Introduction

Friends, welcome. Some stories slip past our defenses and sit down in the living room of our hearts. Jesus tells one of those stories today. It hums with hope and honesty. It whispers to our comfort and calls to our conscience. It lifts our chin so we can see the person at the gate and the God who sees us both.

Picture the scene. A gate so grand it gleams in the daylight. A table so loaded it sighs under the weight of feasts. Robes that rustle like applause. And just outside the gate, a name the crowds ignore but heaven knows—Lazarus. Everyday life has a way of piling up pillows of comfort around us—cushions of convenience, calendars packed with plans, closets full of options. None of these are evil. But they can hush the holy tug in our hearts. Is it possible to be full and still famished? To be surrounded by good things and yet lack the one thing that matters most?

Jesus loved us enough to tell the truth with tenderness. He speaks about the rich man and Lazarus, about the end we all will face, about a chasm we cannot cross ourselves, and about a Word from God that can wake the sleeping soul. He does not wag a finger; He offers a Father’s heart. He is not scaring us; He is shepherding us. He wants us ready—really ready—for the life that lasts.

Adrian Rogers once warned us with pastoral clarity: “Sin will take you farther than you want to go, keep you longer than you want to stay, and cost you more than you want to pay.” If sin can do that, grace can do greater—grace can bring us home, heal our hearts, and set our feet on a path of mercy. So today we listen. We listen for the name God knows at our gate. We listen for the whisper of eternity in our everyday. We listen to the Scriptures that stand like a lighthouse in a storm.

Before we pray, let’s read the story as Jesus told it.

Luke 16:19-31 (KJV) 19 There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day: 20 And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores, 21 And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table: moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. 22 And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried; 23 And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. 24 And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. 25 But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented. 26 And beside all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence. 27 Then he said, I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father's house: 28 For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment. 29 Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them. 30 And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent. 31 And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.

Let’s pray. Father, here we are—hands open, hearts honest. Speak, and let Your Word be the loudest voice in the room and the clearest voice in our souls. Soften the stubborn places, steady the fearful places, and sanctify the hurried places. Where comfort has numbed us, wake us. Where pride has puffed us up, humble us gently. Where guilt has chained us, free us fully. Give us eyes to see the Lazarus at our gate and courage to cross the street with kindness. Let Your Spirit convict without crushing and correct without condemning. Teach us to trust the Scriptures, to turn from sin, and to take hold of the Savior. Make us quick to repent, eager to obey, and ready to rejoice. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Earthly comfort can conceal spiritual poverty

Comfort can wrap our days in a soft blanket. It can make life feel smooth. It can muffle the sounds that ask for attention. In the story, a man enjoys purple clothes and fine linen. He eats well every day. He has a house with a gate. He has a rhythm that feels easy.

Right by that gate lies a man with a name. Lazarus. He longs for crumbs. He is sore and weak. He is right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to help. The text says he was laid there. So someone put him at that spot. That means the rich man cannot claim he never knew. He steps past the same body on his way to the same table. He becomes used to it.

Comfort can make pain look ordinary. It can make need look normal. It can make a person look like part of the scenery. A gate can keep danger out. A gate can also keep compassion in. The more we enjoy ease, the more we crave ease. The more we crave ease, the less we notice anything that threatens it.

There is a kind of hunger that bread cannot fix. It shows up when we stop seeing people and only see places and plans. The rich man does not throw stones. He does not shout. He simply does nothing. His silence says, This is how my life works. My table is full. My days are set. My gate is closed. That stillness is louder than any cruel act.

When the scene shifts, the quiet cracks. The man wakes in flame and asks for a drop of water. A drop. The one who never missed a course now begs for a sip. He had more than enough in life. He has no comfort now. His thirst reveals the truth about his heart. It was empty even when his plate was full.

