Pentecost 16C
September 28, 2025
Luke 16:19-31
INTRODUCTION
Back at the beginning of Luke, when Mary first found out she was pregnant with Jesus, she sang this beautiful song known as the Magnificat. In it, she states all the ways that this child, Jesus, would bring about a great reversal of the world as she knew it. “The mighty will be thrown down and the lowly lifted high,” she sang. “The hungry will be filled and the rich sent away empty.” These themes have proven strong ones in Luke’s Gospel, and today’s passage is one explicit example: the story of Lazarus and the rich man. Where last week’s parable of the dishonest manager is difficult because it is confusing, this week’s is difficult because it is clear: the rich, lover of wealth ends up tormented in Hades after his death, and Lazarus, the poor man at his gate, enjoys comfort and the company of angels for all eternity. Paired with Amos, who also rails against those who care more about their riches than about the poor, and Timothy, who warns us that the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil… we have a very convicting line-up for today!
But don’t feel condemned too quickly. None of these texts say that wealth, by itself, is a bad thing. Each of them compel us to look around us at those who suffer, and to use our resources – be that wealth, or talents, and position, or power – to bring about God’s vision as expressed in Mary’s song: to fill the hungry, lift up the lowly, and, as Paul writes to Timothy, “pursue righteousness, godliness, love, endurance and gentleness.” Easy-peasy, right?
As you listen, notice when you feel convicted. You might even have a pencil ready and just circle those parts. And then, just sit with that. Let those convicting parts work in your heart, reflect on why you feel convicted, and listen for what God might be trying to say to you through them. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
We live in Irondequoit, and so we often use 104 to get where we need to go. Pretty routinely, there is someone at our exit, whether coming or going, who stands at the stoplight, holding a sign written on a piece of cardboard – you know the type – and it says some version of, “Need work. Please help. God bless.”
Occasionally I’ll pass something through the window – a buck or two, or maybe an apple or granola bar – but often traffic doesn’t allow it, or I don’t have anything to give that I can get to safely. I also, of course, have many softer reasons for not doing more – because I’m scared to, or because he’ll probably take advantage of me if I reach out, or because he’ll probably use my generosity to buy booze, or because one granola bar or even $10 isn’t going to help because what he needs is a steady income, and I can’t help him with that. You see, there are really so many reasons not to help, but most of them boil down to: I’m too lazy, I’m too fearful, or I’m too cynical.
But I do find myself wondering about him. Does he have a family? A home? A spouse who works? What got him in this situation? What sort of work would he be able to do? What was that day like, the day he decided that he needed to stand on the corner of an exit off 104 at rush hour, and beg people for help? What made him finish his written request with, “God bless”? Does he believe in God? Does he believe in Jesus?
Do you think his name is Lazarus?
The parable Jesus tells us today, the story about the rich man and Lazarus, has not helped my guilt about that man on the corner and others like him, my very own Lazarus, if not at my gate, at least at my exit. And frankly, none of the readings today instill much more than guilt in me. Take Amos, for example, who admonishes those who relish in their riches at the exclusion of the poor: those who live like they are entitled to their wealth, with their beautiful beds, and their juicy steak and veal, and their large glasses of wine, who sit around playing music, and use fancy soaps, and hardly even consider the ruin of so many people around them. I mean, Amos basically just described my weekend!
And then Timothy, who reminds us that we came into this world penniless, and will leave it penniless – after all, you never see a hearse towing a U-Haul! Because of this, we should be content just to have food and clothing enough to survive. Any more than that, he says, and our wealth will start to tempt us. “Those who want to be rich,” he says, “fall into temptation and are trapped by many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction.” And then that famous line: “For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evils.” Youch!
And then if you weren’t feeling guilty and threatened enough, the parable of the rich man and Lazarus seals the deal, as we see the beggar Lazarus end up in heaven, and the rich man in Hades. It’s that reversal theme so prevalent in Luke. Now, Lazarus, who could scarcely find a scrap to eat and had only dogs for friends, is feasting in heaven, while the rich man, who feasted sumptuously every day, is being tormented in Hades. And Father Abraham’s chastisement: you should have listened to Moses and the prophets – prophets like Amos – and then you would have known this would happen!
