This parable is confronting.
Is the parable predicated upon an early Christian named Lazarus, who was living in abject poverty?
There was a rich man who used to dress in purple and fine linen and feast magnificently every day.
And at his gate there lay a poor man called Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to fill himself with the scraps that fell from the rich man’s table (Luke 16).
Henry Wansborough, OSB, is disturbed by the ‘flea-ridden dogs licking Lazarus’ sores’:
There are no pets in Palestine, for dogs are either bristling guard-dogs or mangy curs.
Why such disparity of wealth in ancient societies, but in ours too?
Just the other day the press reported the death of a British man. Found dead in his house for a few days, there was virtually nothing in it. He had been burning his furniture to keep himself warm.
Why don’t I notice the disparity?
‘Lazarus’ is sitting on my doorstep and I’m unaware.
But then I realise that I don’t even know his name.
What if I asked him his name? Might well change everything.
A relationship would develop, benefiting both ‘Lazarus’ and me.
Simple plan of action.