At the beginning of the Catholic Mass we present our credentials for being here. We let everyone know that we belong among this motley collection of people by confessing that we are sinners. Our entry ticket is confessing our need for God’s forgiveness and healing. If you are not a sinner you can go home now. No takers? Good, we’re all in this together. Which is why we begin with the “penitential rite,” the prayer that recalls our sins. We turn to the God and say, “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy.” Divine mercy pays the entry fee for our participation at the table of the Lord. One option that can be used in the penitential rite is a prayer that goes by its old Latin title, the “confiteor.” I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do. This ancient prayer is rich in meaning. I not only confess to God but I also confess to you, my brothers and sisters. After all, my sins don’t hurt almighty God, but they all too often wound and sting those who have to put up with me. The prayer goes on that “I have sinned through my own fault.” I can’t blame anyone else. I don’t sin because of my poor upbringing. I don’t sin because I have a poor self-image. I don’t sin because the devil made me do it. I sin through my own fault, my choices, my wants, my desires trumping the will of God for me. And I sin “in my thoughts and in my words.” God doesn’t like ugly, the ancestors taught us. Yet ugly is the only way to describe some of the thoughts I have about others, some of the words that I use in dealing with others. There’s a nursery rhyme: sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me. Unfortunately, that is not true. The things we think about one another, the things we say to one another do hurt. So we confess our sinfulness in thought and word. The prayer continues, we confess what we have done. Those thoughts and word turn into action and we do things which are sinful. Did I lie? Did I steal? Did I commit adultery? Did I disobey? Certainly it is a necessary that we examine the things we do and confess our faults and failings with a firm purpose of amendment, that we will stop doing those things which are displeasing to God.
However, that’s not all the prayer says. The prayer has us confess not only the things that we do but also the things we have failed to do. There are not only sins of commission but also sins of omission, as the old catechism used to put it. Eliminating the evil and ungodly parts of our lives is necessary – but it is not sufficient. We must also make sure that we are doing some of the things that need doing in order to get right with God. Don’t just eliminate the curse word, but add the kind word. Don’t just avoid stealing, but be a good steward of the resources provided to you. Don’t just stop lying but speak the truth in love to those who need confrontation. We haven’t fulfilled our obligations to God merely by eliminating the negative. We also must accentuate the positive.
All of which serves as an introduction to the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. As Jesus tells it, the rich man is not guilty of any sin of commission. But his sin of omission caused him to suffer torment in flames in the netherworld. Look at the text. As near as we can tell the rich man was a nice guy. He certainly cared about his brothers. He knew his Bible, Moses and the prophets. There is no evidence that he violated any commandment or spoke any harsh words. We can supposed that he worshiped God as any good Jew would have. But what lands him in hell was what he failed to do: he failed to see a poor man named Lazarus, lying at his door. It’s not that he was mean to him or harsh towards him. The rich man was so wrapped up in himself that he simply failed to notice the needs of his brother. He failed to understand that the riches he possessed were not his to squander as he willed but a responsibility to be shared with others. And for what he failed to see, to understand, to do he paid the price of damnation.
Church, Jesus did not tell this as a story of the long ago and far away. This parable is current events. Lazarus is lying at our door, sick, hungry, covered with sores right today. Will we see him? Or will we walk by? Some of those who suffer as Lazarus did are obvious to us: drop by the food pantry any day. We might not be sure what to do, but we know that we must do something. We can’t just let them lie at our door begging for scraps. Other examples of Lazarus are less obvious: the panhandler we try to avoid, the gang banger who has lost hope. What to do about situations like these is not obvious but we can’t meet our maker saying, I failed to do what I could to help.
Who is Lazarus for you? Remember, for the Rich Man in the story it was not someone out there but right close to home. Who is at your doorstep? Is Lazarus perhaps a family member who covered with sores of old hurts and resentments? Or maybe Lazarus is a young person who is hungry not for table scraps but for time and attention and guidance and direction. Or Lazarus could be that shut-in person that we always mean to go visit but never seem to find the time? We certainly don’t want to tell St. Peter, Oh, I was going to get around to it – to extend the hand of forgiveness, to give of my time and talent, to visit the sick – but somehow I failed to do so. If you have any “round to-its” in your pocket spend them now. Too many of them will one day make one yearn for a finger dipped in cool water.
After confessing our sinfulness, the “confiteor” prayer from the penitential rite concludes: I ask the Blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angel and saints and you, my brothers and sisters, to pray for me to the Lord our God. The instinct seems to be: we need to keep praying for each other as church in order to become the people God has made us to be. And perhaps as church we can help each other to see the face of Christ in all those whose needs are all around us. Our prayer for one another should be: may we never fail to do the kind and compassionate thing that should characterize us as the children of our Heavenly Father.
