Sermon: "Eyes That See" (Luke 16:19-31)
Scripture Reading (Luke 16:19-31 - NLT):
19 Jesus said, “There was a certain rich man who was splendidly clothed in purple and fine linen and who lived each day in luxury. 20 At his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus who was covered with sores. 21 As Lazarus lay there longing for scraps from the rich man’s table, the dogs would come and lick his open sores.
22 “Finally, the poor man died and was carried by the angels to sit beside Abraham at the heavenly banquet.[a] The rich man also died and was buried, 23 and he went to the place of the dead.[b] There, in torment, he saw Abraham in the far distance with Lazarus at his side.
24 “The rich man shouted, ‘Father Abraham, have some pity! Send Lazarus over here to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue. I am in anguish in these flames.’
25 “But Abraham said to him, ‘Son, remember that during your lifetime you had everything you wanted, and Lazarus had nothing. So now he is here being comforted, and you are in anguish. 26 And besides, there is a great chasm separating us. No one can cross over to you from here, and no one can cross over to us from there.’
27 “Then the rich man said, ‘Please, Father Abraham, at least send him to my father’s home. 28 For I have five brothers, and I want him to warn them so they don’t end up in this place of torment.’
29 “But Abraham said, ‘Moses and the prophets have warned them. Your brothers can read what they wrote.’
30 “The rich man replied, ‘No, Father Abraham! But if someone is sent to them from the dead, then they will repent of their sins and turn to God.’
31 “But Abraham said, ‘If they won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, they won’t be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead.’”
Introduction: "Eyes That See"
Opening Thought/Illustration:
Every weekday morning and afternoon, I serve as a crossing guard behind James Clemens High School.
For about 45 minutes in the morning and 30 minutes in the afternoon, my main job is managing traffic, waving buses through, and ensuring a few students safely cross the intersection. Most days, honestly, all I see is a routine: traffic, cars, buses, occasionally a student or two. The scenery doesn't change much, and if I'm not careful, it all blends into one monotonous background.
But every now and then, I see something remarkable—something that catches my attention and lifts my eyes above the routine. Sometimes it’s the elegant flight of Canadian geese, their graceful formation soaring overhead. Their beauty always grabs my attention. But my absolute favorite visitor is a Red Tail hawk. Majestic, watchful, powerful—it will perch nearby, reminding me that there is more happening around me than I usually notice.
That hawk and those geese remind me of something important:
How easy it is to live our lives seeing without truly noticing. We look without seeing, glance without observing. We can get so caught up in our routines—in our everyday tasks, problems, and responsibilities—that we miss the beauty, the wonder, and especially the people right around us.
Today’s scripture, Luke 16:19-31, tells a similar story. It's a challenging parable from Jesus about seeing and not seeing. It’s about two men: one who had everything but saw nothing clearly, and another who had nothing but was clearly seen by God.
Today, Jesus invites us not only to open our physical eyes but our spiritual eyes—to truly see the people around us, especially the Lazaruses at our gates.
Connection to Scripture:
As Nazarenes, we are part of the Wesleyan-Holiness tradition, which emphasizes that holiness is about loving God completely and loving others deeply. John Wesley believed strongly that holiness isn’t just about avoiding sin—it's about positively expressing love through action. True holiness opens our eyes to clearly see the world and the people around us as God sees them, compelling us toward compassionate engagement.
In this parable, Jesus challenges religious people—the Pharisees—who thought holiness was about outward purity and rules, yet they failed to truly see the suffering right at their doorstep. Wesley reminded us that genuine holiness transforms our hearts and sharpens our vision, moving us beyond mere religious routines into lives marked by profound compassion and active justice.
Today, let’s explore this parable, asking God to open our eyes and hearts fully—to truly see, love, and serve the Lazaruses at our gates.
Contextual Background:
Jesus shared this parable with Pharisees, (maybe about baddies) well-intentioned religious people whose love for wealth and status kept their eyes closed. Jesus loved them enough to warn them—warning them that how we live and how we see others profoundly matters in God's kingdom.
Key Question:
Today, Jesus challenges us as well: Are our eyes truly open to see as God sees? Are we attentive to the Lazaruses God has placed at our gates?
1. Walking Carefully Through the Parable
Walking Through the Parable: What Do We See?
Let’s walk through this parable—noticing what Jesus emphasizes, and especially what the rich man fails to see.
First, we meet a man of luxury.
Jesus says he dressed in purple and fine linen—signs of extraordinary wealth—and lived in indulgent comfort every day. He wasn’t evil by reputation, but he lived as if his life was only about him. Even the Sabbath didn’t change his routine. Comfort had become his god.
Then we meet Lazarus.
His name means “God helps,” yet it looks like God hasn’t. He’s sick, hungry, and discarded at the rich man’s gate—so close to help, yet completely ignored. Jesus says dogs came to lick his sores—a tragic but tender image. Even the dogs showed him more compassion than people did.
Then comes the great reversal.
Lazarus dies and is carried by angels to Abraham’s side—symbolizing honor, comfort, and belonging. The rich man also dies, but he finds himself in torment, far from relief. For the first time, he lifts his eyes and sees Lazarus—but now it’s too late.
Even in judgment, the rich man doesn’t get it.
He still treats Lazarus like a servant: “Send Lazarus to dip his finger in water…” He doesn’t speak to Lazarus. He speaks about him. His worldview hasn’t changed—he still sees people as tools, not souls.
