HOMILY FOR THE 26TH SUNDAY OF THE ORDINARY TIME, YEAR C
Rev. Fr. Ezekoka Peter Onyekachi
On the previous Sunday, we read about the story of the unjust steward. And now, we encounter another story that would be a direct advance upon the thoughts there in. In simple terms, if we consider it true enough that the parable of the unjust steward teaches how riches are to be used, then the parable of the rich man and Lazarus spells out the consequences of a failure to so use them. At the end of the parable of the unjust steward, the Pharisees ridiculed Jesus (cf. Luke 16:14); and as a response to that scoffing, Jesus told them the story of the rich man and Lazarus (in today’s Gospel: Luke 16:19-31). There was a rich man, who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. The rich man has been popularly referred to as Dives, but this is not his name, as Dives is the Latin equivalent for ‘rich’. Thus, the rich man is nameless; and of course it would not be fitting to name him whom Christ left nameless. He lived to self, neglected the plight of the poor and was never mindful of Lazarus. This man might not have actively committed any evil against Lazarus. His was the sin of omission: the good he failed to do for a brother who was in need. He failed to have compassion for a fellow who was in dire need. He practically ignored Lazarus. He did nothing when he should have done something.
We have often seen how true it is that whatever has one’s affection gets one’s attention. And from the lifestyle of Dives, it could now be clearer how that affection could blind us from seeing the most necessary of things. Dives was described based on his lifestyle and his affection, and so too many a time, we are described based on the things we show our affection for. We must then constantly examine our affections, so that unlike Dives, our names as Christians would not be lost due to our sins of omissions. We are called to be affectionate to our neighbour. Lazarus was a poor man, full of sores, and desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man’s table. Lazarus, the Latinized form of Eleazar, means God is my help. This name might depict the poor man’s piety who was so helpless that he could not even ward off the street dogs that pestered him. He was always at Dives’ gate but got no help from him nor from his friends. He rather helped himself from the crumbs that fell from Dives’ table; probably the crusts of bread that were used to wipe the hands and would be thrown out afterwards. It is a shame that the rich man could not realize that Lazarus would become the measure for his goodness at the afterlife.
When they both died, and went each to his own place, the helpless Lazarus was now being invited by Dives to be helpful to him: Father Abraham, he cried, have pity…and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue. Water here might symbolize relief, to ease him of pains. By now, he would have realized how he neglected the voice of God who sent him to help relief the pains of Lazarus. He was now meant to understand that his was a finished story; pitiable indeed. And when he pleaded for a message to be sent to his five brothers, he was meant to understand that they had all they needed to sail through. Today, we still have Moses and the prophets to guide us. It is our mission to show practical care and concern to the ‘Lazarus’ around us. Indeed, and many a time, God might want to send a ‘Lazarus’ in our paths to provide us with greater opportunity to score better points for heaven. This high score might hinge on how we have ridden on those two basic wheels: one, of restriction where the First Reading (Amos 6:1a.4-7) places a red alert against the life of luxury lived without giving any consideration to others, the sort lived by Dives; and the other, of prescription where the Second Reading (1 Tim 6:11-16) shines forth a green alert for us to keep aiming at righteousness and fighting the good fight of faith.
A woman walking down the street saw an unshaven ragged elderly homeless man begging on the corner. It was very cold that day and the old man had a coat that was tattered and worn. The woman felt the need to help. She stopped and asked if he was alright. Assuming she would make fun of him, he quickly told her to go away. The woman stayed standing there, smiled and asked if he was hungry; and he hesitantly accepted. As they walked into a nearby cafeteria, the manager quickly came over and told the lady that she could not bring the homeless man into his cafe. The old man who was used to this treatment had barely started to turn away when the woman turned to the manager and said: do you know about the banking firm down the street? ‘Yes, they come in here weekly for meetings in my banquet room,’ the manager replied. She asked: do you make a good profit from them? When he sharply asked why she wanted to know, she simply said: ‘I am the CEO of that company.’ The manager did not say another word as the CEO and the old man sat down for a meal. Shocked by the CEO, the old man asked: why did you do this for me? The CEO replied: I was homeless as a little girl, and know what it really means to be neglected and rejected, and so, I promised myself never to neglect anyone in need.’ As Christians, acquainted with suffering like this woman and following after the Messiah who was himself a man of sorrows, despised, rejected and acquainted with grief (Isaiah 53:3), and by virtue of our vocation as Christians, this is the constant promise we make to ourselves. May God’s grace continually abide in us. Amen. God bless you.
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