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A Check of the Heart

Leaders—and those who long to lead—are invited first to tend the soil of their motivations. What often begins as genuine service and love can quietly bend toward performance, recognition, and the hunger to be seen. Scripture gently interrupts this drift: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves” (Philippians 2:3).

Humility before God is not self-erasure, but honest alignment. It is the courage to lead without needing applause, to serve without keeping score, and to trust that God sees what remains hidden. When leadership flows from love rather than image, it becomes spacious and life-giving. In God’s presence, we release the burden of proving ourselves and rediscover the freedom of lifting others up.

Prayer:

God of truth and mercy, search my heart. Where service has become performance, gently realign me. Teach me the quiet strength of humility, that I may lead from love, honor others freely, and rest in being seen by You alone. Amen.

Loosening the Grip

Jesus reminds us that wealth can make the heart heavy—not because possessions are evil, but because they tempt us to trust power, status, and control rather than love. The kingdom of God opens when our grip loosens and our lives become lighter, more available to compassion and grace.

Ways to reorient the heart:

1. Practice hidden generosity – Give in ways that bring no recognition. Let generosity retrain the soul to trust God rather than abundance.

2. Listen to those who seem to have less – Spend time with those who have less power or voice. Let their stories disrupt political certainty and soften judgment.

3. Name your true security – When anxious, say aloud: “My life does not consist in what I own or influence.” Let Love redefine safety.

4. Fast from dominance – Step back from arguments, outrage cycles, or the need to be right.

5. Choose mercy over winning

6. Simplify one attachment – Release one habit, luxury, or control that quietly claims your allegiance.

A prayer:

God of love, free my heart from what weighs it down. Teach me to trust You more than what I possess, to love more than I control, and to follow the path of humility and compassion. Make my life light enough for Your kingdom. Amen.

Many of us learned, implicitly or explicitly, that to feel spiritual is to feel calm, grateful, trusting, and or at peace. When anger rises, when sadness lingers, when jealousy or fear take hold, we may quietly assume we have fallen out of God’s presence. We try to correct ourselves, suppress what we feel, or wait until we are “better” before we pray again.

Yet Scripture tells a different story.

The Psalms are filled not with polished serenity but with raw emotion. “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?” (Psalm 13:1). “Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?” (Psalm 42:5). These words are not signs of spiritual failure; they are evidence of relationship. The psalmist brings anger, despair, fear, and jealousy directly into God’s presence—refusing to pretend, refusing to withdraw.

Even Jesus does not withhold difficult emotions from God. In Gethsemane he confesses, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death” (Matthew 26:38). On the cross he cries, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1; Matthew 27:46). Scripture does not sanitize the interior life of faith; it sanctifies it by telling the truth.

What often troubles us is not just the emotion itself, but the tension we feel when strong emotion coexists with longing for God. We may think, If I were closer to God, I wouldn’t feel this way. But Scripture suggests the opposite: this very tension may be the signal that God is near and drawing us into deeper love.

Paul writes, “The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words” (Romans 8:26). Our sighing, our unrest, our ache is not an obstacle to communion—it is already prayer. Desire that persists in pain is not absence; it is participation.

Jealousy, fear, anger, and sorrow often arise where love matters most. God does not shame these places but meets them. Again and again, God speaks tenderly to those caught in inner conflict: “Do not be afraid, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine” (Isaiah 43:1). The reassurance is not offered after fear disappears, but while it is still present.

When we notice difficult emotions and feel a yearning for God at the same time, something important is happening. This is not divided loyalty; it is the soul waking up. The yearning itself is evidence of grace. As the psalmist says, “Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your cataracts” (Psalm 42:7). God’s depth meets our depth—not just our clarity or strength, but our confusion and ache.

Jesus names this paradox as blessedness: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled” (Matthew 5:6). Hunger is not fullness, yet it is the condition for receiving. Desire that aches is already oriented toward love.

What God seems to be showing us, again and again, is not how to feel less, but how to be loved more—in what we feel. The invitation of Scripture is not to resolve our inner life before approaching God, but to bring it whole. “Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). All means all.

In this way, difficult emotions become a doorway rather than a dead end. They reveal where we are still alive, still attached, still longing. And when that longing turns toward God—even faintly—it becomes a sign not of spiritual failure, but of a love large enough to meet us exactly where we are.

