Month: September 2025

The Great Gulf

(Amos 6:1a,4-7; 1Tim.6:11-16; Lk.16:19-31)

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the story of a well-dressed, well-fed rich man, and Lazarus, a poor, sick and hungry man.

It’s a confronting parable about two lives that never quite connect here on earth, and a chasm that cannot be bridged in the afterlife.

To some, it might seem like an ancient story, no longer relevant to today. But if you’ve seen anything of the poverty in places like Gaza, if you’ve seen the movie Slumdog Millionaire, you already know the world of Lazarus. You know that there’s a great gulf between those who feast and those who suffer.

In this parable, Jesus doesn’t name the rich man. He only tells us that he’s wealthy, comfortable and blind to the obvious. But we do know the poor man’s name. It’s Lazarus, which means ‘God helps.’

The rich man’s sin isn’t cruelty; it’s indifference. He simply doesn’t see Lazarus, so he does nothing to help him.

Then death follows, and a reversal. Both men die. Lazarus goes up to heaven, the rich man finds himself in hell, and a great chasm has opened up between them. Jesus says this is ‘so that no one can cross from there to us.’

 In many ways this story is mirrored in Danny Boyle’s movie Slumdog Millionaire (2008). It tells the story of Jamal, a boy from the slums of Mumbai. Orphaned, beaten, cheated, and exploited, he survives by his wit and his courage.

He is a modern Lazarus: ignored by the powerful, abused by society and left to survive as best he can.

What makes this story so powerful is that Jamal remembers. Every question he answers on the TV game show isn’t because of luck; it comes from a painful memory: his mother’s death, sleeping in a filthy toilet, escaping human traffickers.

Each answer is paid for in suffering. And when he finally wins – not just money, but also the dignity of being seen and heard – it’s not just a personal triumph. It’s a reversal, like Lazarus being lifted up.

And those who exploited him: the slumlord, the police, and even the show’s host, are like the rich man in the parable. Their comfort comes at the cost of others’ suffering. And their sin is always the same: they just did not see.

Why does Jesus give us this parable? It’s to wake us up.

The rich man is horrified to find himself in hell, and asks for Lazarus to warn his brothers. But Abraham replies, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; let them listen to them.’

We, too, have the Gospel, the saints and the images and voices of the poor to warn us. But are we listening to them?

We cannot say, ‘I didn’t know’ because Lazarus is all around us – people suffering in silence, at our gates, in our streets and on our screens.

We know that Lazarus is out there. We also know that that great chasm doesn’t start after death. It’s already here, when we fail to bridge the gap between poverty and wealth, indifference and love.

Someone who was deeply moved when he heard this parable was Albert Schweizer, who was born in France in 1875. He was a university professor in Vienna and one of the finest concert organists in Europe.

This parable changed his life. It reminded him of the poverty and disease of colonial Africa, and the need for urgent medical care.

Hearing that the conditions in Gabon, West Africa, were particularly dire, he famously said, ‘I no longer needed to search for my path.’

He abandoned his career and studied medicine. When he graduated, he established a hospital by the jungles in Lambaréné, in Gabon, with his wife Helene. She was a trained nurse and together they devoted their lives to offering medical care for the poor in truly awful conditions.

And through his philosophy of Reverence for Life, he made a significant contribution to ethical thought and practice.

Albert Schweizer gave people hope and joy, and won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952. 

The movie Slumdog Millionaire ends on a note of hope and joy, too. But Jesus’ parable doesn’t. It ends with a warning: Don’t wait.

Don’t wait until it’s too late. Don’t wait until that great gulf between rich and poor, between heaven and hell, can no longer be crossed.

Who is Lazarus in your life?

And what can you do to help?

The Shrewd Fraudster

(Am.8:4-7; 1Tim.2:1-8; Lk.16:1-13)

Jesus’ Parable of the Dishonest Steward really puzzles some people.

A steward is caught squandering his employer’s wealth, and expects to lose his job. But instead of seeking forgiveness, he cunningly tries to win the favour of his boss’ clients by offering to cut their debt to him.

Surprisingly, he is commended, not for his dishonesty, but for being shrewd. Then Jesus ends the story saying, ‘You cannot serve both God and mammon.’

What are we to make of this parable? Why would Jesus praise a cheat?

Over the years, many writers have explored this question. Dostoevsky does so in The Brothers Karamazov, and Shakespeare in The Merchant of Venice.

But Steven Spielberg explores it, too, in his movie Catch Me if You Can (2002). This is the true story of a remarkable con artist, Frank Abagnale Jr, played by Leonardo di Caprio.

From 1964 to 1967, Frank Abagnale successfully impersonated a Pan Am pilot and flew over two million miles for free. During that time, he also posed as a paediatrician in Georgia, and a lawyer in Louisiana. He forged, cheated and manipulated his way across the country.

He cashed almost $4 million in fake cheques in 26 countries and in every US state, and he did all this before his 19^th birthday. Like the steward in today’s parable, he misused trust, he exploited weak systems and he evaded justice with remarkable skill.

