All of us growl like hungry bears. We sound like doves as we mourn. We want the Lord to do what is fair and save us. But he doesn’t do it. We long for him to set us free. But the time for that seems far away.
So the rich man called out, ‘Father Abraham! Have pity on me! Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water. Then he can cool my tongue with it. I am in terrible pain in this fire.’