Dear brothers and sisters in Christ,
The Word of God this Sunday offers us a sobering reminder: complacency is one of the greatest dangers to our spiritual life. The prophet Amos cries out against those who lounge on couches, feasting and enjoying comfort, while the world around them is collapsing (cf. Amos 6:1a, 4-7). In the Gospel, Jesus paints a vivid picture of the rich man who dressed in fine clothes and dined sumptuously, while Lazarus, the poor beggar, lay suffering at his very doorstep (cf. Luke 16:19-31). What condemned the rich man was not his wealth, but his blindness. He closed his eyes to Lazarus. He failed to see, to care, to respond.
This story is not about “someone else.” It is about us, here and now. In our own city, Lazarus is everywhere. He may be the homeless person you step over at the subway entrance, the immigrant worker cleaning offices at midnight, the senior neighbor who has not had a visitor in weeks, or the young person battling pressures and feeling unseen. The “great chasm” Abraham speaks of is not only about eternity—it is the chasm we create today whenever we fail to notice or to care.
As a priest, I see how this danger quietly takes root in our lives. Day after day, in appointments, confessions, and casual conversations, I encounter a hunger that goes beyond food or shelter. It is the hunger for connection. People long to be heard, acknowledged, affirmed, and understood—not only in their spiritual life, but in their human struggles as well. Many are not alone, yet they feel lonely, because no one seems truly interested in their story or their pain. Over time, that sense of being “just nobody in a crowd” deepens into despair.
This is what complacency looks like in our time—not necessarily wealth or luxury, but the habit of not noticing, of passing by, of being too busy or too absorbed in ourselves to care. And in such a world, it is no surprise that people withdraw, give up, hesitate to trust, and even step back from the Church. The cycle continues: people stop volunteering, stop reaching out, stop showing up—because they feel invisible. And invisibility is a heavy burden.
Yet the Gospel today offers us a way out. Abraham tells the rich man that a “great chasm” has been fixed between him and Lazarus. That chasm begins here and now, whenever indifference separates us from one another. But there is hope, because Christ Himself has built the bridge. He became poor so that by His poverty we might become rich. He crossed the chasm between heaven and earth, and He calls us to cross the smaller chasms that divide us today. Each time we choose to say, “You matter to me,” we are walking across that bridge.
Think of the young person who feels lost and disconnected, or the parish leader quietly burdened with responsibilities and little support. Think of the newcomer who slips into Mass longing for a word of welcome, the mother who struggles to express herself in an unfamiliar language, or the teenager who feels out of place even in church. Think, too, of the neighbor who is not Catholic and has never been invited to share in the life of our parish. Each of them is Lazarus at our gate—Christ Himself waiting for us to notice, to respond with kindness, and to make room for them in our hearts.
The message of this Sunday is clear: complacency weakens and destroys community, but compassion builds it up and makes it strong. The path forward is not complicated. It begins with simple acts—choosing to notice, to welcome, to listen, and to serve. Each time we choose to care, we take another step across the chasm.
My brothers and sisters, let us not be counted among the indifferent, but among those who see Christ in one another and respond with love. In this way, we will not only hear the Word of God—we will live it.
With prayers and blessings,
Msgr. “John” Cuong Pham