Frank Abagnale was very clever, and became the most daring con man in US history. However, he was eventually caught and imprisoned.

But here’s the twist: instead of condemning him and letting his gifts go to waste, the FBI offered him a job. They recognised his skills and asked him to put them to better use by helping them catch other fraudsters.

So, he went from exploiting systems to protecting them, from selfish dishonesty to genuine service for others. He effectively became a faithful steward, still using his gifts, but now pointed in the right direction.

This, I think, is the point Jesus is trying to make. He isn’t praising the steward’s corruption; he’s recognising his remarkable skills.

And if we have particular skills, Jesus is inviting us to use them to help build his kingdom of love.

‘The children of this world,’ Jesus says, ‘are more astute in dealing with their own kind than are the children of light.’ In other words, lots of people today use whatever they have to pursue their own goals.

But Christians, by contrast, tend to be too timid, weak and passive. We might have many great qualities, but we’re not using them in our journey of faith.

Jesus wants us to be smarter in the way we follow him.

St Maximilian Kolbe heard Jesus’ call, and took it very seriously. He was a Polish Franciscan priest in the early 20^th Century, with a great love for the Blessed Virgin Mary.

But he didn’t simply wait for people to come to church. He knew that if you want to reach people, you have to go out into the world using all the modern tools available.

So, he founded a printing press, a magazine and even a radio station. He trained other friars not only in prayer, but in journalism, publishing and management. He built an impressive media network, not to spread his own name, but to promote Jesus’ name through Mary.

Maximilian Kolbe was as shrewd as the steward in today’s parable, but his goal wasn’t to make money or save his job. His goal was to save souls.

Sadly, the Nazis caught him, shut his ministry down and sent him to Auschwitz. But there he did the greatest thing of all. When another prisoner, a father, was condemned to death, Maximilian stepped forward and volunteered to take his place.

He used the last ‘resource’ he had – his own life – to save someone else.

Maximilian Kolbe made many friends for eternity – people he had helped, consoled and inspired. He built the kind of treasure that moth and rust cannot destroy.

He was clever, and he used his talents for Jesus Christ.

This is what Jesus wants us to do. To use our time wisely, with eternity in mind. To use our blessings not just for comfort, but for love. And to use our relationships to pursue peace, justice, and holiness.

Jesus ends his parable with a sobering truth. He says: ‘You cannot serve both God and money.’

It’s not what we have that’s important. It’s what we do with it.

The Paradox of the Cross

(Num.21:4-9; Phil.2:6-11; Jn.3:13-17)

Life is full of paradoxes, of things that seem self-contradictory or absurd but still remain true. Like in social media, where the more connected you are, the less connected you become.

Or the truism that if you want to succeed, then expect to fail.

Today we celebrate the greatest paradox of all – the Cross of Christ. It’s the most brutal instrument of torture and death, and yet it’s also the tree of life.

It’s a symbol of utter human weakness and failure, but also the ultimate proof of God’s power and love.

On this feast day, we are all invited to reflect on the mystery of the Cross. Not with sorrow, but with a strong sense of awe and joy because God has used that Cross to transform death into life. He has given hope to our troubled world.

Why do we celebrate the Cross today? It’s because on September 14 every year the Church commemorates its discovery by St. Helena, the mother of the Roman Emperor Constantine. She became a Christian later in life and in 326 AD journeyed to Jerusalem, searching for the holy places in Jesus’ life.

Helena had heard that the pagan Temple of Aphrodite had been built on Calvary, so she had it demolished and underneath she found three crosses. Constantine then had the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre erected on that spot.

For St Helena, the Cross wasn’t a souvenir or a relic; it was the source of all salvation and a bridge to eternal life. By making it visible to everyone, she transformed what was once a sign of shame into a symbol of victory, and people have been venerating the Cross ever since.

Someone else who was fascinated by the Cross was St Thérèse of Lisieux, who lived a mostly hidden life in a Carmelite convent in France. She suffered considerably in her short life and eventually died a painful death from tuberculosis.

Thérèse often reflected on Jesus’ Cross and what it meant, and came to realise that the Cross isn’t just to be found on Calvary, for it’s embedded in every suffering we endure, including our illness, sadness, discomforts and frustrations.

She learnt that every sacrifice, every cross, can be transformed when it’s accepted with love, for even the smallest suffering can bring us closer to Jesus.

She came to welcome every trial as a gift from God, and called this her Little Way.

In her autobiography, The Story of a Soul, Thérèse explains how every day she tried to embrace little crosses, like enduring an insult, accepting the annoying faults of others, and saying nothing when she was misunderstood. She saw all these little sacrifices as acts of love for Jesus.

She once wrote: ‘I choose all! I don’t want to be a saint by halves. I’m not afraid to suffer for you, Jesus!’

She also said, ‘To pick up a pin for love can convert a soul.’

St Thérèse teaches us that experiencing the Cross doesn’t have to be something dramatic or momentous, for the Cross is also there when we do ordinary things with great love.

