My dear brothers and sisters in the Immaculate Heart of Mary, we come to this altar still carrying the silence of our Holy Hour. Just moment...
My dear brothers and sisters in the Immaculate Heart of Mary, we come to this altar still carrying the silence of our Holy Hour. Just moments ago, we knelt before the Blessed Sacrament, reflecting on how the Seven Last Words of Jesus are the ultimate lived expression of the Beatitudes. We saw how "Blessed are the merciful" was whispered in "Father, forgive them," and how "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness" was cried out in "I thirst."
But as we transition from the monstrance to this Mass, the Word of God brings us a sobering reality check. It asks us: What do we do with what we have seen?
In our Gospel today, we meet a man who lived in a literal "Holy Hour" of luxury every day. He dressed in purple and dined sumptuously. And right at his doorstep lay Lazarus. The tragedy of the Rich Man wasn't that he kicked Lazarus or shouted at him. The tragedy was that he ignored him. He had developed a "tortuous heart," as Jeremiah describes—a heart so wrapped in its own comfort that it became blind to the flesh and blood suffering just inches away.
I remember a story of a woman who lived in a busy city, much like ours. Every day on her way to work, she passed a homeless man sitting by the subway entrance. She was a "good" person—she went to Adoration, she prayed the Rosary. One rainy evening, as she rushed past him, she heard him cough. It wasn't a loud cough, but in that second, she remembered the words of Jesus: "I thirst." She stopped. She didn't just give him a coin; she looked him in the eyes and asked his name. He said, "I’m David." For the first time in years, someone had acknowledged he was a person, not a piece of the scenery. She realized that the "chasm" the Gospel talks about doesn't just start in the afterlife; we build it here, brick by brick, every time we choose not to see.
To help us bridge that chasm today, let us focus on our three foundation words:
Recognize, Relate, Respond
First, we must Recognize. The Rich Man’s sin was a lack of recognition. He saw a "beggar," but he never saw "Lazarus." When we leave this church today, who is the Lazarus at your door? Is it the lonely elderly neighbor? Is it the child who is acting out because they are starving for attention? Is it the helper in your home whose name you know, but whose burdens you don't? To have the Heart of Mary is to have eyes that truly see.
Second, we must Relate. We often keep our distance because we are afraid that if we get too close to someone’s pain, it will cost us something. It cost Jesus everything. On the Cross, He related to our humanity so deeply that He took our sins upon Himself. To relate means to step across the gate and realize that Lazarus isn't "them"—Lazarus is our brother.
Finally, we must Respond. Jeremiah tells us that the one who trusts in the Lord is like a tree planted by the waters; it does not fear the heat, and its leaves stay green. A heart rooted in God cannot remain passive. Our faith isn't just a feeling we get during a Holy Hour; it is a "change in action." If we were moved by the Seven Last Words tonight, then our response must be to live the Beatitudes tomorrow.
My dear parishioners, the "great chasm" in the Gospel was fixed only after death. But while we are breathing, while we are gathered here at this table, that chasm is still bridgeable. Don't wait until the end of the story to realize that God was sitting at your doorstep.
As we receive the Eucharist—the Bread of Life—may it heal our blindness. May we leave this place not just comforted, but transformed, ready to turn our "Amen" into an act of love.
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