This evening is not just another Sunday.
It is a night of grace.

Because tonight, the Lord opens heaven to Midhun in baptism, confirmation, and holy communion.
Tonight, Alex is sealed with the Spirit in confirmation.

Two men saying “yes” to Christ.
Two souls crossing the threshold from the world’s table to God’s table.

And the Gospel tonight is no accident.
Because it is about a table.
One man feasting at his table on earth —
Another man feasting at God’s table in heaven.

The question is: which table will we choose?

Inside the gate — the rich man.
Purple robes, fine linen, daily feasts.

Outside the gate — a poor man.
Lazarus. Hungry, sick, ignored.

Two men.
Two gates.
Two eternities.

A few steps apart in life.
A chasm apart in death.

The rich man is not accused of cruelty.
He never beat Lazarus.
He never mocked him.
He never drove him away.

His sin was worse: indifference.

He saw him.
He stepped over him.
And he did nothing.

That is how souls rot.
Not by one act of violence, but by daily blindness.

Even the dogs showed more pity.
They licked his sores.

The beasts had compassion.
The man did not.

Then death comes.

Lazarus is carried by angels to Abraham’s bosom.
The rich man is buried — and in torment.

St Ambrose says: Lazarus is named, because God remembers him.
The rich man is nameless, because God forgets him.

Here Christ is blunt:
The soul survives death.
Judgment is real.
Heaven, hell, purgatory are not metaphors — they are realities.

Paul VI put it plainly in the Credo of the People of God:
“We believe in eternal life. We believe that the souls of all who die in the grace of Christ—whether purified in purgatory, or received immediately into paradise—go to be with Christ until the resurrection of the body.”

Death does not erase responsibility.
It reveals it.

The rich man begs for water.
Begs for relief.
Begs for a warning for his brothers.

But Abraham replies: “A great chasm is fixed.”

That chasm was not dug at death.
It was dug in life.

Every step over Lazarus deepened it.
Every look away widened it.

At death, the invisible wall in his heart became the visible gulf in eternity.

The rich man pleads: “Send Lazarus to warn them!”
Abraham answers: “They have Moses and the prophets. If they will not listen to them, they will not believe even if one rises from the dead.”

And it happened.
Lazarus of Bethany rose — and they plotted to kill him.
Jesus rose — and still many refused to believe.

The problem is not lack of evidence.
It is lack of repentance.
Not lack of light.
But closed eyes.

Now, let’s be honest.
We hear this parable and we think:
“But Father, most beggars today aren’t genuine. They’re scammers, addicts, not truly poor.”

Maybe.
But Jesus never checks Lazarus’ paperwork.

The parable doesn’t test Lazarus.
It tests the rich man.

God doesn’t ask: “Does he deserve it?”
He asks: “Is your heart open?”

Prudence matters.
But prudence is never an excuse for indifference.

You can be careful with money.
But never stingy with mercy.

And Lazarus today?
The single mum stretched thin.
The elderly neighbour no one visits.
The teenager drowning in loneliness.
The unborn child with no voice.

The question is not “Do they deserve it?”
The question is “Do we see them?”

Hell begins the day we stop seeing people as people.

And tonight, in Midhun and Alex, we see the opposite of indifference.
We see faith that sees.

Baptism is no polite ritual.
It is a rescue.
A soul washed clean, claimed by Christ, snatched from sin and death.

Confirmation is no Catholic graduation.
It is Pentecost repeated — the Spirit sealing, strengthening, sending.

The Eucharist is no religious symbol.
It is the feast of heaven, the table of Christ Himself, where Lazarus is lifted and the hungry are filled.

What the rich man rejected, these men tonight receive.
Not a banquet of self-indulgence, but the banquet of Christ’s Body and Blood.

There are two tables in this Gospel.

The table of the rich man — where only the comfortable sit, feeding themselves, blind to the poor.
And the table of Abraham — where Lazarus feasts with the saints, with Christ at the head.

Which table will we choose?

Baptism is crossing the threshold from one to the other.
Confirmation is the seal that says: this table is mine, this Lord is mine, this Church is mine.
The Eucharist is the feast that strengthens us for the journey until the banquet of heaven.

Tonight, Midhun and Alex declare: We choose Christ’s table.

And this is St Mary’s parish.

Mary, our patroness, opened her arms to God.
She said: “Be it done unto me according to your word.”
She saw the need at Cana and interceded.
She stood at the Cross and did not look away.

Mary never stepped over Lazarus.
She embraced him.

Her yes gave us Christ.
And her yes is the model for every baptism, every confirmation, every communion.

The rich man learned the truth too late.
At death, the door closed.
The chasm was fixed.

Better to repent now with tears of mercy than later with tears of regret.
Better to open your hands now than to wring them forever.
Better to see Lazarus now than to be blind forever.

The time is short.
Eternity is long.

So what about us?

As individuals: who is Lazarus at your gate?
As families: what do your children see? A faith of comfort, or a faith of sacrifice?
As a parish: do we feast together while outsiders wait, or do we open the doors and invite them in?

Tonight is a night of renewal.
Midhun and Alex remind us: faith is not theory.
It is decision.
It is sacrament.
It is eternity.

Christianity is not a lifestyle option.
It is life or death.
Heaven or hell.

A faith that costs nothing is worth nothing.
A love that notices no one is not love at all.
A church that forgets the poor is a church Christ will pass by.

The Gospel is not advice.
It is an ultimatum.
Not “try harder.”
But “repent, believe, follow.”

Two men.
Two gates.
Two destinies.

One feasted for a moment — and starves forever.
One starved for a moment — and feasts forever.

The world remembered the rich man’s wealth.
God forgot his name.

The world forgot Lazarus.
God remembers him forever.

Which will you be?

Tonight, Midhun and Alex show us the way.
They choose the table of Christ.
They choose the feast that never ends.
They choose mercy over indifference, eternity over comfort, Christ over the world.

Eternity begins at the gate.
Christ Himself waits in the Lazarus you ignore.
The Cross is the only bridge across the chasm.

So — open your eyes.
Open your hands.
Open your heart.

Because tonight, heaven rejoices.
Tonight, the Church grows.
Tonight, the banquet is set.

Come to the table.
Choose Christ.
Feast forever.

Don’t settle for the scraps of this world’s table

come to the feast of Christ,

where Lazarus and the saints already rejoice,

and where, by grace, we are called to join them.