Luke 16:19-31 (16th Sunday after Pentecost) – September 28, 2025

Introduction

We are following one “difficult parable” (the Dishonest Manager) with another challenging one in the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. Truthfully, it’s rather straightforward. The rich man blatantly ignores Lazarus in life, and so he is punished in torment in death, while Lazarus rests in the comforting arms of the prophet Abraham.

And yet, there are all these pitfalls that heighten this parable. There is a named character, is that significant? This is the closest depiction of hell and afterlife that we hear about in scripture, is this really what it’s like? But we Lutherans are the grace people, so how do we read this without reducing it to works righteousness?

Preachers, there’s going to need to be some more heavy lifting on this week’s Gospel too. So how do we go about this?

Narrative Context

Luke 16 has been relentless. We’ve just heard the parable of the dishonest manager, where Jesus insists that we cannot serve both God and wealth (16:13). Luke then tells us that the Pharisees, who were “lovers of money,” sneered at him (16:14). Jesus pushes back, critiquing their love of appearances and their neglect of the law.

And into this tension, Jesus offers another story, this one sharper and seemingly less open-ended. Unlike the dishonest manager parable, which leaves us puzzling about whether the man’s cunning was good or bad, this one is unambiguous. The rich man fails to care for Lazarus, and the reversal of their fortunes after death is final.

What Luke has been pressing since Mary’s Magnificat in chapter one surfaces again here. Mary sang that God “has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:52–53). That song is not only poetry, but also a preview. This parable embodies that very reversal.

And yet, this still overly simplifies the text. I actually think this entire parable is one long “sneer,” not just at the Pharisees in the story, but toward those who believe they already know the outcome of it all, or worse, those who have heard the Good News of resurrection and yet have not changed.

Flipping the Parable

If Luke 15 was all about repentance (the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son) and the heavenly joy over sinners who repent, then this parable lands as a harsher word. Abraham insists that “Moses and the prophets” are enough, and that “not even someone rising from the dead” will create repentance. In contrast, it almost sounds like the door is closed.

But remember, Jesus is the one telling this parable. The one who is himself the fulfillment of Moses and the prophets. The one who will rise from the dead. Luke is composing this Gospel not for Pharisees who scoff, but for communities of believers who already know the Easter story. They have already seen what the rich man begs for: someone from the dead sent to warn and to save.

That makes this parable not a denial of resurrection but a radical re-framing of it. Resurrection is not a divine trick to shock us into belief. Resurrection is God’s self-giving love in Christ, who humbles himself, suffers, and dies, and who rises not to coerce but to call. Repentance in Luke is not simply remorse or regret, it is learning a new way of life shaped by Christ.

And this is where the “great chasm” of the parable becomes so pointed. There is indeed a chasm fixed between wealth and indifference on one side, and life with God on the other. But in Christ, God has crossed that chasm. In Christ, the prophets do come back. In Christ, Lazarus is raised. The parable closes one door only to highlight the greater door God opens in Jesus.

So the question for preaching is not, “Will God give us another sign?” We already have one. The question is: “Will we listen now that the risen Christ has spoken? Will we live into the new way he has given us?”

Preaching Possibility

Theological Arc

The instinct with this parable is to divide the world into camps: rich or poor, heaven or hell, righteous or unrighteous. We want to locate ourselves, or maybe our enemies, in the story. But if we only read the parable this way, we miss its deeper invitation.

The name Lazarus means “God helps.” That is the only thing he has, and it turns out to be everything. The rich man has no name, no help, no future. If we look for ourselves only in Lazarus or only in the rich man, we will end up with the same anxiety that drives the Pharisees’ sneering, the fear that we might not be enough.

But the parable is not first about us. It is about God’s help. It is about the One who crosses the chasm, who becomes poor, who is covered in wounds, who is laid at the gate and ignored. It is about Jesus.

And the irony is when we are consumed with defending ourselves, or despising others, we are already digging the great chasm. When we sneer at others’ failures or secure ourselves with wealth or status, we end up in the isolation of the rich man. But when we look to Jesus (meaning “God saves”), we discover that God has already crossed the divide.

Resurrection does not erase the seriousness of this parable. But it does change how we hear it. The risen Christ comes not to terrify us into repentance, but to free us from the endless game of self-justification. He comes as help, God’s help.

So the question is not, “Am I Lazarus or am I the rich man?” The question is, “Do I see Jesus here?” Because to see Jesus is to repent, to turn toward life, to trust that the God who helps has already bridged the chasm and invites us to walk with him into a kingdom where the poor are named, the forgotten are remembered, and the lost are found.