De Lazaro et divite

On Lazarus and the Rich Man, Homily 1. The stadium of the Church is a very great school, a training ground for the rich, a refuge for the poor. Come then, beloved, since we stand in the arena of teaching, following the lessons of the previous discourse, let us take up what has just been said in hand and bedew you all with the drops of discourse owed by us. Our reading narrated the way of life of a rich man and a poor man: the life of the rich man steeped in luxury, the life of the poor man marked by poverty. There was a certain rich man, and he clothed himself in purple and fine linen, rejoicing splendidly each day. And there was a certain poor man named Lazarus, who was cast down at the gate of the rich man, covered with sores, and desiring to partake of the crumbs falling from the rich man's table; and no one gave to him, but even the dogs came and licked his sores. It is necessary, therefore, beloved, to relate the details, so that, just as sailors from the experience of those who have sailed before, we too may flee the hidden rocks of shipwrecks; so that the rich, from the punishment of the former rich man, may discipline themselves, and the poor, seeing their own hopes shining forth in Lazarus, may eagerly run through the course of affliction. There was a certain rich man. A certain man. He has not been honored with the appellation of a name, as was the righteous Job. "There was a certain man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job." But this man's name has been passed over in silence.

For the unfruitful one is deprived even of the name; for the names of the righteous are in the book of life, but those of sinners will be erased, having only the common name of nature, "human"; for this name is common to all. But he had the common name, yet the brutality of his wickedness was peculiar. There was a certain rich man. He was a kinsman of the poor Lazarus by the nature of the body, but a stranger to the inheritance in Christ because of the depravity of his choice. There was a certain rich man. He was a man in form, but in mind a solitary beast. There was a certain rich man. Rich in possessions, rich in accusations, rich in bronze, rich in the rust of sin; shining with silver, but darkened by sins; rich in gold, but poor in Christ; having much clothing, but having a naked soul; keeping expensive garments, and raising many moths. There was a certain rich man. Exulting in wealth, having no flower of righteousness; an autumnal tree, fruitless, twice dead. There was a certain rich man, and he clothed himself in purple and fine linen. He had purple as his garment, but he was cast off from the kingdom of God; he had purple, not sprinkled with the blood of Christ, but dyed with the blood of a sea snail; not betrothing to him the kingdom of the heavens, but shining before him the terrible flame of Gehenna. There was a certain rich man, and he clothed himself in fine linen and purple, rejoicing splendidly each day. Rejoicing, not as the righteous do in the Lord; for the joy of the righteous is the memory of God, as David bears witness for me, saying:

I remembered God, and I rejoiced, but I was rejoicing in drunkenness, in profligacy, in debauchery, in disorder, in no way different from pigs wallowing in the mire. There was a certain poor man, Lazarus. He mentions the name of the poor man, honoring the poor man through the appellation of the name. There was a certain poor man, Lazarus, who had been cast down before his gateway, violently tossed about by the storm of poverty, but not long after, borne by angels into the calm bosom of Abraham. There was a certain poor man, Lazarus, who had been cast down before the rich man's gateway, covered with sores. Oh, by how many evils was the poor man beset! He was buffeted by the heaviest poverty, as if by a violent hailstorm; he was consumed by the erupting pustules, as if by spark-emitting coals; from all sides, torrents of affliction dashed against him, dissolving his body, crushing his heart; no respite of calm was found for him. Outside, battles; inside, fears. For outside, the body was subdued by the pustules, and inside, the heart was consumed by unavoidable cares. No grain-bearing land offered him the seed of bread, no vine brought him a sweetly bursting cluster, no tree cultivated for him the most pleasant fruit of the season, nor was any other earthly thing there for the solace of his poverty. For how could it be, for one who had not even a span of arable land, nor a cubit of ground for dwelling, but was cast out under the open sky upon a dung heap? Dung was for him, both by night and by day, a covering, warming him in part during winter, but in summer burning him terribly.

His body was covered with wounds, weak for farming, useless for travel and trade, and unfit for any other means of livelihood. From every side came destitution, from every side came constraint; groans before tears grew in his heart like thorns; streams of tears were borne upon his cheeks, furrowed by the constant flow of tears. He contemplated death in his sleep, he looked about for death after sleep, and found it nowhere. For he sought death as a release from long labors and cares, not unlike the much-suffering Job. For that man, having lost his money, his herds, his possessions, and finally his body, naked and seized by worms, was cast upon the dunghill, and longed for death. For what did he say? Why is light given to those in bitterness, and life to souls in pain? Those who long for death do not obtain it, digging for it as for a treasure; and they would be overjoyed if they should succeed; for death is rest for a man. But he also longed, it is said, to be fed from the crumbs falling from the rich man's table, and no one gave to him. Oh, the strangeness of life! The rich man, watered by the abundant stream of luxury, was drunk; the poor man, having no moisture of prosperity, withered in the heat of poverty.

