Blessed are the Poor

A few weeks ago (the 26th Sunday of Ordinary Time), the Gospel presented us with the parable of the poor man, Lazarus, and the rich man who ignored him suffering at the gate of his house. There are two things about the parable that call our attention.

A Name

First, in all of Jesus’ parables, only this Lazarus is given a proper name. The other parables concern “a man who went to sow,” “a woman who lost her coin,” or even a “prodigal son,” but never anyone with a proper name. There is a tradition that calls the rich man Dives – the name comes from the Latin Vulgate’s translation for “rich man” – but he is not named in the Gospel passage.

Only Lazarus, the poor man who was forgotten by everyone except the dogs who licked his sores, received this special attention. There is a certain irony here as Jesus recounts the rich man’s wealth, noting in detail his preferences regarding the color and texture of his garments and his choice of morsels: “There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day.”

Yet, while the rich man was concerned about the “better things of life,” it was God who was looking after a neglected and supremely inconvenient detail: the presence of poor man who was likely anonymous for the rich man, but a beloved and named child to God.

God’s Help

Secondly, Lazarus’ name itself is something special: derived from the Hebrew Eleazar, the name means “God will help” or “God is my help.” Here, too, we find some divine irony: we might ask how had God helped this man who was forgotten and literally rotting away in the shadow of a man who had everything? Yet, at the end of his life, it was Lazarus who was welcomed into heaven, while the rich man was left to suffer.

The message that Christ wants to convey seems clear enough: as Christians, we have a responsibility to care for the poor among us. On the one hand, “the poor” certainly includes those who are materially poor, meaning, those who lack the material goods that make life possible, such as food, clothing, and shelter. However, as Saint Mother Teresa noted, poverty extends far beyond a simple lack of material goods: “The poverty of being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.”

Yet, if we read the Gospel, we are struck by the fact that when Jesus rebukes the disciples (Matthew 26:8; Mark 14:4), and in particular Judas (John 12:4-5), for complaining about the anointing of His feet, He makes a curious statement: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” Does that mean that our efforts to help the poor are in vain? Why worry about the poor if our attempts will turn out like Sisyphus and his boulder?

Our Efforts

Fortunately, the Church provides us with some guidance regarding the topic at hand. In a book dedicated to Pope Saint John Paul II at the twilight of his papacy (2004), the Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church gives a comprehensive view of the Church’s teachings on a wide variety of social concerns, from the economy and political society to the family and religious freedom, citing saints, councils, and Church documents.

When speaking of the poor, the document starts with a citation from the Catechism: “Human misery is a clear sign of man’s natural condition of frailty and of his need for salvation” [186]. In other words, the material poverty and abject misery in which so many live reminds us that man lives in a fallen world and that everyone, rich and poor alike, have need of salvation. While the dismal conditions of the unfortunate might shock us, they call our attention to the fact that, when faced with the justice and righteousness of God, everyone finds themselves in a similar state of spiritual poverty.

Indeed, in the Sermon on the Mount, when Jesus proclaims: “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” He uses a very particular word for “poor”. Biblical scholars note that the Greeks had two different words for a poor person. The first, penes, refers to someone who had to work for a living; such a one had nothing extra or superfluous, but at least had enough to survive. The second work, ptochos, is the person who lives in abject misery and complete poverty. This is the person who is bent over in poverty (the root of the word means to cower).

Perhaps surprisingly, it is this second word that Jesus uses in the Beatitude, saying essentially: blessed are the absolutely poor in spirit, the ones who rely totally on God knowing that their existence depends entirely upon Him. The Beatitude does not prohibit having material wealth, but reminds us that we cannot put our trust in anything but God. It is precisely the ease with which wealth gets in the way of trust in God that makes riches an easy impediment on the path to salvation; the vow of poverty professed by religious serves to remove this obstacle.

Always With Us

The Compendium continues, offering us an explanation of the mysterious phrase from the Gospel:

Jesus says: “You always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.” He makes this statement not to contrast the attention due to him with service of the poor. Christian realism, while appreciating on the one hand the praiseworthy efforts being made to defeat poverty, is cautious on the other hand regarding ideological positions and Messianistic beliefs that sustain the illusion that it is possible to eliminate the problem of poverty completely from this world. This will happen only upon Christ’s return, when he will be with us once more, forever. In the meantime, the poor remain entrusted to us and it is this responsibility upon which we shall be judged at the end of time (cf. Mt 25:31-46): “Our Lord warns us that we shall be separated from him if we fail to meet the serious needs of the poor and the little ones who are his brethren.” [388]

“You always have the poor with you”: although it is a moral obligation to help the poor, the definitive solution to poverty will come only when Christ returns; an economic solution or a political party that promises to eliminate poverty entirely is, at best, simply wrong in promising what is impossible in a fallen world.

At the Second Coming, all needs will be met, both our material ones as well as our spiritual ones. Until that day, however, we must seek to alleviate poverty and misery, and not only material, but also spiritual. “In the meantime,” the Compendium continues, “the poor remain entrusted to us, and it is this responsibility upon which we shall be judged at the end of time” [183].

His Distressing Disguise

But who are these poor? One of Saint Teresa of Calcutta’s favorite phrases was to say that she and her sisters served Christ in “His most distressing disguise.” In her case, it was in the poor, lepers, and the abandoned, people who often resembled Lazarus physically. However, the Gospel of Lazarus and the rich man reminds us that we too must serve Christ in whatever “His most distressing disguise” might be for us.

It’s entirely possible that this hidden Christ is in the person of the poor, the drug addicts, the single mothers, the criminals. Perhaps these are the people we’d rather not have anything to do with. Of course, we don’t approve of sin, and we know that everyone would be happier if they would leave sin behind. However, the distinction we need to make it between the “sin” and the “sinner”: we must love the sinner, even as we despise the sin. That love for the sinner can take many different forms: some of us are called to prison ministry, to visit the sick, to give money, and so many other things.

What form of assistance God is calling us to give requires prayer and listening to His voice, but what is certain is that God wants us to love even these difficult people. However, the “hidden Christ” shouldn’t just be limited to the poor. For instance, the “hidden Christ” might be the person of our bosses, our parents, our neighbors who might be difficult or lack the qualities we think they should have.

This might also mean that we have to see Christ hidden in the members of our families or our communities. In her autobiography, Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus candidly recalls who she dealt with such a one in her own convent, writing:

There is in Community a Sister who has the faculty of displeasing me in everything, in her ways, her words, her character, everything seems very disagreeable to me. . . .  I told myself that charity must not consist in feelings but in works; then I set myself to doing for this Sister what I would do for the person I loved the most. Each time I met her I prayed to God for her, offering Him all her virtues and merits… I wasn’t content simply with praying very much for this Sister who gave me so many struggles, but I took care to render her all the services possible, and when I was tempted to answer her back in a disagreeable manner, I was content with giving her my most friendly smile. . . .  One day at recreation she asked in almost these words: “Would you tell me, Sister Thérèse of the Child Jesus, what attracts you so much towards me; every time you look at me, I see you smile?”  Ah! What attracted me was Jesus hidden in the depths of her soul.

Even Enemies

The “distressing disguise” of Jesus might even be a person who could justly be called an “enemy”. But, here, too, we must see Christ Himself. The life of Saint Louis Orione offers great examples of this:

When one of his religious abandoned the Congregation, he covered Orione with insults and abuse. Don Orione gave him some money, embraced him with tenderness, kissed him with affection on the forehead, wished him all good things, and told those present to pray for him as for a benefactor.

On another occasion, trouble brewed for Orione in the city of Tortona: the bishop was complaining, there was slander, gossip, accusations, hostility, and trials. Yet, in the midst of it all, Orione wrote to a friend saying: “My enemies can even put my eyes out; just let them leave me my heart [with which] to love them.”

Once, when Orione was betrayed and insulted by one of his religious, a fellow priest told him to respond in kind, and asked what would be done. Don Orione answered: “Nothing. . . .  For these people: a) one prays to God; b) one forgives; c) one loves.”

The section in the Compendium that addresses the poor ends with the following citation from the Catechism:

Love for the poor is certainly “incompatible with immoderate love of riches or their selfish use” [184]. Sometimes we stockpile, not material riches, but our talents, our skills, and our gifts; sometimes we hold on to injuries and insults as the ill-gotten goods of life. To love the poor means to truly seek the hidden Christ, and to give everything to bring salvation to the world. After all, “when ‘the poor have the good news preached to them’ (Mt 11:5), it is a sign of Christ’s presence” [183].

Amen to that!