Growing up in Miami in a Cuban-American neighborhood, I was haunted by and interested in all the rich Catholic iconography of Spanish Catholic architecture: The dark wooden altar pieces, the lush colors, the beautiful and yet brutally violent crucifixes, all of it was a little overwhelming to my young mind. Leave it to Spanish churches to rile up the Catholic imagination. One of the most popular icons you would see all over southern Florida, whether in the hospital or in the Cuban bakery, was the image of Lazarus, not the friend of Christ who was raised from the dead, but the other Lazarus who was sore- covered, dog-licked, seemingly forgotten by society. Like I said, graphic stuff, a far cry from the beautiful minimalism of our colonial revivalist parish that was inspired by an even more sparse, classical architecture.
While nearly frightening to my young mind, these images communicated something about God and humanity that was startling and strangely beautiful, certainly mysterious. I’m recalling these images because I think we’re offered something in this weekend’s Gospel that is unsettling and yet strangely resonant. Christ tells this strange story of a man, Lazarus, who was abused and forgotten on Earth but is revered and cared for by the ancients in the afterlife. That seems well and good; we’ve heard this message before right? Something about goats and rams and the basic idea that human decency will be rewarded while living selfishly will seemingly condemn you for eternity.
What makes this story so beautiful and strange is the response of the condemned man. His anguish is palpable, his torment isn’t only physical, it is emotional. He begs for someone to let his family know of the bleak consequences facing them if they don’t turn towards God.
“They will know we are Christians by our love,” the old nursery rhyme says. Like most lessons meant for children, it goes straight to the point. If we don’t show love to one another, if we can’t let people know that we are Catholic Christians by our example, well then not even God coming down on a cloud and telling people we are Catholic Christians would or should convince them. On the other hand, be encouraged. If you love people and they turn away, well, not even a supernatural event could convince them otherwise.
I better get to work because it may take a supernatural event to get me to be the best Catholic I can be. Lazarus, pray for me!
I’ll be seeing you,
Elliot