Comfort can also shape how we see other people. Watch the rich man’s words. He asks for help. But he still treats Lazarus like a servant. Send Lazarus, he says. Let him bring me water. Later he says, Send him to my father’s house. He does not speak to Lazarus. He speaks about him. He thinks of tasks. He thinks of errands. He does not see a brother.

Years of ease trained his view. He learned to rank people. He learned to sort the world by use. Some bring pleasure. Some bring profit. Some are invisible. Lazarus was the man at the gate. That title stuck in his mind. It smothered the call to honor. It smothered the call to help. It even followed him beyond the grave.

The story gives the beggar a name. The rich man stays unnamed. That detail stings. Many knew the rich man in life. They knew his clothes and his banquets. They knew his gate. But the story keeps his name from us. It is a quiet warning. Comfort can puff up a public self. It can blur the true self. The man who seemed known turns out unknown.

Think of the dogs that came and licked the sores. That is such a raw line. The animals notice what the man does not. The animals show more tenderness than the one with full plates. When our hearts go dull, creation itself can shame us. A small act from a low creature shows the high need of mercy. The story lets that image sit. It is plain. It is hard to shake off.

Comfort can shrink our faith in the word of God. Abraham says, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them. That is a strong statement. The Scriptures already speak. The call to repent is clear. The command to care for the poor is clear. The promises are clear too.

But the rich man pushes back. He wants something dramatic. He asks for a sign from the realm of the dead. He thinks a shock will wake his brothers. He thinks a miracle will do what the word has not done. Abraham answers with patience. If the word does not move them, a sign will not do it either.

Ease can make us crave more noise. More lights. More proof. We scroll and skim. We wait for what thrills. We want a moment that forces us to act. The steady voice of Scripture feels slow. It feels simple. But that voice is the very cure we need. It reads us while we read it. It tells us to open our gates. It tells us to open our hands.

Think of how the rich man had heard parts of Moses and the prophets. He would have known about gleaning laws. About the call to be openhanded. About the God who defends the poor. The words had time to work on him. They did not. Not because the words lacked power, but because he would not yield. A soft pillow can harden a heart.

We may wait for a big moment that forces change. We may say, If I saw a wonder, I would obey. The story answers that claim. The problem is not the size of the sign. The problem is the state of the listener. A heart at ease with selfishness treats God’s word like background sound. It drifts past. It does not land. That is a deep loss.

Comfort can teach us to ignore the clock. The man asks for relief and learns about a gulf. It is fixed. It cannot be crossed. He also asks for Lazarus to warn his five brothers. He wants them to avoid his pain. He wants them to change while they still can.

Time is a gift. Time is also a test. Each day sets grooves in the soul. Each meal. Each step past a need. Each shrug. Each yes. We think we are only making daily choices. We are also making a path. That path becomes who we are. It becomes what we want. It becomes what we cannot stop wanting.

In the story, patterns became a prison. The man who would not lift a hand now cannot move a step. The man who would not cross a gate now cannot cross a gulf. His desires learned to run one way. They keep running that way. Even his plea for relief is shaped by old habits. He still tries to send orders. He still tries to manage the moment.

This is why small acts matter. A simple visit. A meal shared. A name learned. A gate opened. A pattern forms in the other direction. The heart grows tender. The word of God feels alive. The voice of the Spirit is easier to hear. The soul does not get dragged by ease. It gets trained by love.

The detail about the drop of water should stay with us. It shows how low comfort can fall. It shows how bright mercy can look when it is gone. A life spent on self leads to a thirst that nothing can quench. There is still a way to live that does not end there. It starts with hearing the Scriptures. It continues with seeing the person at the gate. It keeps going with simple acts that match simple words.

This story is not about hating nice things. It is about seeing what nice things can hide. They can hide people. They can hide the word. They can hide the clock. The truth steps into view when the table is empty and the gate is behind us. The truth is that love is the real wealth. The truth is that mercy is the real comfort.

Death reveals an unbridgeable divide

Now the story moves beyond the gate and into the grave ... View this full PRO sermon free with PRO