In this way, she has made Jesus’ Cross accessible to us all in our daily lives.

On 19 October 1997, Pope St John Paul II declared St Thérèse of Lisieux a Doctor of the Church. This formally recognises her for making a major contribution to our understanding of the Christian faith.

John Paul II understood what St Therese was trying to say. He himself had suffered mightily, losing his family early in life and enduring the cruelty of both Nazi and Communist regimes. He was also shot and nearly died in 1981, and in his later years he suffered from Parkinson’s disease, but didn’t try to hide it.

He embraced his sufferings publicly, proclaiming that they are not meaningless when they are offered with love and united to Christ. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said, for Jesus has already conquered death.

The Cross of Christ is a true paradox. It’s an awful instrument of torture and death, but Jesus and the saints teach us not to fear it because it’s also the source of new life.

St. Helena encourages us to search for the Cross, for it’s hidden inside the rubble of our messy lives.

St. Thérèse teaches us to hold the Cross up high as we quietly accept life’s challenges in a spirit of love.

And St. John Paul II shows us that you don’t have to be strong to be holy; you just need to be faithful in your weakness.

The Flower of Lucca

(Wis.9:13-18; Phlm.9-10, 12-17; Lk.14:25-33)

Jesus says it himself: it’s not always easy being his disciple.

Talking to a crowd in today’s Gospel, Jesus says that if you want to follow him, be prepared to give up everything. Not just your possessions or relationships, but perhaps even your lives.

You cannot be my disciple without carrying a Cross, Jesus says.

Some people are alarmed by this and walk away. But not all, because others go on to become saints. Like St. Gemma Galgani, a young Italian woman who shows us what Christian discipleship can be like.

Gemma was born in Tuscany, in 1878, the fifth of eight children. She was a clever girl, and her mother, who she adored, taught her all about the faith and the value of the Cross.

At her Confirmation, Jesus spoke to Gemma’s heart, asking if she would give him her mother. Gemma said yes, as long as he took her as well. But Jesus said she would have to wait. Soon afterwards her mother died. Gemma was only 7.

Two of her siblings also died young, and her beloved brother Gino died from tuberculosis while studying for the priesthood. At 16, Gemma herself caught spinal meningitis and had to leave school. Then her father died, leaving her to care for her siblings.

All this suffering brought Gemma very close to Jesus. She knew how Jesus had suffered and died for her, and secretly she decided to link any suffering she might have with his.

During her illness Gemma disliked being a burden to others and prayed to the Venerable Passionist, Gabriel Possenti, for help. Through his intercession, she was cured. This miracle contributed to Gabriel’s own canonisation in 1920.

When Gemma started receiving marriage proposals, she refused them because she only wanted Jesus. In May 1899 she tried to join the Visitation Convent in Lucca, but they declined because of her poor health.

The next month, on the eve of the Feast of the Sacred Heart, she received the stigmata, the five wounds of Jesus, on her hands, feet and side. For the rest of her short life they appeared every week from 8.00pm Thursday until about 3.00pm Friday. She tried to hide these wounds and offered the intense pain for the salvation of souls, saying: ‘If only I could make everyone love Jesus as I do!’

Several people, including some relatives, accused Gemma of attention-seeking by faking her piety, stigmata and other mystical experiences. She found this unpleasant, but she was not discouraged.

‘An interior voice is telling me that we must stay at the foot of the Cross,’ she once said. ‘If Jesus is nailed to the Cross, we must not complain if we have to stay at his feet.’ 

Early in 1903, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis and shortly afterwards, on Holy Saturday, she died. She was only 25. Her parish priest said she had died smiling.

Gemma was beatified in 1933 and canonized in 1940.

Through our baptism we are all called to follow Christ. Jesus says this means we must carry our Cross, but it doesn’t mean we have to look for suffering. We simply have to accept whatever might come from loving him.

St. Gemma Galgani didn’t seek suffering, but she accepted it when it came. When she was forced to leave school, she offered it to Jesus. When people disbelieved her, she offered it to Jesus. And when pain wracked her body, she kissed the crucifix and said, ‘Jesus, I trust in you.’

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says that anyone planning something new must know the cost beforehand. In other words, feelings aren’t enough. We need to understand what discipleship means.

St Gemma Galgani understood the cost, but still said yes to Jesus. She also understood that love makes even the Cross beautiful. She once said: ‘It’s true, Jesus, that I am suffering, but I’m not afraid. Because I am suffering for you, I am happy.’

St Gemma saw her trials not as punishments, but as invitations to love.

In 1921, St Maximilian Kolbe wrote: ‘I read the Life of Gemma Galgani. It did me more good than a whole series of spiritual exercises.’

She is often called the Flower of Lucca.

Today Jesus wants us to choose him above all else, and to stay faithful to him, even when the going gets tough.

So, let St Gemma accompany you in your journey. Let her remind you that no price is too great for the love of Jesus, who sacrificed everything for us.

That’s why she was willing to give everything in return.