At the end of April this year a group of prominent German intellectuals published a public letter urging the German chancellor, Olaf Scholz, to refrain from directly or indirectly contributing heavy weapons systems to Ukraine in its defence against the Russian invasion. A German governmental minister scathingly summarised the letter: “It’s basically that a little bit of occupation, rape and execution should be acceptable and that Ukraine should capitulate swiftly. I don’t think that’s right.” When I heard about the letter a question popped into my mind: what part of Germany would those intellectuals offer Mr Putin in exchange for peace? It’s so easy to tell others to sacrifice what’s dearest to them when done from a comfortable, warm home far away and with no personal consequences. I’m not trying to get political in this sermon – I recalled that incident when I read the parable in today’s gospel.
“There was a rich man who used to dress in purple and fine linen and feast magnificently every day.” This perfect description of myself always makes me a bit uneasy. This is strange because I’m actually the polar opposite. I would never call myself poor – I’m not that delusional – but neither would I say that I’m rich by any stretch of the imagination. I have a roof over my head and my basic needs are relatively secure, so I’m grateful and content with my life. And maybe this is what pulls strings in my conscience every time when I hear parables like the one in today’s gospel or Jesus’ direct challenge of any entitlement. We are strange creatures… We can be grateful for any aid, help, support or improvement in our lives but then quickly assume this is something we are entitled to. Sometimes a turn of events deprives us of certain comforts or conveniences and that makes us angry, frustrated, or sad… The list of possible bleak reactions is very long indeed. I totally get that. One morning last May, just before my annual leave, the love of my life suddenly and unexpectedly passed away. I’m talking about my fancy coffee maker. It was frustrating on a number of levels but one of the main problems (besides the now dead machine) was that a couple of days earlier I had had a fresh delivery of coffee beans – five kilos of them. I couldn’t afford a new fancy coffee maker (I’ve already told you – I’m not rich) but instead of crying to the highest heavens at that obvious injustice, I had to find an alternative way of using up all the coffee beans in my larder. So I did and at a fraction of the cost of a new fancy coffee machine. I also had to adapt my habits to the new solution. Is there a moral to this silly story? Well, my coffee tastes better now…
The attitude challenged by Jesus in today’s gospel – as well as in the first reading – is that of insensitive, uncaring and self-centred selfishness. The rich man in the parable (let’s call him Ritchie for now) – focused on exploiting his privileged life – actively ignored Lazarus and his unfortunate fate. We know that because, in the afterlife, when Ritchie asked the patriarch Abraham to ease his pains and pointed at the now happy Lazarus as a potential servant to be sent with help, he called him by his name: “Father Abraham, pity me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.” Even there, consumed by suffering, Ritchie was unable to address Lazarus directly; his sense of entitlement and privilege hadn’t died with Ritchie’s death. It was repeated with another request addressed to Abraham: “I beg you to send Lazarus to my father’s house, since I have five brothers, to give them a warning.” Selfish, self-centred and unrepentant to the end and beyond. Incidentally, please do remember this is a made-up story and don’t consider it a literal description of the afterlife.
As I mentioned earlier on, Jesus’ calls and parables like this one always make me a bit uneasy. Not because I am rich (I’m not) but because I’m acutely aware that there are people out there much less fortunate than me. On the other hand, there isn’t much I can do to completely ease their pain or troubles. Like many of us, most of the time I have to budget my expenses and carefully consider my purchases. However, just because most of us cannot comprehensively and completely lift someone else out of their troubles it doesn’t mean we cannot help a bit. Taken individually, such tiny acts of kindness might seem irrelevant. But those individual actions can be multiplied within a community or society and in that way, they can make a difference. At Holy Family church we have a small but energetic group of SVDP volunteers who distribute food parcels to those in need in the local community. I’m glad to report that recently a few youngsters have joined the group. We can support their effort by financial donations each Sunday after Mass – even if it’s pennies. Similarly, at St Joseph’s financial or non-perishable food donations can be made in order to help those in need in the Woodside area. There are many other small ways of helping others even if it means some personal discomfort or a change of our habits.
Last summer, on the hottest day of the year, an ultra-low energy consumption electric blanket was delivered to me. A few days ago I took advantage of the sales and bought a couple of very thick, warm hoodie jumpers as well as boxes of spicy tea. The thermostat at home is set to 16 degrees Celsius and 10 at night. Those purchases and changes are my preparation for the challenging winter ahead. This is in no way intended as a piece of advice; I’m not in a position to give one. But I’m sharing it with you to say that if it helps the Ukrainians to defend their country and sovereignty over this winter I’m happy to pay the price. It’s incomparably small next to theirs, paid in blood, death and destruction. They’re not just defending their own way of life; by unintended proxy, they’re defending our way of life too.
Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay