Room At The Table

Good afternoon – good people!

Or perhaps it is good morning – good people, depending on where in the world your home is.

I come to you from across the deep blue - from Australia.

I am on Yuggera and Turrbal country in Meanjin, now known as Brisbane in southeast Queensland, Australia.

You might like to think of the traditional name for the country you are currently on and acknowledge elders past and present,
and those who will come in the future.

I feel deeply grateful to have been born into a land so rich in beauty, history, and abundance.

Australia’s landscapes — from oceans to rainforests, desert heartlands to gentle coastlines — are full of wonder. It’s easy to look around and see only prosperity.

And yet, beneath that surface, we know another story exists — a story of inequality, scarcity, and silence.

Just as the readings from today — the Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time — remind us:

·      wealth does not equal justice,

·      comfort does not always come with compassion, and

·      abundance, when stockpiled or ignored, has consequences.

Let’s take a moment to reflect on these readings — through a lens of relationship.

Because everything is connected;.

We do not live in isolation and our choices affect others.

In the first reading, the prophet Amos doesn’t hold back. He speaks directly to those enjoying the finest things — those people stretched out on couches, sipping wine, using the best oils. But he warns them: their self-indulgence and their indifference will not go unnoticed. Their good times, he says, will end. There is a cost to complacency.

Then, in the psalm, we hear the truth of who the Divine is — one who brings justice to the oppressed, food to the hungry, who lifts up those who are bowed down. God doesn’t turn away from those on the margins — and neither should we.

In the second reading, Paul urges Timothy — and us — to pursue righteousness, love, patience, and gentleness. These are not soft words — they’re courageous choices. And they are choices that matter not just for this life, but for the next.

Then comes the Gospel — the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. We know this story. The rich man feasts every day. Lazarus, covered in sores, lies at his gate, longing for scraps. But the rich man doesn’t see him. Or perhaps he chooses not to.

And so, Jesus shows us the ultimate consequence: in the next life, the roles are reversed. The one who lived in comfort is tormented, and the one who suffered is comforted. But here’s the heart of the message — it’s not about condemning wealth. It’s about how we use it. It’s about what we choose to see, and who we choose to ignore.

The late Michael Leunig, a beloved Australian cartoonist, once reimagined this parable. In his illustration, the rich man dines at an extravagant table, while below it — unseen, unfed — are Lazarus and others like him.

It’s confronting. And it’s real.

In truth, we have all been both these people.

There are times in our lives when we’ve had abundance — and times when we’ve felt like we were on the outside, longing to be included, to be seen, to be loved. To share in the table of plenty … and there is plenty for everyone!

This parable is not about a distant biblical world. It’s about here. Now.

It is about us – in this lifetime.

And it asks us: who is at your gate today?

Who is lying unseen at the edge of your life?

Let me share three reflections I draw from this Gospel:

First — we cannot feast sumptuously without it affecting others.
Everything is connected. The choices we make — what we consume, how we vote, who we welcome — ripple outward. As Pope Francis in his encyclical LaudatoSi’ reminds us, the cry of the poor and the cry of the earth are one and the same. They are linked.

We cannot separate justice for people, from justice for creation.

Second — we are called to be ministers, not masters.
True discipleship isn’t about status or control. It’s about service. No person is greater than another. The Gospel reminds us that we each carry responsibility — not just for ourselves, but for those around us. Those at the table, and those beneath it.

Third — go beyond individualism.
We live in a culture that often says “me first.” But the Gospel says “love your neighbour.” Our faith calls us to a broader vision — a vision of the common good, where everyone has enough.

Enough food.

Enough dignity.

Enough space at the table.

And let’s not forget suffering is not just a global concept. It’s personal. Many of us carry invisible griefs — health diagnoses, mental health struggles, anxiety about the world our young people are growing up in.

Sometimes, we are Lazarus — in need of care.

And sometimes, we are the rich person — with more than enough to offer.

So today, I invite you to be a person of encounter.

Be someone who notices, who responds with mercy.

Be someone who acts with love — not just feeling compassion but living it out.

Because, friends, the world is aching for healing.

The Church and our world around us is crying out to be rebuilt — just as it did in the time of Francis of Assisi. And like him, we are called to rebuild with love, with justice, with humility, with joy.

Each of us holds within our hearts the ability to transform suffering through love and mercy.

To share the table of plenty with others.

We are not powerless here.

We are connected. Furthermore, we are capable of creating a more just and compassionate world — one choice, one table, one shared meal at a time.

Let’s be revolutionaries of love!

Let’s listen to the prophets of today like the late Pope Francis, our elders, our young people — and let’s respond with our whole hearts.

There is enough goodness and grace for all to have a seat at the table.

That is the Gospel message.

Because in the heart of God, there is room at the table for everyone.
And that, my friends is the Good News we are called to live.

I pray

May we be people of compassion.
People of encounter.
People of justice.

May we have the courage to notice…
The humility to serve…
And the love to share what we’ve been given.

Because our choices shape eternity.

And in God’s kindom where we are family – all kin
there is room at the table for all.

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