Lazarus still waits at the gate

Jesus paints a scene that is uncomfortably familiar in this Sunday’s gospel (Lk 16:19–31): a rich man dressed in luxury, eating well every day, while at his gate lay Lazarus, sick, hungry, ignored. In death, their fortunes are reversed. A great chasm separates them—one that can no longer be crossed.

It is not just a story about Heaven and Hell. It is about now. It is about what happens when societies choose to normalise inequality, when those with power, wealth, and comfort—the so-called ‘one per cent’ present in every country of the world—convince themselves that the suffering at their gate, literally or metaphorically, is not their problem.

Look around the world today. The rich man is visible in Wall Street’s record profits, in the billionaires flying to space while entire nations sink under climate change they did not cause.

The Lazarus is visible in the migrant boats capsizing in the Mediterranean, in children in Gaza dying for lack of food and medicine, in Haitian families trapped between gang violence and international neglect. The global order has dug a chasm, and the cries from the other side grow louder by the day.

Let’s bring it home. We’re not exempt from this parable—we’re living it. On one side are the few who benefit from oil and gas wealth, who drive luxury vehicles past those selling nuts, popcorn, and fritters at the traffic lights. Who build high-rises while others can’t afford basic housing.

How to bridge the divide

On the other side are the Lazaruses: single mothers sometimes wait hours in the nation’s understaffed public hospitals because the health system is crumbling. Young men and women in so-called depressed communities trapped in cycles of poverty and crime. Elderly men and women with signs on cardboard begging at our highway intersections while political leaders debate whether they even deserve dignity.

Across the Caribbean, it’s the same scenario. In Jamaica, small farmers are crushed by the weight of imports and debt. In Dominica and Grenada, families still rebuild years after hurricanes, while insurance companies rake in profits. In Haiti, the ultimate Lazarus of our region, the people cry out for justice as the world looks away, leaving them to bleed in the streets.

The parable warns us: the chasm we ignore today may become permanent tomorrow. Once trust collapses, once resentment hardens, once societies accept inequality as normal, it is almost impossible to bridge the divide without violence or ruin.

And Jesus does not let us hide behind excuses. In the afterlife, the rich man begged for Lazarus to be sent as a messenger to warn his brothers, but the answer was sharp: they already had Moses and the prophets, and they refused to listen.

Likewise, we have all the warnings we need. Economists, activists, even climate scientists are crying out like prophets, telling us where this road leads.

The question is not whether we know—it is whether we care.

If Trinidad and Tobago, if the Caribbean, if the world continues to step over Lazarus at the gate, then we should not be surprised when the reversal comes.

The good news is that the parable still speaks before the grave: there is time to feed Lazarus, to heal systems, to bridge divides.

But that window is closing.