26th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025

 When I was in New York City recently for a conference with our bookkeeper Jackie Black and Starr Burke from our Outreach Center.  

Our first night there the three of us went out for a snack in the evening. 

On the way back to our hotel, we passed a man sleeping on a park bench. 

One of us asked, “Is that man homeless?” I answered, “Yes, that is his home for tonight.”

And then, suddenly, we looked away and hurried back to the hotel without mentioning the man again.

As I’ve reflected on that moment, I realized something important: 

• We talked about him, but not to him. 

• We noticed his situation, but we didn’t know his name, his story, or even say hello. 

Instead we looked away and walked away faster toward our warm and safe hotel.

He was right there in front of us, but in a way, he was invisible. 

In that moment, he was Lazarus at our doorstep.

That’s what happens in today’s Gospel. The rich man wasn’t violent toward Lazarus. He didn’t chase him away. 

He just ignored him. He stepped over him. He stepped around him. He looked the other way.
That’s what indifference looks like. And indifference can be just as deadly as cruelty.

Notice something else: Lazarus has a name, and the rich man does not. 

Lazarus means “God has helped.” He is remembered, known, and carried by the angels to the bosom of Abraham. 

The rich man remains nameless. And maybe that’s the point — because the rich man could be any one of us who fails to see the person in need right in front of us.

The Gospel reminds us that the forgotten, the overlooked, the invisible — all have names. 

They are not “the poor” or “the homeless” or “the needy.” They are children of God, known and loved, each with a name.

And here in our parishes, we do see Lazarus. We see him in our 

• soup kitchens, 

• in our Outreach Center, 

• in our Rogers House and St. Vincent de Paul Stores, 

• in the food drives, 

• in the meals we prepare, 

• in the visits we make to the sick and lonely. 

These aren’t just programs. They are encounters with Christ in the Lazaruses at our gates. For that, I thank God, and I thank you.

But this Gospel pushes us further. Because not everyone can serve in the soup kitchen or volunteer at the Outreach Center. 

Yet every one of us has a Lazarus at our own doorstep. 

• It may be a neighbor who lives alone, 

• a coworker who feels ignored, 

• a classmate who doesn’t fit in, 

• a family member we’ve grown distant from. 

Every day, God places people in our path who long to be seen, acknowledged, called by name.

And today is also Priesthood Sunday. It reminds me that this is at the very heart of what priesthood is meant to be. 

A priest is called to stand at the gate, to notice the Lazaruses others might step over, step around, or look away from, and to make sure they are seen, named, and loved. 

That’s the vocation — not just to speak about Christ, but to help people recognize Christ in the Lazaruses around us. 

And I want to thank you, my parish family, for the ways you support me and all our priests in trying to live that call.

So here’s the challenge for all of us — priests and people alike: Will we step over them? Will we step around them? Will we look the other way?

Or will we stop, look, and see? Will we recognize that every Lazarus has a name, a dignity, and a story?

For when we see Lazarus, we see Christ himself!