I am friends with a few Ukrainian Sisters of St. Basil the Great. I am appalled and heartbroken at what has been happening in their country. I think of Gaza where cruelty has brought death and starvation in addition to the destruction of homes, hospitals and schools. 

In our own country, human beings exercise the "right" to obtain weapons and wreak senseless violence on the innocent. In too many places, powerful people inflict misery on the vulnerable while the rest of the world stands by wringing our hands. Does that not leave us grieving with Habakkuk who prays, "I cry out to you, 'Violence!' but you do not intervene. Why do you let me see ruin; why must I look at misery?"

The Lord answers that "the vision still has its time … and will not disappoint." What can that mean? Today, this message seems enigmatic or even detached. What are we supposed to believe? 

In today's Gospel, the apostles ask for more faith. Speaking with what seems to be untethered exaggeration, Jesus tells them, "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed," you could do the impossible.

Why did Jesus speak of the mustard seed when his friends asked for more faith? Remember, Jesus saw mustard seeds as some of the most prolific things God created (Luke 13:18-19). A minuscule mustard seed grows as its internal dynamism impels it to sprout and burst forth in stupendous growth. It needs soil and water, but its potential is God-instilled, an example of the energy and life the Creator has sown in every living creature.

The mustard seed not only surges forth in growth, it also produces more seeds. In Jesus' vision, faith like the mustard seed is something exuberantly energetic and will not disappoint. That's the kind of power Paul found in the Gospel.

When Paul wrote to his beloved Timothy, he bade him "to stir into flame the gift of God you have through the imposition of my hands." Paul knew that his protégé Timothy had lived his faith with a passion born and nurtured by his family. It was in his blood. Paul was concerned that Timothy could be overwhelmed by the circumstances in which he ministered, losing touch with the fervent faith of his youth and the certainty that God would give him the strength he needed. Like a father, Paul encouraged Timothy to rejuvenate his sense of mission like someone who blows on embers until a flame flares forth and everything catches fire. 

Where does this Liturgy of the Word leave or lead us? First, we remember that our faith is not transactional like the relationship between the master and servant in Jesus' parable. Faith has nothing to do with service performed out of duty or to secure a promised reward. Faith involves the vision Christ leads us to share with God. Faith is absolutely and totally relational. As servants of God and members of the body of Christ, we are instilled with the grace and faith-energy of the mustard seed. In Christ's vision, everything we do can lead us and our world into deeper union with God and with all of creation. 

So, what about all that seems to be going disastrously in our world today? Here we go back to Habakkuk. Habakkuk's lament came from faith — a deep faith that knew that things shouldn't and didn't need to be as they were. That kind of faith is a call to action. We pray with Habakkuk, not to change God's will, but to open ourselves to the energy and grace of our baptism, to allow mustard seed faith to flower in and among us.

How does that help me as I pray for and talk to my Ukrainian sisters? They are far away, and I am comfortably safe. Because of them and the innocent victims of shootings, because of endless wars and the hatred perpetrated by self-righteous, angry people, I shout with Habakkuk, "Why do you let me see ruin; why must I look at misery?"

It seems that the only answer comes from the women who stood at the foot of the cross. They refused to simply wring their hands. Their weeping and watching was a mustard seed of faith-full-ness. Their presence said, "It does not have to be this way! This is not God's will!" When they could do nothing but watch and weep and love, their presence changed everything. Jesus was not abandoned.

Unleashing mustard seed faith in our circumstances is painful and sometimes dangerous. Today's liturgy asks us if we are ready to pray, "Lord, increase our faith!" If we ask genuinely, it will be granted. The vision God offers still has its time.

Some people think newborns can't really see. But actually, their task is to learn to focus on objects both near and farther away. Both sight and hearing develop as we learn to block some of the things we hear and see so that we can concentrate on what is important at hand. Although we may not think of it, both hearing and seeing have a great deal to do with our intentions and priorities. That's what today's readings are all about.

Today, we hear Amos berate the wealthy whose only focus is their own comfort and enjoyment.  Our opening line says it all: "Woe to the complacent!" They have obtained all the luxury they could have imagined and can dance to their own tune. They ignore the fact that things are falling apart around them and people are suffering. Disaster has not yet hit them and they think it never will. What Amos says in prose, Jesus tells as a parable people love to hear — until it reveals them to themselves.

When we call today's parable "Lazarus and a rich man," we've already revealed its key message: Lazarus has a name, a dignified designation, and the wealthy man gets defined — perhaps as he defines himself — by what he has; he seems to be no more than a seeker of self-satisfaction.

As Jesus spins his tale, he describes the rich man's overabundance. He had all he wanted, a life that most folks in Jesus' audience could hardly imagine. Then he portrayed Lazarus in dreadful misery. When Lazarus died, Father Abraham took him on his lap like a parent comforting a sad, injured child. The rich man received all that he had ever given: nothing but grief.

Now at last, the once wealthy one sees what could have been: a beggar consoled and loved. In life, that rich man had dug the chasm separating him from anyone beneath his consideration. He had not crossed over into the zone of compassion, so he could never take up residence there.

Interestingly, Jesus doesn't claim that the beggar was without sin. He only said that Lazarus lived in appalling conditions. As if his wounds and hunger were not enough, the only attention he received was from dogs, ritually unclean animals. Until he reached the afterlife, Lazarus knew he was invisible to many and disdained by others. Somewhat like the suffering servant in Isaiah 53, he was someone from whom people turned their faces, whom they spurned and avoided. He deserved rest in Abraham's bosom simply because he needed it, nothing more.

Even after death, the rich man observing Abraham and Lazarus remained blind to Lazarus as a fellow human being. Now, rather than being blind to him, he saw him as a potential servant who might ease his discomfort. The closest the pitiable man ever got to expressing compassion came when he begged for a message to his brothers. With that, Abraham told him that if they couldn't or wouldn't listen to Scripture, nothing could bail them out of their prison of complacent egoism.  Not even a resurrection — be it of Lazarus or Jesus himself.

This is where Paul's message to Timothy comes in. Paul says, "Lay hold of eternal life, to which you were called." Paul is not talking about a future place in the bosom of Abraham. He's talking about the very day on which Timothy read his words. Paul believes that eternal life has already begun for those who live in Christ. Their care for one another, their ability to see as Jesus did, and their compassion for anyone in need ushers them into the reign of God here and now.  At the same time, it's not a done deal. Paul tells us we must compete or strive well for the faith. The reign of God is not a destiny, but a way of living with and for others.

A few years ago, as I was getting on a highway, I saw a man that greatly resembled a nephew of mine who was lost in drink and drugs and disillusion. I quickly switched lanes to check him out.  It wasn't my nephew. As I drove on, I wondered. What if it had been him? What would I have done? And when it wasn't he, what might I have done anyhow?

Today's readings are meant to provoke us to sharpen our senses and sensitivity. Jesus' parable asks us to judge where we choose to focus and what we intentionally block out. What do we see when we pass a beggar? Do we even notice the amount of plastic we throw away or the water we let run unnecessarily? When we see need, do we evaluate the one in need or our own response?

Who and what can we not afford to ignore?