In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, Jesus shows us a man who had everything he needed—and still missed what mattered most, because his heart never truly saw the person right in front of him.

We could focus on the difference between the rich man and Lazarus, or we could focus on what Christ is trying to say to each one of us. For me the question is more direct: how does this apply to me right now—to us right now—in our concrete circumstances?

I was remembering an experience in Medjugorje. I’ve probably shared it before; it’s one of my favorite anecdotes. I was there with students, and we didn’t normally go to organized talks—not because they’re bad, but because they’re long, and for young people it can be a lot.

One time some of the teachers insisted: “No, we should really go this time.” I didn’t think we should, but fine—we organized it and decided we’d go.

I showed up…and nobody else came. It was just me.

I was furious. “They make me go, I don’t want to go, and they don’t even come. This is awful.”

But I remember exactly what Ivan said that day. And honestly, it was probably because the Lord wanted me to hear it.

He was talking about prayer, and he said something I’ve never forgotten: a lot of times when we pray, it’s not that we actually need an answer. Sometimes we just don’t like the answer we already have.

Deep down, we often know what we’re supposed to do. We know the direction the Lord is pointing. The issue isn’t information. The issue is confidence. Trust. The courage to believe what he’s already saying.

Of course, that’s not always the case. But it’s true often enough to be worth naming.

And it connects to what the Father says to the rich man in the parable: we have what we need. We’ve been given what we need. But it can be hard to believe it’s enough—hard to believe we’ll actually survive with what God has already placed in front of us.

That’s especially relevant right now—whether we’re in MPD, on campus, or just living daily life. Prayer isn’t mainly, “Lord, is it going to happen?” It’s more, “Lord, what are you already doing, and how do I correspond to it?”

And that isn’t easy.

Lent can be exactly like that. It’s not always that we don’t know what we should do. Sometimes we know: more prayer. Which means less of something else. That’s simple—but it’s not easy.

Most of the time, in the depths of our hearts, we know what the Lord is asking. Discernment is possible. The question isn’t, “How is this going to work? It’s not going to work.” The question is, “Lord, what are you saying—and can I actually believe you?”

Then comes the next step: being coherent. Being firm—with myself and with others.

Because time will always feel scarce. It’s not just us; it’s the world. But there is time for what God wants.

It can feel like we’re always behind in everything. Maybe we’re not. Maybe it’s just that our expectations are different from God’s expectations.

It can feel like things never go exactly the way I want them to go. Maybe that’s because God wants them a different way.

So Lent becomes a prayer like this: Lord, change the way I think. Renew my mind.

That’s why we make time for prayer. That’s why we give up good things. That’s why we help others—so we change, and we begin to recognize what’s already true: God is speaking to us. He is with us. He is present.

And the real question is: am I present to him?

We can grow in that. We can put good things aside. We can choose him.

To be with God where he is.