Readings 092825
Blessed be God.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
Come, Holy Spirit.
Fill us with joy, and set us ablaze with the fire of your presence.
My grandchildren are all excited about going to PSR.
They come home with stories, songs, and prayers—
little treasures of faith wrapped in childlike wonder.
My youngest granddaughter, just in first grade,
loves to sing the Gloria.
She belts it out with joy,
as if the angels themselves were joining in.
And when she misbehaves in school,
she prays.
She tells God about her sins.
She confesses with a heart wide open.
My oldest granddaughter, in second grade,
prays for her brothers when they’re scared.
She helps her four-year-old brother learn how to pray—
folding his hands, whispering words of comfort.
That is love.
Simple. Childlike.
Given from the heart.
Love of God.
Love of others.
And it made me wonder—
how often do we forget that kind of love?
How often do we build gates between ourselves and others?
My friends,
Unlike the stories of my grandchildren, today’s readings are not gentle.
They are not polite.
They are not comfortable.
They are a prophetic wake-up call—
a holy alarm ringing in the soul.
Amos cries out against the complacent:
those stretched out on ivory beds,
feasting and singing,
blind to the suffering of their own people.
And Jesus tells the story of a rich man—
dressed in fine linen, dining in luxury—
while Lazarus, covered in sores,
lies starving at his gate.
There was a gate between them.
A physical gate, yes.
But more deeply—a spiritual one.
A gate of comfort. A gate of indifference.
A gate of blindness.
And I wonder…
how many gates have we built?
Look around.
Really look.
Who is near you, within arm’s reach?
A spouse you’ve been too busy to love.
A teenager you’ve never taken time to understand.
A child who hardly knows your voice.
A coworker you’ve written off as angry or antisocial.
Maybe even the person sitting next to you now.
They cry out—
Love me.
Love me in spite of all.
And yet, in the middle of all this,
my grandchildren remind me what love looks like
when it’s not complicated.
When it’s not guarded.
When it’s not measured or earned.
They pray for each other.
They sing to God.
They confess their faults.
They help one another pray.
They open the gate.
But let’s be honest.
Most of us have fallen short of that high ideal.
We don’t love like saints.
Not naturally.
Not at first.
Even our Christian love, in the beginning, is selfish.
We love in ways that feel good to us.
We love in ways that make us feel loving—
rather than in ways that make others feel loved.
And yet—don’t be too hard on yourself.
Don’t give up.
Because love is not a feeling.
It’s a practice.
We learn to love by loving.
By doing.
Not just by reading about it.
Not just by hearing about it.
But by showing up.
By opening the gate.
Paul tells Timothy:
“Pursue righteousness, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.”
Not just believe in them—pursue them.
Chase them.
Compete well for the faith.
Lay hold of eternal life.
That’s the noble confession.
That’s the Gospel lived—not just spoken.
And yes—sometimes it may seem we love in vain.
That our efforts go unnoticed.
That our tenderness is met with silence.
But take heart.
Even if others never respond to our love,
we are better for having loved them.
Because love transforms us.
It softens the heart.
It opens the eyes.
It breaks down the gate.
When the rich man pleads with Abraham
to send someone to warn his brothers,
Abraham answers:
“They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen.”
Friends, we have something better.
We have the Word. We have the truth.
We have the call from Jesus.
The question is—will we respond?
So today,
let us name the gate.
Let us see Lazarus.
Let us live the Gospel—
not just in belief,
but in embodied compassion.
Let us love—
not perfectly, but persistently.
Not because it feels good,
but because it is good.
And in doing so,
may we find that the gate between us…
begins to open.
Lord, bless you with eyes that truly see—
the Lazarus at your gate,
the neighbor at your side,
the silent cry for love hidden in the ordinary.
May your heart be stirred—
not by comfort,
but by compassion that crosses every divide.
Be good, not just in word, but in mercy.
Holy, not just in ritual, but in relationship.
Go now, and preach the Good News—
from the way you live.
Let your life be a homily of hope,
your love a sacrament of grace.
And when love feels hard,
when it seems to fall in vain,
remember: you are better for having loved.
For in every act of kindness,
you open the gate between heaven and earth.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
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