Each of us carries a sense—an inner whisper, perhaps even a holy prompting—that something in our lives is off track. Jesus says, “Look at the birds of the air.” They do not fret or store away, yet their loving Father cares for them. And we respond, “I want that kind of faith,” even as we save more money, spend more money, set more goals—and quietly continue building the prison.

Jesus’ encounter with the rich young ruler exposes just how carefully constructed that prison has become, and how diligently we maintain it. Within it lies something we have almost—but not entirely—obliterated: a deep knowing we all have. It is the recognition that much of our life is a weary chasing after what can never truly satisfy.

The Gospel tells us that the rich young ruler walks away sad. He decides not to do what Jesus invites him to do: “Sell all you have, give to the poor, and come follow me.” The rich young ruler walks away in sadness, his sadness tied to his great wealth, his position, his (dis?) comforts. And if we are honest, we often walk away sad for the same reason—because of what we possess, or what we long to possess, the accumulated “stuff” of life, including our positions. Our possessions do indeed possess us.

Yet the sadness persists, thankfully.

The chase may never end. Over time, it becomes our own finely engineered confinement. And deep down, we know this: we hold the key to unlock the door. Still, we are afraid of freedom. We fear what might be asked of us on the other side of those walls—beyond the bars, locks, and gates.

Here, at least, we know the rules. We understand the system we’ve built. We even know the warden—how he behaves, what he demands, what he allows. And though the warden is harsh, he is predictable. And we’ve had help along the way, watching and learning from other more experienced prison builders, more complacent fellow inmates, beholden to the warden and the system.

Love is not predictable.

Love says unsettling, unreasonable things: “Go—I will show you.”

“Sell what you have, give to the poor, and come follow me.”

“Love one another.”

“Have compassion for those in need.”

“Be merciful—to all.”

Love invites us to freedom with a steady drumbeat of inner sadness. May we each listen to that drumbeat until we’re able to be brave enough to use the key of Love, we’ve always had, to open the door.

Love opens us to freedom.

This blog is adapted from a message delivered on Sept 28, 2025

I think I’ll come clean right up front with you… for months now, in my prayers and quiet times, this story has kept showing up. You know how that happens? You’re not looking for it, but there it is again. So I’d go to Luke 16, read it, pray, and ask God, “What am I supposed to take from this? What am I to do with this?”

And every time, I’d walk away with… discomfort. A kind of unsettled feeling. Not sure what the takeaway was supposed to be. So I’d check the box: “Okay, Lord, I looked it up, I read it, but I’m not finding the clarity I want—so that’s on you. You’ll show me when you’re ready.”

But then, the next time, the story would show up again. And again, I’d come away restless. “Alright, God, just give me a roadmap. Give me the shortest route, like Siri or Waze. Make it convenient, make it efficient. Just spell it out.”

And then about a month ago, when I sat down to prepare this very message, I opened the lectionary. Jeremiah, Amos—hard-hitting but doable. Couple Psalms—always promising. Timothy—Paul always liked Timothy. But then I got distracted, walked away from the screen.

When I came back… what were my eyes drawn to? Yes. The gospel reading. Today’s gospel reading: Luke 16. The story of the rich man and Lazarus.

I thought: “Say it ain’t so.”

Clearly, some guidance. At least for me. And I hope, maybe for you too.

Our Desire for a Boss

If you’re like me, you’ve prayed something like this before: “God, show me what to do. I’ll do whatever you want—just be clear!”

What it seems, at times, we want Jesus as our benevolent boss. Our cosmic answer man. Ideally He covers the big stuff, keeps us comfortable, handles the problems, and smites the bad guys.

And too… sometimes clear and simple guidance and the encouragement to do the right thing. Just tell me what to do, Lord, and if it’s too difficult or inconvenient, maybe you could just handle it?

And Jesus responds, “Nah. You’ve got this. Love your neighbor. Carry a cross. Serve the least of these.”

And we say, “Uh… thanks. But is there an  easier option?

The Rich Man and Lazarus

And that’s where this story comes in.

The rich man, dressed in purple, feasting every day. Lazarus, poor and sick, lying at his gate, covered in sores. Dogs licking his wounds.

The rich man is living the dream—maximum comfort, zero responsibility. And Lazarus is literally right there. The rich man doesn’t even have to travel to find someone to love. But he ignores him.

Then comes the great reversal. Both men die… Lazarus is carried by angels to Abraham’s side—eternal comfort. The rich man ends up in torment. And suddenly he’s the beggar.

