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18th Sunday of Ordinary Time
8-4-19
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Rich Man & Harvest
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One day long ago, someone interrupted Jesus
with a question any of us might find ourselves asking. Parents had died
and there is an estate to settle. Apparently, one of the brothers felt
he was not getting a fair deal from a sibling. “Teacher, tell my brother
to divide the family inheritance with me.” In other words, “Tell my big
brother to give me my fair share.” It sounds like a reasonable request,
but Jesus saw through the question that suggests life is about what we
get. Like He did so often, He told a story. One year the land of a rich
man yielded an extraordinary crop. Most would see this as a blessing.
The wealthy man soon began to obsess about managing the windfall.
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We have to understand that the Jews of
Jesus’ day believed that whatever the human contribution in the process
of farming, it is the land, the earth that is the source of food. That
abundant crop like the land itself is a gift of God. But note what the
man in the story says, “What should I do for I have no place to store my
crops?” The very phrasing of the question shows the consequences of
forgetting that the land and crops are divine gifts. The man has also
lost the sense of stewardship that flows from that perception. He has
forgotten what is written in the Torah—that the goods of the earth are
meant to meet the needs of all.
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Not simply the desires of those who happen to own the land. He is always using the word ME or MINE.
For him, the unexpected abundance is not a boom to the community but
for his benefit alone. He goes on, “I will build larger barns. And there
I will store my grain and my goods and I will say to myself ‘You have
ample goods laid up for many years; relax, drink and be merry.’” No
mention of anyone benefitting from all this abundance. It is a question
of my grain, my goods, and the fact is this man is pursuing an interior
monologue in a vacuum of selfishness.
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It is almost humorous when we read, “I will
say to myself-eat, drink and be merry,” because in the next sentence God
says to him, “You fool, this very night your life will be required of
you.” Surprise, surprise, a forgotten auditor is heard from. God, the
Creator, telling him that this very night they will foreclose on this
self of yours. He had forgotten that his life, his self, was also a
temporary gift. This man had allowed his greed to destroy all his
relationships—with the earth, with his community, with himself and with
God. We might want to ask ourselves the question, “Do we see a little of
ourselves in that man?” Every one of us has an appointment with death,
an appointment that cannot be cancelled.
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One day all we have owned will belong to
someone else. All we have created will pass to others. Someone will give
your clothes away to charity, divide up your things and make other uses
of your money. When your days are no more, what will others remember as
your lasting and loving identity? Do you remember the story of the rich
man and Lazarus?
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Note one thing well; this story does not
attack the rich man’s riches. He does have a problem, but it is not that
he is rich; it is that he does not care. He is blind to the poor man
sitting at his gate every day covered with ulcers who is too weak to
keep the dogs from licking his sores. He begs for the crumbs from the
rich man’s table. The first time he sees Lazarus is after they both die.
And the rich man looks up from hell and sees Lazarus in heaven. One of
the unrecognized perils of wealth is that it can blind you.
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You do not see what you ought to see, whom
you ought to see. You may be thinking, “This homily does not apply to
me, I am not rich and never will be. In fact, I am just about making
it.” We are all rich in some way: talent, time, compassion, or rich in
education. We all have some gift to give away. Are there any beggars at
your doorstep? It is so easy to spread my table for the beautiful
people, for the educated and sophisticated, for the smart, and for our
kind; but what of the others? The disadvantaged emotionally,
spiritually, and physically, the unattractive; those I simply cannot
stand. Those covered with sores whether moral or physical; they may be
members of my own family.
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They beg not for crumbs or even my visa
card. They ask for a gift less expensive and yet more costly—what only a
person can give, not a bank. They ask for my precious time; for
compassion even more than competence; for understanding and ears to
listen; eyes to meet, hands to touch, a smile, even a tear. Today’s
gospel is not a condemnation of wealth, position or power—but it does
tell us how we should live.
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Love people, use things. Do not hug anything
that cannot hug you back. Make sure that no one has to beg for crumbs
from your table or a kind word from your lips. You may never be rich,
but it is still so easy to be greedy. And what will count when we die is
what kind of person we became during life. Never love possessions, use
them; never use people, love them. And always remember, there is only
one God and you are not it.
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| Yours in Christ, |
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| Fr. Bob Warren, SA |
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