—on earth as it is in heaven, in this life and the next. And there is also a chasm between being connected with God and being cut off from Him.

[04] Prayer for the Dead and Purgatory

Tradition often interprets the rich man as being in hell, cut off by the great fixed chasm or abyss. Yet the parable also invites us to reflect more deeply on judgment, mercy, and purification. The Church does not define the exact fate of every soul. What we can say with confidence is that prayer for the dead is always a legitimate work of mercy (Catechism 1479).

 

One of my seminary professors used to say: in a world that believes everything is a gray area, we Catholics believe in one great gray area—Purgatory. Purgatory is that hopeful place of purification, the “gray area” that prepares us to see God face to face.

 

Thomas Aquinas describes it as “a fire that purifies… so that the soul may be made worthy of heaven.” Pope John Paul II reminds us that “the souls… are helped by the acceptable sacrifice of the altar.” Purgatory is not hopeless punishment—it is the mercy of God cleansing and making us ready for His presence.

[05.new – polished] Prayer for the Living

But prayer is not only for those who have gone before us—it is also for the living, who still walk in struggle and conversion.

The Catechism tells us that the faithful are called to pray for the conversion of sinners (CCC 1032).

Think of the many “jailhouse conversions” throughout history—even Saint Paul himself, who once persecuted the Church but was transformed by Christ. Paul later said,  “By the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain.”  Even in weakness, Christ’s grace is enough.

We pray for those imprisoned, hardened, or far from God’s mercy—because no one is beyond the reach of grace. We also recognize our own “purifying fires”—the trials and setbacks that can make us more humble, compassionate, and holy.

Do we see the beauty hidden in the struggles of family life and in the small acts of charity toward our neighbor? The rich man missed this. Though comfortable, he was already imprisoned—blind to the love right in front of him.

[06] The Contrast in the Parable

The contrast in the parable is stark. The rich man has status, name, and recognition—he would fly first class. Lazarus has nothing—he could not even get through airport security or get scraps from the table. Yet it is Lazarus who receives the eternal welcome, while the rich man faces eternal isolation.

The danger is not wealth itself, but the blindness that wealth—or comfort, or self-sufficiency—can bring.

The Catechism teaches us that God allows differences among us so that we may practice generosity and mutual enrichment (CCC 1937). Those with more are not meant to look away, but to share. Those with less are not forgotten, but are part of God’s plan to remind us of our need for one another.

 

[07] A Personal Confession

I’ll confess that I sometimes fail at this. I rush through stores or errands without really seeing the person in front of me. That habit has consequences—it reflects the same blindness as the rich man.

Jesus warns us, “You cannot serve both God and mammon.” Mammon isn’t just money—it’s whatever we cling to and serve as if it were ultimate. Wealth, comfort, even productivity—if these become idols, they blind us to God and neighbor.

[08.new – polished] Practical Steps

So if blindness is our danger, how do we begin to see differently? Let me suggest four simple steps—for me as well:

1.  Notice  the “Lazarus” at the checkout, the office desk, or the parking lot.

2.  Listen —offer a word, a smile, an attentive ear, a word of thanks.

3.  Share —time, talent, or resources, however small.

4.  Pray —for the dead, trusting in God’s mercy, and for the living, that hearts may be converted.

The rich man learned too late, but it doesn’t have to be too late for us. The “Lazarus” who needs our love may not be lying at a gate, but sitting on the bus, working in the cubicle next to us, or behind the counter at the store.

And here’s the challenge: we often fear that we’ll run out—of time, of money, of energy. So we conserve. But do we also conserve on love—holding back until we’re loved first? The truth is, all generosity comes from God. His love never runs out, and the more we give it away, the more we receive.

 [09] Conclusion

That is our calling: to recognize one another, to depend on God, and to live the kind of love that crosses every chasm.

As Thomas Merton put it so beautifully:  “Love can only be kept by being given away.”