Proper 21, Year C | Luke 16:19-31
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
I’ve got a question for you this morning: do you want me to tell you something that makes you feel good about yourself, or do you want me to tell you the truth? My job as a pastor isn’t to tickle your ears but to tell you what Jesus actually said. If I just told you what you wanted to hear, I’d be a false teacher.
In Luke 16, Jesus tells us the truth about heaven and hell, about what happens after you and I die. And we will die. I’ve been at the bedside of people in their final moments. You’ve been to funerals. One day, there will be a funeral for you—and for me. The question is: what happens then? The answer Jesus gives is hard. It’s not comfortable. We don’t really like it. But Jesus didn’t tell this story to make people feel good; He told it to wake us up. He told it because hell is real, and you and I need to be warned. Jesus shows us that how we respond to God’s Word in this life reveals where our heart truly lies—and fixes our eternal destiny.
I. A Contrast In Life (vv. 19-21)
Jesus told a frightening story about a rich man who had everything and a poor man who had nothing. Purple cloth was costly, and only the truly wealthy could afford it. Notice first what the man is wearing. This rich man wore purple every day, and what wasn’t purple was made from fine linen! Imagine Armani suits and designer clothes every single day. He feasted sumptuously daily. He probably had servants waiting on his every need, a Ferrari in the garage, the finest meats cooked to perfection, and vintage wines from his endless cellar. This self-indulgent rich man cared for no one but himself. Each day he was driven by the impulse to flaunt his wealth, reminding everyone how important he was.
And right outside his gate was Lazarus—his name means “the one whom God helps.” Lazarus is the only character in any of Jesus’ parables given a name, and Jesus knows him by name. That’s the point: the world knew the rich man, but God knew Lazarus. Lazarus was laid at the gate, crippled, covered with sores, longing just for crumbs from the rich man’s table. Even the guard dogs—fed and cared for—came and licked his wounds. In the ancient world, dogs were unclean, scavengers, despised; yet they showed more compassion to Lazarus than the rich man did.
The contrast is sharp. The rich man’s problem wasn’t that he was wealthy. Scripture never condemns wealth in itself—Abraham was rich, Job was rich, David was rich. The problem was that this man didn’t love God and didn’t love his neighbor. He loved his money, his clothes, and his food. That’s what condemned him. God’s Law and the Prophets commanded Israel to remember the poor (Deut. 15:7–11; Prov. 19:17), and this man refused. He broke the first and greatest commandment—to love the Lord with all his heart—because he feasted how often? Every day! Even on the Sabbath! And he broke the second—to love his neighbor as himself—because he walked right past Lazarus day after day and did nothing. Even the dogs did more than he did. The rich man didn’t actively beat Lazarus or curse him; he simply ignored him. And that was enough to prove his faith wasn’t in God.
And if we’re honest, we’re far closer to him than to Lazarus. Which would you want to be? Oh, come on, be honest. Don’t you want to be rich? Who wouldn’t want to be him? That’s why people play the lottery. Why do people gamble? They want to be this man—or at least have a little piece of his pie. Most of us are dressed, fed, housed, and entertained daily. Verse 14 tells us why Jesus told this parable: “Now the Pharisees, who were lovers of money, were listening to all these things and were scoffing at Him.” Jesus is clear: “You cannot serve God and wealth” (Lk 16:13). The rich man chose to serve wealth, and his choice showed.
And what about us? Do we chase wealth and comfort, ignoring those in need, making excuses for our neglect? Do we live like everything we have is ours to consume and flaunt, rather than a trust from God to be used for His glory? Be honest: do we care more about the latest upgrade, the newest streaming subscription, the next vacation, than about the people God has literally put at our gate? Do we spend more time scrolling Amazon than opening the Scriptures, more time comparing what we don’t have than thanking God for what we do? That’s our danger. Materialism is the air we breathe, and it becomes our god and blinds us to our neighbor. And then, the moment the smallest suffering or inconvenience comes our way, we complain, we’re bent out of shape, and we act like God has abandoned us.
II. A Reversal In Death (vv. 22-23)
The story turns on a single reality: both men die. Death is the great equalizer. The rich man died in his fine clothes, in his comfortable bed, maybe with a crowd to mourn him. He would have had a funeral, a tomb, words of honor and remembrance. But none of that mattered. For Lazarus, there’s no mention of a funeral, no eulogy, no tomb. He’s too poor for that. His body may have been discarded, unnoticed by men.
But he was not unnoticed by God. Jesus says, “the poor man died and was carried away by the angels to Abraham’s bosom.” That’s intimate language. To be at Abraham’s bosom means to recline at the banquet of heaven, like the honored guest leaning on the host. It’s comfort, safety, joy, belonging. This poor beggar, who had nothing in life, is now escorted by angels into glory. The man who was laid at the gate is now lifted up to Abraham’s table.
