Would you rather wear the same thing every day, or wear something different every day, never the same thing twice? Would you rather live on the moon, or live underwater? Would you rather hear what everyone’s thinking, or see the future?
My kids were playing this game the other day. It’s a silly thing, but it sparks the imagination. You have to picture what it is that’s being asked, the pros and cons, and even though it really doesn’t make a difference in the end, you have to pick which one is better.
Well how about this: Would you rather be rich or poor? That’s too easy, isn’t it? Who would rather be poor? But what if the choice is between good things just for this life and an eternity in hell, or poverty and suffering for this life but the eternal comfort of heaven?
That turns the equation around entirely, doesn’t it? Our Gospel for today is really a story all about contrasts. There’s two men, and when we first hear them described we’d all prefer the life of the rich man. But that’s just the beginning, and knowing how the story ends, not a single one of us would rather be him than poor Lazarus. But Jesus’ story isn’t really about the choice between being rich and poor. Instead, he’s demonstrating that the way things look in this life have little bearing on eternity. So whether we are rich or poor, whether our lives our filled with many earthly blessings or none, let us cling to our Savior. Let us cling to his word in faith, because faith makes all the difference.
This story of Jesus that Luke records in chapter 16 can’t really be called a parable. A parable is an earthly story with a heavenly meaning, and this is not an earthly story, it’s a heavenly one. For centuries people have debated whether or not Jesus is describing specific real people. Martin Luther thought so. To some extent, we could say that whether or not Jesus was describing two particular men whom he knew in his divine omniscience, there are many rich men in this world like this one, and there are also many poor Lazaruses.
Right from the very beginning some great differences in these two men are evident. One is rich and the other is poor. But also, in the account, one is given a name and the other is not. In his commentary on this, George Stoekhardt says, “The poor have no name here on earth; they are unknown and nameless, but every rich man has a
great, well-known name. Yet before God, precisely the man who is only rich is nameless and insignificant.”
You can probably name all sorts of rich people, both presently living and in history. Sometimes we even think of heaven in that way. “Won’t it be great,” we say, “to meet in heaven people whose names are known on earth?” But that just shows how different our thinking so often is from God’s. God knows this poor beggar. His name is Lazarus, from the Hebrew Eleazar, “God helps.” His name is a perfect name, because it describes his faith. Will it be a blessing to see Moses and Elijah and Peter and Paul in heaven? Yes. Will it be a blessing to see mighty emperors who died in the faith? Yes. But it will be no less great to see men like Lazarus. You might not have a great name here on earth, but Moses and Elijah and Peter and Paul will rejoice to see you there, you who are known fully by God.
The rich man in Jesus’ story is not described as a bad man. He’s not called a haughty, “let-them-eat-cake” aristocrat. He’s not miserly. He doesn’t use his wealth to get away with crimes. We aren’t even told how he responded to poor Lazarus. And that’s because Jesus is not making a social point about how society should deal with the poor. Instead, this man’s life and the judgment he faces reveal his heart. As he lived, so he died. He lived for the things of this life. He had nothing in store for what comes after. In hell, in torment, he cried out to Abraham and Abraham said, “remember that in your lifetime you received your good things.”
Lazarus, on the other hand, had a life no one would ask for. He was abandoned with no one to care for him. He was so poor that he longed to eat table scraps. He was sickly, covered in sores, licked by dogs. Some commentators have said that the dogs had more compassion on him than people did, but since most dogs in Israel were wild and mangy dogs, this is more likely just describing how pitiful his situation was. He was half-dead, with no one to chase the dogs away.
And yet, even though it may not have looked that way, this man’s name was true. God was his help. Would you rather be the rich man or Lazarus? Lazarus died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. Some translations have “Abraham’s bosom.” There’s a picture there. The Jews all thought highly of Abraham as their father, and Jesus is describing Lazarus like a boy taken into his father’s lap. He had suffered greatly. He had received bad things. Now, he is comforted.
These two men are complete opposites, and they’re also the opposite of how we tend to look at things. We look at those who live in comfort and luxury and we think, “Oh, how wonderful that would be, to live without a care in the world.” And we look at those who are poor and sick and troubled and we wrinkle our noses at them. Oh, sure, I want someone to help the poor. I just don’t want it to be me. And in our own lives, we look at good things as a sign of God’s favor, and those bad things as a sign of his displeasure. Might that rich man have thought to himself, “God must love me, to give me so much!”
But while man looks at the outward appearance, the Lord looks at the heart. Rich or poor does not matter to him. Just as God did not reward the rich man and punish poor Lazarus because he loved the rich man and hated Lazarus, so also he did not despise the rich man for his riches and love Lazarus for being poor.
Abraham was father to both of them. But only Lazarus shared Abraham’s faith. Abraham was quite a wealthy man, but he knew all his life that he was a traveler, a sojourner in this world. The land that was his own and the permanent house that would replace his tent was the kingdom of heaven and the mansions there. And he could claim this comfort by faith in God’s promise, the promise of a Savior.
In Jesus’ story the rich man cries out to Abraham. First for himself, asking him to send Lazarus to give him just a drop of water to cool his tongue. But he couldn’t. There is no crossing over between heaven and hell. The judgment is final. Abraham tells the rich man, “You got what you wanted out of life. You lived for your riches, and you died with them.”
The rich man couldn’t argue with this, so he made a different request.
27“He said, ‘Then I beg you, father, send him to my father’s home, 28because I have five brothers—to warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’
29“Abraham said, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets. Let them listen to them.’
30“ ‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’
31“Abraham replied to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’ ”
Would you rather have your whole life in which to hear and learn the Word of God, or have someone rise from the dead to tell you it’s true?
There are a lot of people who would rather see someone rise from the dead. But Abraham makes a good point. Is a miracle, someone rising from the dead, the thing that convinces a person? Is that what gives someone faith? All you have to do to answer that question is remember the one who was telling this story. Jesus performed more miracles than any prophet in history, probably more than all of them combined. And so surely, all of Israel was convinced that he is the Son of God, right? How many more miracles were needed to stop them from shouting, “Crucify him!”?
Will they be convinced if someone rises from the dead? Jesus did rise, and how did the Pharisees respond? “Say, ‘his disciples stole the body.’”
The problem with our sinful hearts is not that we haven’t seen enough miracles. The problem is that we love this world too much. We love living for ourselves. We love our luxuries and comforts. We love our sins. It is not hard for a hard heart to see a miracle and say, “I don’t care.”
But Moses and the Prophets, that is, the Word of God, is far mightier than the witnessing of a miracle. This is God’s own Means of Grace. It’s the tool of the Holy Spirit, who works powerfully in us to bring us to repentance, to turn us to him, and to work in us a faith that trusts in our Savior and his gracious promises. God is the one who does this for you, the same God who in his great love sent his Son to die for your sins also gives you a faith to trust in him. He makes you a Lazarus. God is your help.
Would you rather live for this life, or for the next, when angels will carry you to Abraham’s side, when you will have every tear wiped from your eye, when you will see your Savior face to face and be welcomed into the mansions he in his love has prepared for you? That answer’s an easy one, but that’s because God has opened your eyes to see it. He is your help. He has given you this faith. And faith makes all the difference. Amen.