NeuroDivine

Reflection for Sunday: Luke 16:19–31

The parable of the rich man and Lazarus is not a story of punishment—it is a story of distance. A chasm, not of geography, but of attention. Lazarus lay at the gate, visible yet unseen, his suffering absorbed into the background of another man’s comfort. The rich man did not strike him, nor did he curse him. He simply did not respond.

This passage invites us to examine our thresholds. Who sits quietly at the edge of our awareness? What suffering do we pass by—not out of cruelty, but out of distraction or detachment? The gate is not locked. The table is not empty. But the invitation to mercy is ignored.

Stewardship, in this light, is not merely about wealth. It is about relationship. It is the daily discipline of noticing, of responding, of believing that what we do with our time, our table, our presence matters. Trust is not sentimental—it is structured. It is the quiet conviction that Scripture, tradition, and the Spirit already call us to mercy. We do not need signs from the dead. We need to trust the wisdom already given.

So how do we respond?

• We begin with attentive presence. We notice who is near but overlooked. We practice proximity—not as saviours, but as companions.
• We offer hospitality as stewardship. We open our homes, our calendars, our listening. We share what we have, even if it feels small.
• We trust the prophets and the law. We resist the temptation to wait for miracles or spectacles. The call to mercy is already clear.
• We examine our gates. What barriers have we built—social, emotional, spiritual? Stewardship includes dismantling what divides.
• We embody the reversal. The parable ends with Lazarus lifted and the rich man brought low. We live that reversal now—honoring the unseen, lifting the lowly, not out of pity, but out of reverence.

This is not a condemnation. It is a call. A call to live as stewards of mercy, as people who trust that love—slow, deliberate, and rooted—is enough to transform the world.

May we live as those who notice. May we steward what we have with reverence. And may our trust be not in signs, but in the faithful work of love.

A liturgical response

We gather before the One who sees what we overlook,
who hears the quiet suffering at the margins,
who waits at the threshold of our comfort.

We will trust, we will notice, we will respond. 

Lazarus lay at the gate.
The rich man feasted, but did not see.
We confess the times we have passed by,
the moments we have chosen silence over mercy. 

We will trust, we will notice, we will respond. 

Stewardship is not measured in wealth,
but in how we hold what we’ve been given—
our time, our presence, our attention.

We will trust, we will notice, we will respond. 

The prophets have spoken.
The law has called.
The Spirit still whispers:
Love is enough. Mercy is near.
We will trust, we will notice, we will respond. 

Let us live the reversal now— 
lifting the lowly, honouring the unseen,
opening our gates to those who wait.

We will trust, we will notice, we will respond. 
God of the threshold,
teach us to see with compassion,
to steward with reverence,
and to walk in the slow, faithful rhythm of love.
We will trust, we will notice, we will respond.