This Sunday’s gospel passage isn’t easy to follow. It begins with a parable about a dishonest steward. His master discovered his shenanigans and fired him. To try to make the best out of a bad situation the steward contacted several of his master’s debtors and reduced their debt. Now, THEY’RE indebted to HIM! So the corrupt steward was assured of a job, and the debtors got a substantial cut in their debt. The master called the steward “prudent” because he managed to get himself set up and retain a good percentage of the outstanding debts.

Jesus used this parable to make a point. Do you see what we go through to make a buck? We connive. We steal. We take on sleazy practices. We don’t question the morality of our actions. We brush it off as “all in a day’s work.”

The actual teaching follows. It may seem disjointed and rambling, because it is. Here’s my take on the teaching.

Jesus is taking note of our concerns about wealth–honestly or dishonestly gained. We put a tremendous amount of effort into achieving it–actually, a lifetime of effort. Take for example, many of the billionaires of today. When they’re finally worth one billion, they don’t retire, they work harder to make the second billion, and the third, and the

fourth and the hundredth. They’re children of the world and they’re deeply attached to their money, but in the end, it gets them nowhere. The day will come when they’ll separate from their money and the power, influence, and fame that come along with it. Jesus is calling out to children of the light, those of us who are not bound to earth by money, material things or a quest for power. The children of the light see the world as a stepping-stone to greater things. They see a world filled with God’s beauty and the opportunity to make it a better place for everyone, not only the wealthy. But they also experience their lives as transitory, moving closer and closer to the divine light. This is the wealth they seek.

As Jesus would say in other teachings, “You can’t serve two masters.” You can’t serve God and money. The children of the light have to be free from the allure of the things of this world. They can be wealthy, but they must be sympathetic to the plight of the poor. They must try to help in some way. They must be open to the Spirit who will guide on a journey to the lght. They must be free of distraction. They need to seek the narrow road.

“There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day. And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who would gladly eaten his fill of scraps that fell from the rich man’s table. Dogs even used to come and lick his sores.”

That’s how today’s parable begins. In Jesus day it was common for wealthy families to enjoy open air dining. Sometimes, their dining area, though elevated, was visible from the street. That’s the picture we’re given as the setting for this parable.

The wealthy man loved to entertain. He loved to wear the highest quality, and most stylish clothes. Most likely, his guests did, too. He loved food, too, and was lavish in what he served. Dinner was always party time. These banquets were formal events, so people reclined on lounges around a central low-standing table. There was no silverware. People used thin slices of bread to scoop the food from the common dishes. Occasionally, food would fall to the floor only to be snatched up by the house lap dogs that had free reign of the residence.

Lazarus, a sick beggar, would lie on the side of the road watching the revelers. Not only was he suffering from the open sores on his body, he suffered the all-consuming pain of malnutrition.

Jesus then took this scene and replayed it on a spiritual plane. The scene was quite different. It became a reverse reality reveal-

ing the inner life of each person. The rich man was suffering “torment.” In the gospels it’s often described by the phrase “wailing and gnashing of teeth.” He had imprisoned himself in an empty isolated world experiencing the horrible, incurable, suffering of regret, of missed opportunity, of failure, of soul loss. The rich man was trapped within himself. Part of his suffering was that he saw another world far off, and saw Lazarus there. Lazarus who had ascended was seated beside Abraham, the greatest of the patriarchs. The wretched, suffering man he never noticed was in glory.

Even the dogs in the rich man’s house reached out to Lazarus. They comforted him by licking his sores. The rich man never saw Lazarus lying along the road. The rich man never saw the sores, never saw the outlines of Lazarus’ ribs. His wealth wasn’t his problem. Loving food wasn’t his problem. Partying wasn’t his problem. He was self-absorbed. He never developed the freedom of spirit to care for others. Little by little his soul starved to death.

The moral of this parable is simple, and disturbing. If we don’t see, if we don’t feel, if we don’t care, we’ll starve to death. That’s soul loss. This spiritual principle doesn’t only apply to an individual. It’s social and communal as well. If a nation refuses to see, refuses to care, refuses to feel, it too will die. It will lose its soul.

As the gospels say, “Let the one who has ears to hear, hear.”

We’re bumping the 24 th Sunday in Ordinary Time today to celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Father Eymard must have loved this feast because its message inspired his deepest reflections about the gift of self. Let’s begin our own reflection using today’s passage from Paul’s letter to the Philippians.

“Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.” This emptying didn’t happen all at once. Remember, Jesus was human like us. He had an ego. He experienced fear and loss just like us. Making the gift of self to his Father wasn’t instantaneous; it was a process, but essential to his mission. The process comes into focus when we view his moments of fear and anxiety.

In the garden of Gethsemane, we see him in agony, begging his Father, three times, to take the cup of suffering from him. We see him, three times, crying out through his tears, “Not my will but yours.” Each time he prays it’s more desperate. Each prayer digs deeper into his being.

The cross is the last step of his mission. On that cross Jesus pours out his body and soul. It’s on that cross that Jesus overcomes all resistance, giving himself totally to the Father. On that cross Jesus, by emptying himself, becomes the Christ, the living portal of the Kingdom. His outstretched arms become the bridge connecting heaven and earth. He mounts the cross, the instrument of torture and death, but his death on that cross changes everything. From the moment of his death the cross is transformed into the eternal image of redemptive love, sacrificial love.

We have so much to think about today…the power of the cross… Jesus’ gift of self…my gift of self.

Jesus is scary this week. We catch up with him and a large crowd walking along the road. He’s on his final trip to Jerusalem. His death is drawing near. He suddenly stops and begins throwing out one brutal challenge after another. Just look at them! “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.” We have to hate the people closest to us if we hope to be his disciple!? He must be speaking in hyperbole!

“Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.” We know what the cross was all about. It was the worst form of Roman execution. It involved brutal scourging, nailing a person to a cross beam and hanging them from it until they died. This form of execution, always staged in busy public areas, could take days to complete. The crowd would have been shocked by Jesus’ call to hate their family, but would probably have taken it as exaggeration. This proclamation that the disciple must even be willing to submit to crucifixion must have sent chills into every person listening to him. Even if he were exaggerating, this statement was terrifying.

To break the tension, he went on to spin

two short parables that stressed the need to think seriously before taking on a commitment. He then concluded his teaching with one final zinger. “Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions he cannot be my disciple.”

Let’s move beyond the exaggeration, and listen with open mind and heart to Jesus’ teaching.

He’s warning us that our commitment to him will require even more love than we have for our father, mother, wife and children, sisters and brothers.

He’s telling us that following him will not be one grand picnic because the cross casts its shadow far and wide. Think of the Christians crucified by ISIS. Think of the Christians in Nigeria threatened with forced conversion. Think of the Christians in India, Ethiopia, Nicaragua, Cameroon and so many other places throughout the world who live with the daily threat of violence because of their faith.

American Christians may feel safe from violence. We may feel safe because we’re financially secure. But “security” can be a challenge to true discipleship because it can make us complacent.

Jesus is all love, peace and harmony. But he’s scary, too. He’s challenging us. He’s leading us to the narrow gate. Today, let’s ask ourselves a serious question. Are we courageous enough to follow him down that road?