Homily for the
26th Sunday of Ordinary Time
Sept. 28, 2025
Luke 16: 19-31
Assumption, Bronx
St. Francis Xavier, Bronx
The New Colossus
Emma Lazarus
Not like
the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
Some of you probably recognize that poem, a sonnet, as the inscription on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty that Emma Lazarus wrote in 1883. The statue was a gift to the U.S. from the people of France in appreciation for our love of liberty and for the openness of our country to the immigrants of the world who were fleeing war, persecution, oppression, and poverty. We offered a “golden door” to almost all comers: the “tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the homeless and tempest-tossed.”
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| Lazarus at the rich man's door (James Tissot) |
That openness to suffering humanity, to wretched tens of thousands, contrasts with the attitude of the unnamed rich man in Jesus’ parable today. The parable is addressed to the Pharisees—to men who in Jesus’ time were comfortable, respected, and influential. It seems that Jesus sympathizes with the “poor man named Lazarus” (Luke 16:20), who attains eternal rest after he dies; who is, in fact, the only character in all of Jesus’ parables given a name, a personal identity. (Don’t confuse him with Jesus’ personal friend, a real person named Lazarus, whom he raised from the dead in ch. 11 of St. John’s Gospel.)
The rich man, anonymous,
representative of many rich, influential people, lands in “the
netherworld—hades—where he was in torment” (16:23). It’s been observed often that he’s gone to
hell not because of anything he did—no murder, no adultery, no slander of other
people, no cheating in business—but because of what he didn’t do. We note that when we say the Confiteor, “I
confess,” at the beginning of Mass, repenting of what we’ve done and what we’ve
failed to do—our sins of omission.
In that sense, this parable
resembles Jesus’ parable of the Last Judgment in ch. 25 of St. Matthew’s Gospel,
when he sends “into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels”
those who neglected to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the
naked, welcome the stranger, visit and care for the sick and the prisoner
(25:41-44) because Jesus identifies with such people in need—people like
Lazarus at the rich man’s door.
“Whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for
me” (25:40,45).
But there is a sense in which the rich man is committing a positive sin, a sin of stealing. Since the earliest days of Christianity, even from the Old Testament—Jesus references the prophets twice in his parable (Luke 16:29,31)—the Church has maintained that the goods of the earth belong to all of humanity. For one’s security and personal development, everyone has a right to private property. But no one is entitled to a superabundance of wealth and property when others are hungry, unclothed, without shelter, or sick. For example, the 2d Vatican Council teaches, “God destined the earth and all it contains for all men and all people so that all created things would be shared fairly by all mankind under the guidance of justice tempered by charity.”[1] The right to private property is subordinate to the common good of society,[2] St. John Paul II writes in an encyclical, i.e., that everyone should have what he or she needs for food, shelter, basic health care, schooling, etc. In Christ’s name, Christians’ concern for the poor—quoting here another encyclical of St. John Paul II—must embrace “the immense multitudes of the hungry, the needy, the homeless, those without health care and, above all, those without hope of a better future.”[3] Just 3 days ago, Pope Leo called for everyone to contribute to the building of a more just and fraternal world, in truth and in freedom. [4]
For those with more than enuf of the world’s goods to ignore the needy is to steal from them. This applies to individuals, like the rich man in Jesus’ parable. I suggest it applies also to nations. “The golden door” that Emma Lazarus spoke of must be open to refugees from war, from famine, from the violence of drug lords, from natural disasters, from persecution, from crushing poverty—not without screening, and within limits to receive them humanely—to “welcome the stranger,” in gospel language, to tend to Lazarus at our borders today. That’s how my grandparents came to Ellis Island over 100 years ago, and many of your parents, grandparents, or other relatives, and perhaps even some of you—thru JFK rather than Ellis Island.
God forbid that our Lord Jesus should speak to us as Abraham did to the dead rich man: “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” (Luke 16:25).
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