There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen
and dined sumptuously each day.
Most of us are in gifted with an even greater abundance than this rich man. What passed for wealth in the day of Jesus now looks trivial compared to what many of us enjoy in modern times. When was the last time we impressed someone with purple garments, or even by impressive feasting? To stand out as rich in our times one needs multiple cars, vacation homes, or a private island. Yet the excess of such individuals in no way diminishes our abundance, which would astonish anyone from the time of Jesus.
And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores,
who would gladly have eaten his fill of the scraps
that fell from the rich man's table.
Dogs even used to come and lick his sores.
Our tables too have so much that scraps fall from them without our notice. Our resources are so abundant that we miss opportunities to put them to good use just because our sense of proportion is disordered. We look for opportunities to do great acts of charity but often neglect the present needs that can be met merely by being more attentive and responsible about how we employ our excess. What are these scraps of ours over which we could be better stewards?
And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus
Another helpful question to consider is: 'What needs do we neglect because they are so close to us that we fail to notice them?' Whom have we seen in need day in and day out until we ourselves became numb and desensitized to that need. Perhaps once we did notice Lazarus, and offered him some of our abundance. But as he remained on our door, apparently no better for it, did we manage to forget about him and go about our lives? If Lazarus remains on our door day in a day out might we not be thankful that we get to help again and again, or even look for better or more creative ways to elevate him from his misery? Or would we instead eventually shy away because it was too distasteful to us, seeing the sores, the dogs, and the abject poverty?
Abraham replied, 'My child,
remember that you received what was good during your lifetime
while Lazarus likewise received what was bad;
but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented.
Let us do good with the good we have been given while we are still able to do so. The poor are treasured by God and he himself can more than make up for their privation by embracing them for all eternity. But if we have chosen to fill ourselves with temporary things, clinging to them as though we might have them forever, what will there be for us when our dishonest wealth fails? Let us use this wealth to make friends who will welcome us, by their testimony of our love for them, into eternal dwellings. We are called to have an eternal perspective, investing in love, since it never fails, rather than building larger and larger silos for worldly wealth.
'If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets,
neither will they be persuaded
if someone should rise from the dead.'
We must allow the Scriptures to inform us, to teach us the priorities of God's own heart so that they might, in time, become our own. When God became man he became poor and among the poor so that in him all might become truly rich. We must let ourselves become at least poor in spirit, detached enough from the things of earth to welcome Jesus himself. When we begin to do this we will also begin to embrace the poor, to notice Lazarus, and to put our scraps to better use. We will find that when we do so we are feeding Jesus himself.
“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ (see Matthew 25:40).
The wealth of the rich man is nothing compared to true spiritual wealth found by those who put their trust in the Lord, wealth that outlasts the changing vicissitudes of this life.
Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD,
whose hope is the LORD.
He is like a tree planted beside the waters
that stretches out its roots to the stream:
It fears not the heat when it comes,
its leaves stay green;
In the year of drought it shows no distress,
but still bears fruit.
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