I don’t know about you, but all three of these readings make my stomach turn. Is a glass of wine after a long day really a sin? Should I not be sleeping in such a nice bed? Do I love money too much? Is my avoidance of the man at my exit off of 104 going to send me straight to Hades?
As is so often the case with Jesus’ parables, this one is not meant to be taken literally – that is, it is not so much saying that if you are well-off, you are going to Hades for eternity. Rather, it is a description of how God calls us to live in this life. So we can ask ourselves, what is the rich man’s sin, and how shall we avoid it?
Is his sin that he is rich? No, I don’t think so. After all, we have seen that money can be used for many godly purposes. Just last week, the shrewd manager showed us how money can be used to help people and build relationships. Warren Buffet recently gave $6 billion toward alleviating world hunger. Money in itself is not a bad thing, and can be a very good thing.
Is his sin, then, that he has no compassion for Lazarus, there on his doorstep day after day, and the rich man doesn’t even give him scraps from the table? Well, I’d say we’re getting closer, but I still don’t think that is quite the whole story.
Really, I think the rich man’s sin is a combination of the two: that his wealth prevents him from having compassion, from seeing human need. His sin is his preference for money over anything else, over God and his neighbor. That’s what Amos admonishes, when he points out all these people enjoying their riches while those around them are in ruins. That’s what Timothy means when he says not that money is the root of all kinds of evil, but rather that the love of money is. In all three cases, the problem is that money has become an idol, something to be achieved in itself, something that insulates us from the needs of those around us.
And when we isolate ourselves from others’ needs, and hence from the natural human tendency toward compassion, do we not also isolate ourselves from God? Because if we have so much money, and we are numbed to the needs of our neighbor, what’s to keep us from believing that we have no needs, that money can satisfy anything we need or desire, that we are sufficient unto ourselves? Suddenly, we no longer need God, or grace, or the salvation promised to us by Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Who needs God’s grace and mercy if you’ve got hard work, and a little luck, and a healthy bank account?
Since the phrase “in God we trust” first appeared on our American coins in 1864, its presence there has been controversial. I don’t have a strong opinion about this constitutionally speaking, but as a Christian, I find it extremely helpful to see “In God we trust” on my money. I wish my checks and credit cards said it, too. What a wonderful reminder to always ask myself, “Do I spend or use my money in a way that reflects that I trust God?” Does it show my care and compassion for God’s children? Or do I use it to isolate myself from the human need around me – by buying a house in a safe neighborhood, and driving my own car to avoid public transportation, and staying out of downtown if I can help it? Do my spending and giving habits reflect my trust of and utter dependence on God? Or do I use it to further my desire for self-sufficiency and autonomy? Should my money say, “In God we trust,” or would I rather it say, “In myself I trust?”
What would have happened, I wonder, if the rich man had reached out to Lazarus? We can’t know, of course. But we do know a little bit about what happens when we reach out to others in service. And by service, I don’t just mean help – “help” implies that one person has something that the other doesn’t, that one person is there to fix and the other only to receive. By service, I mean those times when we open our hearts with a willingness to be vulnerable, to be present with another person, to hear their story, without judgment or expectation. When we are willing to do that, we not only perceive another person’s need, we also become aware of our own need – our need for God and for God’s grace. We become more aware of our own humanity, our own longings and insufficiencies, and we therefore appreciate God’s grace in Christ, who took on our need, our humanity, so that we could see the depth of God’s profound love for each of us. This truly is something we can trust.
Let us pray. God of grace and compassion, we often overlook the needs of others and even our own needs, preferring to think that we can manage life completely on our own and don’t owe anything to anyone. Help us to put our trust in you, so that everything we do and everything we are might reflect that trust. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.