Thursday of the 2nd Week of Lent
The Lord says: "Cursed is the man who trusts in man, relies on strength of flesh, and whose heart departs from the Lord. For he will be like a bush in the desert, and will not see when good comes, but will inhabit the parched places in the wilderness, an uninhabited salt land. "Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, and whose confidence is in the Lord. For he will be as a tree planted by the waters, who spreads out its roots by the river, and will not fear when heat comes, but its leaf will be green, and will not be concerned in the year of drought. It won't cease from yielding fruit. The heart is deceitful above all things and it is exceedingly corrupt. Who can know it? "I, the Lord, search the mind. I try the heart, even to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his doings."
Blessed is the man who doesn't walk in the counsel of the wicked, nor stand on the path of sinners, nor sit in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the Lord's law. On his law he meditates day and night.
He will be like a tree planted by the streams of water, that produces its fruit in its season, whose leaf also does not wither. Whatever he does shall prosper.
"Now there was a certain rich man, and he was clothed in purple and fine linen, living in luxury every day. A certain beggar, named Lazarus, was taken to his gate, full of sores, and desiring to be fed with the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table. Yes, even the dogs came and licked his sores. The beggar died, and he was carried away by the angels to Abraham's bosom. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, he lifted up his eyes, being in torment, and saw Abraham far off, and Lazarus at his bosom. He cried and said, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue! For I am in anguish in this flame.'
"But Abraham said, 'Son, remember that you, in your lifetime, received your good things, and Lazarus, in the same way, bad things. But here he is now comforted and you are in anguish. Besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, that those who want to pass from here to you are not able, and that no one may cross over from there to us.'
"He said, 'I ask you therefore, father, that you would send him to my father's house — for I have five brothers— that he may testify to them, so they won't also come into this place of torment.'
"But Abraham said to him, 'They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen to them.'
"He said, 'No, father Abraham, but if one goes to them from the dead, they will repent.'
"He said to him, 'If they don't listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if one rises from the dead.'"
The rich man in purple and fine linen had everything money could buy, yet he lived as spiritually barren as that bush in the desert Jeremiah describes. Notice how wealth itself wasn't his downfall – it was where he placed his trust. His heart had departed from the Lord, anchored instead in material comfort and social status. Meanwhile, Lazarus, covered in sores and longing for scraps, somehow remained rooted by those life-giving waters of divine trust.
This parable cuts close to home in our consumer culture. We're constantly invited to find security in our bank accounts, our careers, our carefully curated lives. Yet Jeremiah's warning echoes across centuries: when we rely on "strength of flesh," we inhabit parched places even amid apparent abundance. The rich man's tragedy wasn't just his indifference to suffering – it was his spiritual blindness, his inability to see beyond the immediate.
Consider how the rich man's brothers represent all of us who have "Moses and the prophets" – Scripture, tradition, the wisdom of the Church – yet still hunger for more dramatic signs. We already possess what we need to flourish like that tree planted by streams of water. The question is whether we'll trust deeply enough to sink our roots there.
Lent invites us to examine where we're actually placing our confidence. Are we like trees drawing life from God's presence, or like bushes withering in our own self-reliance? The movement from curse to blessing, from spiritual drought to fruitfulness, happens not through dramatic interventions but through the daily choice to trust in the Lord rather than in our own strength.
What would change if we truly believed God's care for us is more reliable than our own planning? Where might we be overlooking the Lazarus at our gate because we're too focused on our own comfort?