Homily: Yes, love them

Year C / Ordinary Time / Week 26 / Sunday
Readings: Amos 6.1a, 4-7/ Psalm 146. 6c-7, 8-9a, 9bc-10 (R/v 1b) / Timothy 6.11-16 / Luke 16.19-31

A paper-cut artwork entitled Bon Appétit remains one of many things I am grateful for from 2016. It was designed by Victoria Teng, then a student at St Joseph’s Institution when I was the Principal. At first glance, it radiates warmth: it depicts hands reaching out to share food and drink, a reminder of communal joy. But look closer and you’ll notice the cracks and gaps cut into the design. These reveal the divisions that keep people apart, even in moments of celebration.

Isn’t this true in our lives? We long for connection yet our world is marked by cracks and gaps—divisions of wealth and poverty, race and nationality, culture and language. Sometimes, these fractures are small and subtle; at other times they are painfully large. Often, they are the “elephants in the room”: obvious but unnamed.

But Jesus never lets us ignore them. Today’s Gospel reading gives us the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich man feasts daily while Lazarus lies hungry at his gate. The rich man never notices him—or chooses not to. When they die, the situation reverses: Lazarus rests in Abraham’s embrace, while the rich man is tormented. And between them lies a great chasm, one that cannot be crossed.

Here lies the irony: in life, that chasm could have been bridged. The rich man could have crossed it with compassion—sharing food, opening his door, offering dignity. But he chose not to, and the eternal divide is permanent.

This parable is not only about wealth and poverty. It is about all the chasms we create: divisions we build and normalize until our hearts grow hard and our eyes blind to suffering.

So we must ask: what chasms exist in our own lives? They may be small—like gossip that wounds, jealousy of a neighbour, dismissive words about noisy children at Mass. Or they may be larger—like social prejudice, unjust policies and religious intolerance against those unlike us, against those who don’t speak our language, share our culture or worship as we do.

Today the Church observes the World Day of Migrants and Refugees. It is right that we do so—not only for their sake, but for ours. For in Singapore, all of us are of migrant stock. Upon migrant stock we built this nation. And on migrant stock we continue to welcome all to want to make a difference to this Little Red Dot.  Even more, we are all spiritual refugees f​or whom this world isn’t our true home—that is with God only. 

This makes it fitting for us to reflect on the plight of our migrant and refugee sisters and brothers who are migrants and refugees. They are today’s Lazaruses. They arrive in Singapore and other nations, in our homes, workplaces and schools, not seeking anything more than dignity. They come with wounds and hopes, asking for a chance to live. Yet often, they are ignored, exploited, or demonised. In some places, they are being whitewashed over and erased

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Do we notice them? Do we welcome them? Or do we, like the rich man, walk past without concern?

The Gospel could not be clearer: to ignore the suffering at our gates is to risk our salvation. But to bridge the chasm with love is to find life in abundance.

This is not an easy message. We rather ignore it because it demands we honestly examine how we treat foreigners in our midst. Honestly, we often do.  It forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about our privileges, our lifestyles, and our habits of exclusion. But if we do examine ourselves, we just  might have to admit that we really are the rich man Jesus speaks about – for we too treated others who are the Lazaruses in our lives.

Yet the good news is this: Jesus tells this parable not to condemn us but to wake us up. He wants us to change while there is still time, to live differently, to bridge the gaps in our lives with compassion for compassion.

St Paul captures this beautifully in today’s second reading: “Aim to be saintly and religious, filled with faith and love, patient and gentle. Fight the good fight of faith and win for yourself the eternal life to which you were called.” He is urging us to keep reorienting our lives toward Christ—choosing welcome, love, forgiveness, again and again.

Paul’s message echoes Jesus’ own. In the Gospel acclamation, Jesus reminds us that knowing his teaching is not enough—we must follow him. We must do what he did: notice the stranger, welcome the sinner, stand with the outcast. And because he loved all, yes, loved them we also must. Are we?

So, notice the many Lazaruses at the gate. And welcome the myriad migrants, stand with the countless refugees, and befriend the outcasts and strangers. Otherwise, the chasms between us only grow wider. Even more, so will the divide between God and us.

And what might this way of loving and caring look like in daily practice? Perhaps pausing before forwarding a message that mocks or excludes. Choosing to welcome newcomers into our parish or neighbourhood. Supporting organizations that serve migrants and refugees. Listening to their stories with compassion. These small steps are not trivial; they are the bridges that cross the chasm.

Remember the artwork, Bon Appétit, I began with, and the cracks and gaps in the design? The artist’s hope was that they do not remain divisions but become invitations to reconciliation. So too with our world. The cracks we see are not the final word. They are openings through which God’s mercy can shine. And that mercy saves us too, whenever we set aside selfishness and self-preservation in order to bring life to others.

So let us ask the Lord to shepherd us across the chasms of fear and prejudice. Let us open our lives and our communities to migrants, refugees, and strangers. For in doing so, we make real Jesus’ prayer: “that they all may be one” (John 17:21).  Shall we?

Preached at the Church of the Sacred Heart
Photo by Sujeeth Potla on Unsplash