Opportunity at the Gate

One of the things I love about Jesus’s parables is their ability to challenge us. They are especially adept at catching me off guard, causing me to question whether my assumptions about myself, God, and the kingdom are grounded in truth or mere convenience. Recently I found myself wrestling with the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. Though the story was familiar to me, my most recent reading revealed my own place in the narrative, in a role in which I never would have cast myself.

There was a rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. (Luke 16:19 ESV)

Many of us tend to disassociate ourselves from the rich man.

We don’t consider ourselves rich. We certainly aren’t wearing the purple of royalty. Nevertheless, we have status symbols. Many of us can go to our closet and find name brands and labels that signal prosperity.

We don’t think of ourselves as feasting every day. The father of the prodigal son waits until his son returns before slaughtering the fatted calf, but this man seems to have a fatted calf every day. While I might not eat steak on a daily basis, I’m still eating well. I wonder how many hungry people in the world look at my meals and think how rich I must be.

The rich man is defined by his wealth—a sharp dresser and consumer of delicacies. Yet, we never learn his name.

And at his gate was laid a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man's table. Moreover, even the dogs came and licked his sores. (v. 20-21)

Lazarus is a study in contrast when compared to the rich man. There’s no purple in Lazarus’s closet. In fact, he doesn’t even have a closet. Lazarus is clothed not in purple, but in sores. He feasts not on prime rib, but instead dreams of being given the bread that the rich man and his friends use to wipe the grease off their hands as they feast.

What Lazarus does have is a name, a shortened form of the Hebrew or Aramaic name El’azar, which means “God has helped.”

The poor man died and was carried by the angels to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried, and in Hades, being in torment, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham far off and Lazarus at his side. (v. 22-23)

What happens to Lazarus’s body? We aren’t told for sure. People in Jesus’s day were terrified of the idea of not having a proper burial. To go without one would be the final, crowning dishonor of life.

We know that the rich man dies and is buried. He gets all the respect and honor due to someone of his immense wealth. Yet the story takes an unexpected turn because, despite his poverty, homelessness, and illness, Lazarus is taken by angels to Abraham’s side. The rich man, however, is not.

And he called out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the end of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in anguish in this flame.” (v. 24)

Despite dying and going to Hades, the rich man still thinks it’s all about him. He has taken the world’s valuation and carried it right on into the afterlife, not realizing that the world’s valuation is what landed him in Hades! It’s interesting that he seems to know who Lazarus is though we read nothing of him noticing Lazarus before dying. However, when this rich man needs something, suddenly Lazarus is expected to be his errand boy.

But Abraham said, “Child, remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner bad things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, in order that those who would pass from here to you may not be able, and none may cross from there to us.” (v. 25-26)

The rich man calls Abraham father, and Abraham even calls him child. But that isn’t enough. John the Baptist had warned his hearers during his ministry:

Bear fruits in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our father.” For I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham. (Luke 3:8)

The rich man has spent a life focused solely on the pursuit of luxury, with no thought for others. Why do we feel that we can spend our entire lives thinking only of ourselves, and then expect to waltz into heaven? Even if we could, we would be sorely disappointed to find that heaven isn’t about us!

I have never considered myself rich, but maybe that’s because I tend to focus on those who have more than me, not on those who have less. I look at those who have climbed higher on society’s ladder but seldom look down to consider the multitude who would love to be where I am. Yes, many are overseas or across borders, out of sight and thus out of mind. However, some are lying right at my gate. A member of our church sent me an article last week that reported that our state, Louisiana, is last nationally in food security of senior citizens. Who are these people? Do they live on my block? Do I pass them in the Dollar General? Have I been blind to their plight because I have been so focused on myself?

The rich man recognizes that it is too late for him. But perhaps his brothers can still be saved:

And he said, “Then I beg you, father, to send him to my father's house—for I have five brothers—so that he may warn them, lest they also come into this place of torment.” But Abraham said, “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.” And he said, “No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.” He said to him, “If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.” (Luke 16:27-31)

The parable ends on somewhat of a cliffhanger. Do the brothers ever change? We aren’t told for sure. I think Jesus ends the parable this way because the parable isn’t really about Lazarus or the rich man or the brothers. It’s about us. For 2,000 years Christians have read this parable and wondered if perhaps they are also in danger of being defined solely by their wealth, status, or positions of power. How unsettling it is to discover that the rich man’s name just might be our own.