This blog post is adapted from a sermon I recently preached. I pray it speaks to your heart as powerfully in written form as it did when shared from the pulpit.

---

We spend our lives building boundaries. Property lines. Security systems. Social circles that include some people while excluding others. We tell ourselves these barriers are necessary, even wise. But what if the very walls we construct for protection are actually digging chasms that could become eternal?

The parable of the rich man and Lazarus isn’t just an ancient story about heaven and hell. It’s a mirror held up to every choice we make about who matters and who doesn’t.

The Life Behind the Gate

Picture a man dressed in purple robes—the kind that cost a fortune in the ancient world. Every single day was a feast at his table. The sound of clinking glasses and easy laughter filled his estate. Outside his polished wrought iron gate sat Lazarus, a beggar covered in sores, so desperate that even the dogs showed him more compassion than any human did.

The rich man knew Lazarus was there. Of course he did. You can’t step over someone daily without knowing they exist. But knowing about someone and truly seeing them are two completely different things. Lazarus became part of the scenery, a problem to step around rather than a person to help.

Here’s what makes this story cut so deep: the rich man wasn’t particularly evil. He wasn’t actively cruel. He simply believed his wealth was proof of God’s favor and Lazarus’s poverty was evidence of divine disfavor. His theology gave him permission to enjoy his abundance guilt-free while a man starved at his doorstep.

The Great Reversal

Death brought the ultimate plot twist. The rich man found himself in torment while Lazarus rested in Abraham’s embrace. Suddenly, desperately, the rich man cried out for mercy—just a drop of water to cool his tongue.

Abraham’s response was devastating: “Between us and you a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.”

Here’s the truth that should shake us to our core: God didn’t dig that chasm as punishment. The rich man dug it himself. Every time he chose luxury without compassion. Every time he thanked God for blessings while ignoring the blessing opportunity right at his gate. Every time he walked past Lazarus—whose name literally means “God has helped”—without offering the help God was calling him to give.

The chasm was constructed from a thousand small choices to look away. And by the time death made it visible, it had become permanent.

Your Gate, Your Lazarus

Before you dismiss this as a story for the obviously wealthy, consider the gates we all maintain.

We build gated communities of the mind through algorithms that filter out uncomfortable realities. We scroll past suffering because engaging feels overwhelming. We debate whether people truly deserve help rather than simply offering it. We convince ourselves our comfort is earned while others’ struggles are somehow their fault.

Your Lazarus might not be sitting outside a literal gate. But they’re in your newsfeed. They’re in the statistics about homelessness you scroll past. They’re in the news stories about refugees you’ve stopped clicking. They’re the coworker struggling financially while you plan your next upgrade. They’re the person at church everyone avoids because their problems seem too messy.

The Warning That Still Echoes

In the parable, the rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus back from the dead to warn his five brothers. Surely a miracle like that would make them change their ways!

Abraham’s response is chilling: “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”

Let that sink in. We already have everything we need to choose differently. The Scriptures clearly tell us what God requires: “Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). And we have more than just ancient prophets—we have Jesus, who actually did rise from the dead, whose entire ministry was about seeing and serving the overlooked.

The Chasm Isn’t Fixed Yet

Here’s the hope woven into this sobering story: your chasm isn’t permanent yet. There’s still time to tear down the gates, to bridge the divide with mercy and compassion.

This isn’t about guilt. It’s about recognizing the immense privilege of having a choice the rich man no longer has. You can still learn Lazarus’s name. You can still hear their story. You can still act.

Maybe that means:

• Actually stopping to help instead of just feeling bad
• Using your resources to meet real needs instead of accumulating more comfort
• Advocating for justice instead of staying comfortably silent
• Building relationships across economic and social divides
• Examining the theology that lets you ignore suffering

The Kingdom of God isn’t a reward for people who have it all together. It’s grace lifting up the broken, the forgotten, the overlooked—and it’s an invitation for us to participate in that lifting.

Choose Mercy While You Can

Every day you pass your gate is another opportunity. Another chance to see what you’ve been missing. Another moment to choose compassion over comfort.

Don’t wait for a miracle or a sign to convince you. Don’t let your theology become an excuse for inaction. Don’t assume your abundance is purely blessing rather than also responsibility.

The silence on the other side of death is absolute. But right now, in this moment, you can still hear the cry for help. You can still respond. You can still choose to build bridges instead of digging chasms.

Your Lazarus is waiting. Will you finally see them?

---

If this message resonated with you, share it with someone who needs to hear it. Sometimes the most important thing we can do is help others see what they’ve been missing.