Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

The Man at Your Gate Has a Name

On this 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time, we hear one of the most vivid and challenging parables that Jesus teaches: the story of the rich man and Lazarus. It is not simply a tale about riches and poverty. It is a story about blindness and recognition, about comfort and compassion, about the eternal consequences of how we treat one another in this life.

There is a striking and perhaps unsettling detail that should stand out to us: the poor man is given a name — Lazarus. The rich man is not. In all of Jesus’ parables, this is the only time the poor man is named, while the rich man — the man who had power, influence, and visibility in society — remains anonymous.

This is no accident. Having a name means having identity. It means being seen, known, and loved. Lazarus has dignity, even though the world ignored him. And in contrast, the rich man, who had everything, loses his identity in the end — perhaps because he ignored the dignity of another.

And yet, the rich man knew Lazarus’ name. At the gate of his house, he had passed him countless times. He saw him. He knew who he was. And he did nothing. Even in the afterlife, the rich man calls out, ‘Father Abraham, send Lazarus…’ Not only does he remember him, he still treats him like a servant — as someone to relieve his own suffering. His heart, even in torment, remains unchanged.

This is where the parable challenges all of us today. The sin of the rich man was not his wealth. It was his blindness. It was his ability to see Lazarus suffering and to choose inaction — to pass by, to shut his heart.

Who is the Lazarus at your gate?

He may not be lying on the street or covered in sores. He might be your neighbor battling loneliness, a classmate who is constantly excluded, a co-worker hiding their pain behind a smile, or a family member who is struggling but too proud to ask for help. He may even be someone much farther off whose suffering we have the means to ease — even in small ways — if we simply looked with the eyes of mercy.

The first reading today from the prophet Amos gives us a wake-up call. He criticizes those ‘lying on beds of ivory,’ enjoying luxury while the nation around them collapses. And in the second reading, St. Paul urges Timothy to ‘pursue righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.’ These are not just private virtues — they are the foundation for building a just and compassionate society.

So how do we live this out? How do we, each in our own state of life, respond to the Lazarus at our gate?

To the youth: You have energy, creativity, and generous hearts. Use your voice to speak for those who go unheard. Volunteer in your community. Include those who feel invisible at school. Use social media to raise awareness, not just to promote yourself. Be a friend to someone who is on the margins.

To adults: You are often the ones with resources and influence. Do not let busyness blind you to the needs around you. Offer your time, your talents, your treasure. Get involved in outreach. Be attentive at your workplace, in your parish, in your own neighborhood to those who are hurting.

To the elderly: You are not forgotten — and you can still give incredibly. Maybe you no longer can serve with your hands, but you can serve with your heart. Pray intentionally for those who are poor. Share your wisdom and heart with the young. Pick up the phone and reach out to someone who might feel alone.

To those who are homebound: You are still part of the mission of the Church. Your patience in suffering is a gift, a witness. Offer your daily struggles for those who bear heavier burdens. Maybe write letters or call a friend in need. You still have a vital role in bringing Christ to others.

And to those here today going through your own hardships — who may feel like Lazarus yourself — know this: God sees you. God knows your name. You are not forgotten. Your suffering has value, and you are held in the arms of a loving Father.

Let us remember the words of St. John Chrysostom, one of the great Fathers of the Church: ‘If you cannot find Christ in the beggar at the church door, you will not find Him in the chalice.’ Sobering words. They remind us that our worship means nothing if it does not draw us to love real people in real need.

So I ask again: Who is the Lazarus at your gate? And what are you going to do about it?

The Mass we celebrate is not an escape from the world — it is a mission to go back into the world with Christ’s eyes, heart, and hands. Let us not wait until it’s too late like the rich man. Let us act now, while we can still cross that gate, while we can still bridge the gulf of indifference.

Because, the man at your gate has a name — and Christ is waiting for your response.