Why was it that for them the voyage of life was not made fair in their mutual fellowship? Why? So that the poor man might receive the bright crowns of patience, and the rich man might chew the unripe grapes of his brutalized soul with his own teeth. But even the dogs, it says, came and licked his wounds. The dogs were more noble than the rich man, more kind than his inhumanity. That man never bedewed the poor man with a single drop of oil; the dogs, softening the edge of their teeth with kindness, tended him with a gentle tongue, as if wiping away all the filth and all the discharge from his wounds, and taming the wild sores with the smoothness of their tongue, they gently stole away the pains of his wounds. But the rich man never granted the poor man a cheerful glance, nor a word, even a fruitless one; he threw him no rag, no scrap of food, not a single obol eaten away by rust, no bread, no crumb of bread spoiled by mold, but he poured everything into his own belly, as into an inn, through the funnel of his throat. But what? As each man's fare is, so are his rewards. And it happened that,

It says that the poor man died and was carried away by the angels into the bosom of Abraham. At long last the poor man, rescued from his stormy poverty, sailed into the fair harbor of Abraham. For it says that Lazarus died and was carried away by the angels into the bosom of Abraham. Do you see how poverty, after the departure from here, has angels as its bodyguards? And it happened that the rich man also died and was buried. Immediately for the rich man burial is appointed, according to what is said by David: And their tombs are their houses forever. For this reason it is said to you: Poor man, do not fear, when a man becomes rich, that when he dies he will take everything, nor will his glory descend with him. For here he leaves everything behind: the slaves, the shield-bearers, the servants, the parasites, the flatterers, the carriages, the gold-bridled horses, the baths, the estates, the gold-roofed houses, the mosaic floors, the kingdom, the authority, the dominion—he leaves everything here, and departs naked. And being in Hades, having lifted up his eyes. Consider to what depth the rich man had sunk, and to what height the poor man had risen. And having lifted up his eyes, it says, the rich man saw Abraham and Lazarus in his bosom. Why then did Lazarus not see the rich man? Because he who is in the light does not see the one in the darkness, but he who is in the darkness sees the one in the light. And he said: Father Abraham, have mercy on me. Now you say, Have mercy, when the time for mercy is no more.

Have you not heard the one who says, "Merciless is the judgment for the one who has not done mercy"? Now you repent, when there is no confession. Have you not heard David saying, "In Hades, who will make confession for you?" Have mercy on me, and send Lazarus. Do you now recognize Lazarus? Do you now acknowledge the one who was on the dung heap, whom you once would not honor even as the dogs? You closed your bowels to him in the time of your prosperity; I now close my bosom of comfort to you in the time of punishment. Have you not heard God crying out to you through all the prophets and saying, "Keep mercy and judgment, and draw near to your God, because I desire mercy more than sacrifice"? And, "Blessed are the merciful, for they themselves will be shown mercy"? And again, "The one who shows mercy to a poor man lends to God"? Therefore, where you have sown, there seek also to reap; where you have lent, there also demand repayment. But you never cast a seed of almsgiving, nor did you lend to God through almsgiving to the poor, but you stored up everything for your own belly. Where you had your treasure, there have also your heart. Have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, so that he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am terribly tormented in this flame. His tongue is punished, through which he took his food; he sought a drop of water, since he never gave even a cup of cold water in the name of a disciple to a thirsty man. If you had made Lazarus a partner in your goods during life, now you would have shared the kingdom with him; if you had been mindful of the poor man, now you would have been delivered from this evil judgment. For blessed is the one who is mindful of the poor and needy.

On a day of evil, the Lord will deliver him. Smooth over that fiery abyss with the rich outlay of your wealth to the poor; bedew mercy now, and you have quenched the furnace; feed orphans, and you have killed the sleepless worms; send forth a widow’s tear, and you have wiped away from your soul the mourning of your sins. For this reason these things have been read to you, so that, not treading in the same tracks of the merciless rich man, you may fall into the same punishment of Gehenna. And you, the poor man, do not be negligent, nor grow weary when tossed in the storm of poverty. Look to Lazarus, the most radiant one; keep your eye fixed there both by night and by day, so that, steering your life with the rudder of patience, you may arrive at the same harbor of rest, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom is glory for ever and ever. Amen.