There was a rich man…
                  and at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus…

                           —Luke 16.19, 20

God, I confess
the riches I take for granted,
the privilege that allows me
to not see the needy outside my gate,
obliterated in my drunken stupor
of “all lives matter.”
I confess the gate.

I confess I seek my own completeness
without them.
I prefer comfort to justice,
the sumptuous feast
to the bosom of Abraham.

I confess I see the poor as other than me,
myself as other than poor.
I confess I see them as other than you.

Lazarus God,
this is how you come to me.
This is your visitation.

Let me be poor in keeping
and rich in sharing.
Let me not be alone at my table.
I will let you in.

God, open my eyes,
open my heart, open my hands.
Open my gate.



Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light

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write to me at unfoldinglight(at)

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