Luke 16:19-31
“There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores,
who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried.
In Hades, where he was being tormented, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things and Lazarus in like manner evil things, but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony.
Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’
He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father’s house— for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’
Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’ He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ ”
The world was supposed to end on Tuesday. It was the latest prediction of the rapture to gain notoriety.
Pastor Joshua Mhlakela from South Africa claimed he received a vision from Jesus that September 23—maybe the 24th—would be the day the holiest of God would be taken up, leaving the rest behind for the seven years of tribulation. So either it didn’t happen, or none of us made the cut: you decide.
What circulated around the internet this week, especially TikTok, were the great lengths some went to prepare. One man said, “I won’t need my car.” So he sold it. I wonder what dealership he visited over the weekend.
There were multiple reports of people quitting their jobs. One couple left a $1,900 tip for their Uber driver because they wouldn’t need the money, implying, of course, that the driver would.
But the response I found most fascinating was a woman who left a guide on what to do before being whisked away: unlock your phone, write down all your passwords, leave Bibles around, and write a note about why you were selected, and what others could do to be taken up after the seven-year tribulation.
I don’t believe in the rapture, and I’ve preached on that before. I’m not bringing this up to make fun, because for some people, anxiety about when—or if—they will be taken is crippling. What a dreadful fear that must be.
I bring this up because it raises a deeper question: What does it take for someone to repent? To change their mind, their heart, their life, here and now? That’s what the woman on TikTok was after as she left notes and Bibles. And that same question lies at the heart of today’s parable: What will it take to repent?
After being away from the lectionary for two months, I was hoping for a less challenging text. Not challenging because it’s hard to understand, but challenging because its meaning seems so crystal clear: if you suffer in this life, you will be rewarded with good things in the life to come. If you receive good things in this life and do not help others, you will suffer in the life to come.
But I don’t think this parable is primarily about the afterlife or how to get there. The hyperbole, extremes, and exaggeration are all there to tell a memorable story. They grab our attention, which is the goal, because above all, this is a parable of warning—and of hope.
It is through this lens that we meet the rich man, set up as someone so wealthy we can’t even identify with him. That’s why he remains nameless throughout the parable.
Every day he donned the finest clothes and feasted extravagantly. He lived in a way that made sure everyone knew he was wealthy. And it worked—that’s how Lazarus came to be at his gate. The text implies that Lazarus was brought and laid there intentionally. Townspeople likely thought, “Surely this man, who is so rich, will do what Jewish teaching says and take care of him.”
Lazarus was clearly in need: lying on the ground, hungry, covered in sores. The only source of companionship and care came from the dogs, who licked his wounds. All the while, the rich man came and went, passing Lazarus at his gate, never lending a hand. Even the dogs realized what the rich man could not: people who are poor and in pain need help.
After they both die, the story shifts to the rich man’s perspective. Tormented in Hades, he looks up—and to his shock sees Abraham, with Lazarus right beside him. He thinks, “I know him! That’s Lazarus. Abraham can send him to help me!” In that moment, two truths become clear.
First, the rich man knew Lazarus - called him by name. He had become acquainted with the poor, sick, hungry person dying at his gate—and still did nothing.
Second, and worse than that, even looking up in Hades, he still saw Lazarus only as someone beneath him; fit to fetch at his command: first a drop of water, then to warn his brothers.
The sad, enraging thing is that the rich man still doesn’t grasp why he ended up in torment. His concern is only for sparing his brothers, not for relieving the suffering of the countless people without food, shelter, or care.
And yet, he is convinced! If a ghost were to visit them, like Marley in A Christmas Carol, perhaps those scrooges could be saved from the same torment that awaits him. But Abraham repeats, “They have the commands from Moses, they have the prophets, and they did not listen to them. What makes you think hearing from the resurrected will change anything?”
What Abraham says to the rich man, he also says to us. We are the rich man’s siblings. And the parable does for us what the rich man wanted done for his brothers: it brings us a word of warning from the resurrected one. So we must ask: What will it take for you to repent?
What will it take for us to repent—not only as individuals, but as a society?
We already have what we need, no? We have the commands of Moses: love God, love neighbor, care for the immigrant, the impoverished. We have the voices of the prophets. Amos says it plain: Woe to those stretched out on beds of comfort, lounging without a care. Woe to those who feast on the finest meats, who drink wine by the bowl and drench themselves in luxury, yet never pause to grieve the ruin of their neighbors, never shed a tear for the suffering of people.
And still, Lazarus waits at our gates—here, today, in our own community.
Today Lazarus is the child whose family lost SNAP benefits and doesn’t know where dinner will come from because over the summer, our elected officials cut snap benefits by billions of dollars.
Today Lazarus is a single mother here on the east side of Indianapolis, stretching herself thin after the On My Way Pre-K funding was cut in half. Families living far below the poverty line now have even fewer options for their children. Cierra, a single mother of twin boys, explained: “With all the shortages, it’s making us single moms work longer hours and find more money. Daycare costs are going up, but the help is going down.”
These are just a few examples of policies and funding cuts that save a dollar but create more Lazaruses laying at the gates, camping behind walmarts, and standing in line at the food pantries.
What will it take for us to repent? A note from the raptured? A word from the prophets? The teachings and life of the resurrected Jesus Chirst? We have them all.
The hope in all of this is that we still have time. We still have time to learn the names of our neighbors who are struggling—and to help them.
We still have time to call on elected officials to enact policies that lift up the Lazaruses among us, not give more money to the rich man; to care for this beautiful creation God has entrusted to us; to be generous with the resources, money, and talent God has given each of us.
We still have time as a church to imagine how, over the next twenty-five years, we can grow our mission and ministry—not just our building—to better serve a community in need of God’s grace.
If you are wondering where to begin, we have options here:
contribute to a meal for Agape, our ministry serving sex workers on the east side;
sign up to help with our food pantry or donate a couple bags of food;
give to Project Rouj and help build homes in Haiti;
join our Racial Justice team and learn what so often leads to a Lazarus lying at the gate in the first place.
We still have time to live as God’s generous people, to love our neighbors, and to care for this world we share.
We still have time. After all, the world didn’t end on Tuesday. Amen.
