If someone asked you today, “Would you rather be rich or poor?” most of us would instinctively lean towards riches. After all, who wouldn’t want comfort, security, and the freedom that wealth seems to offer? But today’s Gospel reading (Luke 16:19–31) invites us to look deeper. It’s not a condemnation of wealth itself, but a powerful reminder that true richness is found not in what we possess, but in how we live - with compassion, with awareness, and with a heart open to God and others.
Jesus tells a story that’s both sobering and full of grace. It’s a tale of two men - one clothed in luxury, the other clothed in suffering. And yet, it’s the man who seemed to have nothing who is given a name: Lazarus, “the one whom God helps.” That name is no accident. It’s a whisper of hope, a promise that God sees, God knows, and God helps - even when the world turns away.
We’re told: “There was a rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who desired to be fed with what fell from the rich man’s table.”
It’s a stark contrast. The rich man lives in luxury, behind gates that keep out the messiness of the world. And right outside those gates lies Lazarus - hungry, hurting, and ignored. The rich man doesn’t even notice him. Or if he does, he chooses not to care.
And yet, Lazarus has something the rich man doesn’t - a name. In all of Jesus’ parables, this is the only time a character is named. That’s significant. It tells us that Lazarus matters. He is known. He is loved. He is not forgotten.
At first glance, it doesn’t seem like God is helping Lazarus much. He’s starving. He’s suffering. He’s alone. But the story doesn’t end there. When Lazarus dies, he is “carried by the angels to Abraham’s side.” Meanwhile, the rich man dies and is simply “buried.” No angels. No comfort. Just silence.
And now the roles are reversed. The rich man, once surrounded by abundance, is in torment. Lazarus, once ignored, is held in the arms of heaven. The rich man begs for relief, but it’s too late. He even pleads for a warning to be sent to his brothers, but Abraham replies, “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them hear them.” And when the rich man insists that a messenger from the dead would convince them, Abraham says, “If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead.”
It’s a haunting line. And yet, it’s also a call to wake up. To listen. To act.
Moses and the Prophets have always warned us: Don’t rely solely on yourself. Don’t chase riches as if they’re the ultimate goal. Don’t forget that every blessing comes from God. And don’t ever think that your wealth means God loves you more than someone else.
The Bible is full of reminders to care for the poor, to lift up the broken, to be generous with what we have. And this story is no exception. It challenges us to look around and ask: Who is lying at my gate? Who is God placing in my path today?
Because the poor are all around us. Some we notice. Some we don’t. Poverty comes in many forms - material, emotional, spiritual. And each one is an opportunity to be God’s channel of blessing.
This parable isn’t just a warning - it’s good news. It reminds us that there is a Rich Man who will help every one of us. And that man is Jesus. He wasn’t rich in earthly terms when he lived here, but he offers the greatest riches we can ever have. He is the one we can trust in all circumstances, the one who walks with us in the darkest valleys, and the one who rejoices with us in our celebrations.
Jesus didn’t live behind gates. He walked among the hurting, the hungry, and the forgotten. He saw Lazarus. He sees us. And he calls us to see others too.
Someone once said, “One of the prime dangers of wealth is that it causes blindness.” In this story, the rich man’s wealth has so distorted his vision that he can’t even recognise the suffering of the beggar at his gate, let alone do anything to help.
Mother Teresa, who lived her life in service to the poor, believed that every time we help someone in need, we touch the body of Christ. She taught her co-workers to see Christ in the poor, to serve with reverence and love.
And that’s our calling too. To see others. To serve others. To love others.
Philip Yancey, in his book The Jesus I Never Knew, wrote: “For the first few centuries, Christians literally took Christ's command to receive strangers, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, visit the imprisoned… until the triumph of Emperor Constantine, who legalised the faith and established an official church. From then on, the church tended to spiritualise poverty and leave welfare to the emperor. Over time, the church itself became part of the establishment, more concerned about wealth than faith.”
It’s a painful judgment, and perhaps not entirely fair, but it’s a challenge. It reminds us that while our faith is personal, it is never private. We are called to share it - not just with words, but with actions. As we receive and recognise the blessings we have from God, we are called to be a blessing to others.
God, through Jesus, stretched out his hand to us. He invites us to take his hand, to journey with him, and to reach out to others as well. Jesus came to be not just a Saviour, or the Saviour, but our Saviour—and everyone’s Saviour.
So as we celebrate that good news, we’re invited to walk with him day by day into new adventures, discovering new blessings, and both sensing and sharing his life-changing love wherever we are.
Rich man, poor man - which would we rather be? Hopefully, we want to be, and truly are, the poor man made rich - not necessarily by material possessions, but by the grace of God.
Now, in Christ, we can put ourselves into this story. And our name is Lazarus, “the one whom God helps.” That’s not just a name. It’s a promise.
Let’s carry that name with joy. Let’s live with open eyes and open hearts. Let’s be the ones who see Lazarus at the gate - and who stop, who care, who love.
Because in a world full of gates, God is still opening doors. And he’s inviting us to walk through them, hand in hand with Jesus, into a life of compassion, purpose, and grace. Amen.
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