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There’s a saying we sometimes use when we want to justify ourselves: “Well, at least I didn’t do anything wrong.” We say that line as though it were a moral shield or spiritual mulligan, as though simply avoiding sin is the same thing as doing good. But today’s readings challenge us to go deeper. They remind us that holiness is not found in being comfortable or in patting ourselves on the back because we didn’t hurt anyone. Holiness is found in using what God has given us, our time, our talents, our resources, for the sake of others, especially those who are struggling, overlooked, or pushed to the margins.
The prophet Amos doesn’t mince words in the first reading. He condemns the people of Zion who are lying around on ivory couches, feasting on fine meats, drinking wine by the bowlful, and slathering themselves with the best oils. None of those things are wrong in themselves. The problem is that they are so wrapped up in their comfort, self-care, and enjoyment that they are blind to the collapse of their nation and the suffering of their people. Their comfort has made them complacent and blind to the needs of others.
Then Jesus gives us the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. You know the story. The rich man is clothed in purple and fine linen and dines lavishly every day. Just outside his door lies Lazarus, a poor man covered in sores, who goes hungry and is ignored day after day.
Notice something important: the parable never says that the rich man harmed Lazarus. He didn’t kick him, mock him, or have him thrown out by the police. He did something even worse; he acted as if he didn’t exist. And that’s the point. The sin of Dives is not cruelty but indifference. His wealth and comfort blinded him to the humanity of the man at his doorstep and hardened his heart to the point he no longer noticed Lazarus as a fellow human being.
Even after death, the Rich Man still doesn’t see Lazarus as a person. When he cries out from the flames, he doesn’t speak to Lazarus directly. He asks Abraham to send Lazarus as though he was a servant. “Send Lazarus to bring me water. Send Lazarus to warn my brothers.” The rich man can only think of Lazarus as someone to use, never as someone to love.
That’s the danger of comfort and complacency. They shrink our hearts until we no longer see the people in front of us as fellow children of God and brothers and sisters in Christ.
Here’s where this parable hits home for us. By any global measure, each household of Incarnate Word would land in the top 10-15% of the world’s most materially blessed. We may not feel like high rollers when bills come due, but we are among the most extravagant people who have ever lived in history. We have abundant food, clean water, sturdy shelter, endless entertainment, and countless conveniences at our fingertips.
Those things aren’t bad, but they can lull us into a dangerous blindness and complacency if we’re not careful. We can sit on our couches, scrolling, distracted, listless, while never really seeing the “Lazarus” at our own gate. If we asked God to open our eyes, I think we would all be shocked by how close the poor, the lonely, the addicted, the desperate, the suffering are to our doorsteps. Of particular scandal for us today is that such a wealthy and well-fed society continues to allow its unborn to be slaughtered and so many other children to languish in foster care without a forever family. Are there areas of blindness or indifference that we have accepted in our own life, especially as it relates to his children?
Jesus is clear: discipleship is not measured by what we avoided doing, but by what we actively shared. In Matthew 25, at the Last Judgment, the questions are simple: Did you feed the hungry? Did you clothe the naked? Did you welcome the stranger? Did you visit the sick and imprisoned? Not once does Jesus ask, “Did you avoid hurting anyone?” The measure of a Christian life is not just avoiding sin. The measure is love in action.
And here’s the hopeful part: every one of us has something to share. Some of us have money. Others have time. Others have talents or education or simply a listening ear. Some have social influence or positions of leadership. Every single blessing God has entrusted to us is given not just for our own comfort, but for the good of others.
The rich man in the parable begged Abraham to send someone from the dead to warn his brothers. Abraham’s answer was chilling: “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.” And yet, for us, someone has risen from the dead. Christ himself is risen, and he is speaking this parable to us today. The only question is: will we be persuaded? Or will we let the comforts of life dull our hearts and blind our eyes from noticing the Lazarus at our gate?
The path of holiness is rarely comfortable. It means getting up from the couch, interrupting our routine, looking beyond ourselves, and giving until it costs something. But in the end, nothing we share is ever lost. It becomes treasure in heaven, it becomes a bond with Christ himself, who promised us: “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
So, let’s not settle for the bare minimum of “doing no harm.” Let’s ask ourselves instead: Who is the Lazarus at my doorstep? What blessings has God given me that I can put at the service of others? And then, we must act. Because comfort and complacency may be the enemies of holiness, but love and generosity are at the very heart of what it means to follow Christ.