And the rich man? Jesus states it with blunt force: “In Hades he lifted up his eyes, being in torment, and saw Abraham far away and Lazarus in his bosom” (v.23) No angels, no welcome, no comfort. He had his reward in this life, and now he faces judgment. He once feasted daily; now he is famished. He once drank fine wines; now he thirsts for a single drop of water. He once ignored Lazarus; now he sees him—safe, alive, comforted—while he himself is in agony. Everything is reversed. The beggar is blessed, the rich man cursed. The one the world despised is comforted; the one the world envied is tormented.
Jesus is warning us: this life is not all there is. The Bible says that we are two parts: body and soul. Death is the result of sin and our physical body upon death ceases to function, goes into the ground, and is buried. Everybody dies. Rich people die. Poor people die. And then comes forever. When the body dies, the soul lives on—awaiting the resurrection of the dead. And there are only two destinations: heaven or hell. That’s it. No middle ground. No second chances.
It’s my job to tell you the truth: hell is real. Jesus doesn’t sugarcoat it. It’s real. When Jesus teaches of heaven and hell, we must remember he is both truly God and truly man. Jesus is the only one who has conquered death and risen from the dead. He says the rich man is in torment. He’s in agony. He’s conscious, aware, cut off from God, separated forever. There’s no escaping, no crossing over, no appeal. We need to let that sink in. Hell is not a metaphor for feeling bad. It’s not symbolic. It is eternal judgment, separation from God, anguish without relief. The rich man didn’t go to hell because he was rich, but because he loved his riches more than God and neighbor. His heart clung to comfort, not to the Lord. And if our God is our comfort—if we serve wealth, self, or pleasure—we are no different and we’re walking the same road. And if hell was real for him, it will be real for you.
III. A Plea Too Late (vv. 24-31)
From the flames of torment, the rich man finally opens his mouth. He calls out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue.” Notice what hasn’t changed. Even in hell, he still sees Lazarus as beneath him. The man he ignored at his gate, the beggar he wouldn’t touch, he now tries to turn into his servant. “Send Lazarus.” Order him around. Fetch me some water. Even in judgment, his arrogance remains. He never speaks to Lazarus directly. He knows his name, but he won’t talk to him. There’s no confession, no apology, no repentance. Just self-importance and self-pity.
Abraham answers, “Child, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus bad things. But now he is comforted, and you are in anguish.” What does that mean? The rich man’s “good things” were the temporary comforts of this life—his money, his feasts, his purple robes. He clung to them, and when he died, they passed away with him. That’s all he had. Lazarus, on the other hand, endured “bad things”—hunger, sores, humiliation. But those sufferings, too, were temporary, and now they are gone. Why? Because Lazarus clung to God. And in eternity, that is what remained.
The rich man shifts to pleading for his family: “Send Lazarus to warn my brothers.” Again—Lazarus as an errand boy. Abraham replies: “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.” The Word of God is enough. The rich man objects: “No, Father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.” And Abraham answers with the final word: “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.” And by the way, Jesus did raise a man named Lazarus in John 11. Did people believe? Some did. But many just plotted to kill him too—along with Jesus. If you won’t listen to the Word, miracles won’t change your heart.
It’s my job to tell you the truth: we’ve all failed. Whether rich or poor, every one of us has loved comfort more than God, ignored neighbors in need, and made excuses for our sin. Luther’s last written words were, “We are all beggars, this is true.” Like Lazarus, we are helpless on our own—lying at the gate, unable to get up, unable to save ourselves. The law of Moses exposes us: we have not loved Him with all our heart; we have not loved our neighbor as ourselves. Hell awaits us.
But God does not leave us there. There is a Rich Man who helps beggars. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich” (2 Cor. 8:9). Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, left the riches of heaven and became poor for you. He took on your poverty, your sin, your death. He was mocked, beaten, stripped, and pierced. They threw a purple robe on Him in mockery and crowned Him with thorns. On the cross He cried out, “I thirst,” as He suffered the torment of judgment in your place. He endured hell so that we would not. He died and was buried. But He rose again—greater than Lazarus, greater than any sign—He Himself is our risen Lord. It is because of this infinitely rich grace of your Lord Jesus Christ that when you die you too will be carried by the angels to Abraham’s side, there to live in heaven forever.
And now the kingdom of heaven is opened to you. You don’t need to wait for another miracle. You don’t need to search for another sign. You have the Word of Christ, greater than Moses and the prophets. You have the Word made flesh. Faith comes by hearing the Word of Chirst. Hear it. In Jesus, your sins are forgiven, your death is destroyed, and hell has no power over you. Rejoice—for in Christ you are no longer the beggar outside the gate, but the welcomed guest, carried by angels, seated at the feast, and comforted forever.
May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
"If God is for us, who is against us?" 