“Tears in the Shelter – For Once They Were Seen”
In this Sunday’s Gospel, Lazarus is given something the rich man never sees: a name. He is not just “the poor man at the gate.” He is a person with dignity, worthy of being seen and remembered.
When I worked in New Orleans I once sang with a choir at a men’s shelter on Martin Luther King Day. Our choir was part of a group of area choirs. We sang Janèt Sullivan Whitaker’s song “The Least of These” (Link attached below). At first, I worried we had chosen the wrong song. While the gospel choirs had the men clapping and cheering, our song left them sitting in silence. It was only a few moments later, as I looked more closely, that I saw they weren’t unmoved. They were in tears. The men told me it was the first time they had felt seen. There was even a song about them that moved their hearts. Someone had captured the pain in their hearts and gave voice to it so others might see. For once, they were not invisible. They were seen.
That is what Lazarus longed for at the rich man’s gate—not just food, but recognition. And that is what so many still long for today: to be seen, to be called by name, to be honored as human.
The question for us is simple: Who is Lazarus at our gate? And will we have eyes to see them?
Rev. Jim Caime, SJ
My email link is now correct.
I have lived and worked in thirteen states, as well as in Europe, Latin America, and East Asia, traveling around the world for work. I tend to approach life with a global perspective—yet always with a keen awareness of the local and the individual.
One of the most powerful meditations for me in the Spiritual Exercises is the meditation on the Incarnation, where the Trinity looks upon the world and sees the need to “be made flesh” in our lives. This deeply shapes my understanding of faith and presence.
Math, science, and hard data help us understand our lives and circumstances, but without the arts—poetry, music, and beauty—we would lack the language to express the inexpressible. I am drawn to Ignatian spirituality because it affirms that God is present in all things, always seeking to communicate with us, personally and profoundly.
I am a dreamer, deeply desiring to see the world as God does—with all its possibilities—while never turning away from its pain. And, thankfully, I also have a wicked sense of humor, which helps me (and hopefully others) navigate the world’s darkness with a bit more light.
At the same time, I hold close the wisdom of the prayer attributed to St. Oscar Romero, which reminds us that “we are merely laborers and not the Master Builder.” We are never the be-all and end-all—that is God’s place. This truth keeps me both humble and hopeful. Also, I am a sinner, always in need of God’s love, mercy and grace.
It is a privilege to contribute to this ministry. God’s Word is alive and active, and I hope my reflections offer you meaningful thoughts for your own prayer.
