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As is the case with almost all our Sunday Scripture readings, there is a strong connection between the first reading and the gospel. Let’s start with the reading from the Book of the Prophet Amos and see how it spills into the gospel and from there, see how it spills into our lives. 

First a little background. Amos lived about 700 years before Jesus. At that time the Jews, God’s Chosen People, lived in the northern kingdom called Israel while others lived in the southern kingdom called Judah. Amos was from this southern kingdom of Judah, but God called him to go north, to Israel, and preach there. Amos was a country bumpkin, a hick, a redneck, a hillbilly, a herder of sheep. He did not come from any line of priests or prophets. He had no outward credentials except the most important one—he was appointed by God to challenge the rich and bring good news to the poor. The people in the north, in Israel, resented that this “nobody” would come from the south and tell them how to live. The northern kingdom, Israel, had its capital of Samaria and they worshipped on Mount Samaria.  Amos said in that first reading, “Woe to you who feel secure on Mount Samaria.” The southern kingdom, Judah, had Jerusalem as its capital, and these people worshipped at the Temple in Jerusalem.  Amos, in the same vein, said, “Woe to you who are at ease in Zion (another name for Jerusalem).  The northern people, the Samaritans, kicked Amos out and told him to go back to where he belonged, to the south.

Amos was critiquing his own Jewish people both in the north and in the south and reminded them that the neglect of the poor was a violation of God’s Law, the Law that called all God’s people to care for the widows, the orphans, and the poor. 

This first reading, along with the gospel reading of Lazarus and the rich man, are stories of contrast, of incredible gulfs or gaps that separate the rich from the poor. They are told to us today because our times are no different from the Biblical times. For example, United States of America, the richest country in the world, has one of the highest rates of children living in poverty anywhere on this globe.  But before we point a shaming finger at them, we need only look at our own country. 

These are stories of contrast. Last week I was in southern Germany and experienced my own story of contrast. One day the small group I was traveling with visited King Ludwig II castles. As I expected to see, these palaces were places of opulence and luxury with gold everywhere we looked. The next day, we visited the concentration camp of Dachau, the site of poverty and ruthless brutality. The prophet Amos, along with Jesus, would have something to say both at the castles and at the concentration camp.

In the spiritual life, everything begins with seeing.  First you see differently, then you feel differently about what you saw. Finally, you act differently. Contrastingly, if you don’t see, you don’t feel. And if you don’t feel, you don’t respond. The Nazis did not see “inmates” at Dachau as fellow human beings, they felt nothing for them, and as a result, they treated them like throwaways. 

The biggest mistake of the rich man in the parable was that he initially did not see the poor man at his gate. After that, it’s all downhill.  Seeing is a waking up to reality, a reality that is ever before us.  Seeing is also a choice. We’re all free to look away.

As far as I know, the rich man didn’t slap or kick Lazarus. He didn’t lecture him about getting a job nor about being lazy. He did something far worse…he ignored Lazarus. If you really want to hurt me, ignore me. Walk by me like I don’t exist. If you can’t give money to a street person, give them something far more precious—give them acknowledgment. Look them in the eye and ask them their name. Notice, Lazarus is named in this parable, but the rich man remains nameless. We are always noticed and named by God. “Inmates,” on Day 1 at the concentration camps, were stripped of their clothing, their personal possessions, and worst of all, their names. If they were acknowledged at all, it was by the number branded on their arms. 

Here are a couple of stories about noticing—of first seeing, then feeling, then responding. The most famous monk to live in modern times was a Trappist monk named Thomas Merton. Thomas died tragically in 1968 in Thailand. He was a Trappist monk belonging to the same religious order of Trappist we have here in our diocese in Rogersville. He wrote extensively and experienced and appreciated the wisdom and spirituality of the Eastern religions like Hinduism and Buddhism. The more he experienced other religions, the deeper he grew in love for Christ. One day, in his 18^th year of being a monk, Thomas Merton went into Louisville, Kentucky, not far from the monastery, to pick up provisions for the monks. For no apparent reason, Thomas stopped dead in his track on the corner of Fourth and Walnut streets in the busy shopping district of Louisville. He had an experience of God so powerful that they put a plaque on that corner recalling this experience that you can see to this day. He says of that experience, “I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun.” He finished by saying, “There are no strangers. The gate of heaven is everywhere.” Thomas Merton realized, what the rich man in today’s parable didn’t, that there was no division between the sacred world and the secular world, between the rich and the poor. There was no division between the monastery and the busy shopping district of Louisville, Kentucky. The gate of heaven is everywhere. 

A second story about seeing, feeling, and responding. Emma was a very busy woman, very successful; she would fly all over and do her work. But, like many of us, she got tired and was just looking for a little space of time and a little place of solitude to be by herself. So, on the way to the airport she decided that once there, she would find a nice little chair and wait for her flight, be by herself and read a book. So once there, she checked in and found a quiet place. A few minutes later, an old woman came by and sat down next to her. After a few minutes the old woman said, “I bet it’s cold in Chicago.” And Emma said, “Yeah, I guess so.” The old woman kept asking her questions and talking and all the while Emma answered her curtly and coldly. And finally, the old woman said, “I am going to Chicago to bring my husband back. We were married 53 years and he died suddenly. I’m bringing his body back to Chicago.” Emma put her book down and she reached out and she held the old woman’s hand. And they talked and talked, and she realized that this old woman needed someone to listen to her—even if a stranger. Soon the call was made to board the plane and so they walked together. Emma was a few rows in back of the old lady, and as she was stuffing her coat up in the overhead compartment, she saw the old lady take her seat. Soon a young man sat down next to her, and Emma heard the old lady say to the young guy, “I bet it’s cold in Chicago.”  All Emma could do was say a little prayer that the young man would listen.

Fr. Phil Mulligan