Our Human Hope?

Now here’s the kicker. We hear that story and think: “Okay, Jesus, spell out the rules. Give me the checklist so I don’t end up like that guy.”

We look to Jesus to be our director, our boss, again. “What’s the minimum requirement? What if I say yes and then don’t like it?  Just tell me what to do, and I’ll sign up.”

But Jesus isn’t handing out rules. He’s showing us reality: if we live only for ourselves, we’ll end up empty. If we sacrifice for others, we’ll know God. I think that’s important for us in this story. The negative outcomes of this story is a clear message that if we’re seeking God, and feel like we’re lost, simply look around your life and find the Lazarus that needs to be cared for. Easier said than done sometimes. 

Because as Jesus reminds us … God’s kingdom is in our midst, and their story asks that we pay attention to the needs in our orbit. Not someone else’s path or gate or driveway but someone nearby. 

Cross vs. Comfort

The rich man chose comfort—the purple robe, the feasts, the “someone else will deal with Lazarus.” It left him empty.

Lazarus carried the cross—the suffering, the humiliation—and he found God’s comfort.

And Jesus is saying: you need not wait any longer.. The gate is here. Lazarus is here. The kingdom is here.

Some reflection.. 

So, over the years, I’ve tried in various ways to respond when I see needs… and at times I’ve just flat out missed them. 

In brief, I’ve tried to be aware of “Lazarus in my driveway”, or along my path and have tried in different ways to respond… I haven’t always been responsive and I pray that as Ive gotten older I’ve become more attentive. 

I’ve realized too that the amount of input we receive can sometimes overwhelm us leading us to worry about things outside our control in lieu of taking care of the situation right in front of us. It’s a human challenge we need to prayerfully pay attention to. 

There was the time years ago at McDonalds when a man approached me to ask for money to buy soup across the street.. and I said I’ll buy you something to eat here to which he first walked away and then returned to say a filet o fish might be okay… to this day I wonder did I give my brother a rock when he asked for soup? 

Then there was the time in Chicago, my son who was 10 at the time and I were walking to  get back for a train to the burbs when we passed a number of people asking for money – my son was and is to this day willing to share his own money, time, heart with others – which was and is a great example to me. That day, as we walked, I knew I only had a 20 left in my wallet, so I secretly hoped we might not see another person in need but alas, steps away from union station, my sons attention to Lazarus opened my heart and wallet too. 

I’m not suggesting this, paying attention to Lazarus, is easy to do and with all the communications we receive and the often dubious information, it is sometimes tough to know who to respond to and how to respond. What is clear is that we are all called to pay attention and respond compassionately as Jesus would. 

Jesus the Servant

Rather than wondering, let me invite you into a  quiet time of prayerful reflection today where each of us can ask for guidance from our Loving God. 

Loving God as you’ve demonstrated through Jesus, washing feet, eating with outcasts, dying on a cross, loving each of us. Show us today how we might “lose our life for your sake so we might find truth and love – show us the way Lord, show us your way.”

(Silence)

Anything come to you in prayer, you’d be willing to share? 

God’s Love Everywhere

Now, here’s the good news! God’s love is for both Lazarus and the rich man.

Jesus tells this story not to gloat over the rich man’s fate, but to wake him up. To say: “look around See Lazarus”. You will find God’s love in him. Don’t delay and don’t get distracted.”

That’s the part we often miss. We want God to be the decider of rewards and punishments. But God isn’t running an empire. God is love. Love in our midst. And love points us to sacrifice for one another. 

So Jesus is saying: you want to know God? Sit with Lazarus. Share your bread. Wash feet. Carry the cross. That’s where Christ dwells. 

Closing Comments

So maybe it comes down to this…

We want comfort and clarity.

God offers crosses and resurrection.

We want Jesus the benevolent boss and hero.

Jesus insists on being our servant, as a model for us to serve others. 

We want the throne.

He gives us a foot towel.

We want the answers.

He gives us each other.

In the end, the way to know God’s comfort and presence is to notice the Lazarus at our gate, accept the cross we are to carry, and let the love we know keep pouring out, day by day.

[Pause.]

Join me in prayer…

Loving God…surround us with your love, help us be your instruments of healing and peace in this world. Help us to be attentive to the Lazarus of our life and help us to respond to those needs so that all of us might experience your love more and more. Guide us today and each day as you teach us to pray. In Jesus name, Amen.