Abraham responds: “You had your good things.” In other words, you lived your life on your terms and missed what mattered. There’s now a chasm—a final divide—that can’t be crossed.
Then the story turns one more time.
The rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus to warn his brothers. But Abraham says, “They have Moses and the Prophets. Let them listen.”
Even a miracle won’t convince people whose hearts are closed to compassion.
Transition Sentence to Next Section:
Jesus crafts this story to open our eyes—to help us see clearly the spiritual realities around us, the people at our gates, and the heart of God. So what is He asking us to understand? Let’s consider the truths Jesus is revealing.
2. Key Truths Jesus Wants Us to Grasp
This parable isn't merely a cautionary tale—it’s a vivid revelation about eternity, spiritual blindness, and the urgent call to holiness. Jesus pulls back the veil, urging us to see clearly not only what truly matters in this life but also the eternal consequences awaiting us in the life to come.
Right away, Jesus emphasizes a profound reality: we live in a universe far more complex than the physical world around us. Angels minister unseen, God moves quietly yet powerfully, and eternity is far closer than we often imagine. The rich man’s great tragedy was living as though this world—his wealth, comforts, and privileges—was all there was. His death didn’t mark the end of his story; instead, it abruptly awakened him to an eternal reality he had ignored.
Jesus clearly warns that heaven and hell are real—and how we live now deeply shapes where we will spend eternity. Lazarus and the rich man both die, but their eternal destinies could not be more different. Jesus confronts us boldly with this truth: the choices we make now, the compassion we offer or withhold, and the people we notice or ignore have eternal consequences. These decisions are never small or insignificant. They echo powerfully into eternity.
Consider Lazarus, whose name literally means “God helps.” At first glance, he seemed abandoned—forgotten at the rich man's gate. His poverty and pain didn't automatically qualify him for heaven, but in his suffering, he trusted God. Lazarus depended humbly and faithfully on divine grace. He endured patiently, trusting in a God who ultimately honored and comforted him in eternity.
In sharp contrast, the rich man found himself separated from God’s comfort, not because wealth is inherently sinful, but because he had allowed it to blind him spiritually. Day after day, he stepped past Lazarus, not in cruelty but in cold indifference. Indifference, as Jesus vividly illustrates, carries devastating eternal consequences. Hell wasn’t imposed by a vindictive God—it was the consequence of a lifetime of ignoring God’s compassionate call.
This parable challenges our perspective profoundly. Heaven and hell are real, eternal destinies that hang upon how our hearts respond to God’s grace here and now. This life matters immensely—every moment carries eternal weight.
But here’s the promise and hope: God's justice is sure. Eternity will set things right. Those overlooked and unseen on earth will be honored in heaven. Every injustice suffered in silence will find its answer. This assurance comforts us, especially when we suffer or see others unjustly treated. God sees and remembers what the world overlooks or ignores.
Even in our darkest suffering, grace quietly sustains us. Lazarus endured profound suffering at the gate, but he was never forgotten. His very name reminded him, "God helps," and God indeed helped him—quietly, faithfully, and powerfully, until angels carried him home.
Yet there’s a clear warning: wealth and comfort can dangerously numb us spiritually. They have a unique power to blind us, insulating us from the pain around us, causing us to treat people as problems rather than precious souls. The rich man wasn’t overtly evil; he simply became spiritually numb, detached, and insulated by comfort. And that numbness sealed his eternal fate. Kinda reminds me of the song by Pink Floyd ‘comfortably numb’
This leads us to ask ourselves critically:
Who have we overlooked in our rush toward comfort?
Who sits quietly just outside our everyday routines, waiting to be seen?
We sometimes imagine that extraordinary miracles or dramatic signs might awaken us spiritually, but Jesus firmly reminds us, “You already have the Scriptures.” God's Word is more than enough—it opens our eyes, awakens our hearts, and calls us urgently toward holiness.
That’s why, in our Wesleyan-Holiness tradition, we speak passionately of grace—not merely saving grace, but sanctifying grace. Entire sanctification is God's gracious act of cleansing our hearts from spiritual blindness, filling us with holy love—love that sees, love that moves toward need, love that serves sacrificially.
We need more than physical sight—we desperately need spiritual eyes. Eyes that notice the beauty of a Red Tail hawk and, more importantly, recognize Lazarus at our gates.
This is the vision only grace can give.
So let us consider today:
What if the person we've ignored is exactly the person God wants us to see?
What if our eternal destiny—and theirs—depends on our willingness to truly see and respond?
May God grant us eyes that clearly see—and hearts that boldly respond.
3. Eyes and Hearts Shaped by God’s Compassion
As we’ve grasped these truths, the question now becomes deeply personal:
How do we cultivate eyes and hearts shaped by God’s compassion?
How do we become people who don’t just look—but truly see—as Jesus sees?
Let’s explore this practically and personally:
First, it begins with listening deeply to God’s Word.
Jesus says in this parable: Moses and the Prophets are enough. Scripture is not just a source of knowledge—it’s the lens through which we begin to see the world and others rightly.
But hearing the Word must go beyond the surface. We must let it shape our hearts, not just our heads.
When we truly listen—when we allow God’s Word to challenge our assumptions and reframe our priorities—we begin to see differently. We start to recognize the Lazaruses in our own lives.
Second, seeing others clearly requires intentional awareness.
The rich man wasn’t cruel—he was oblivious. His tragedy was not that he attacked Lazarus, but that he never noticed him.
In the same way, we can go through life so caught up in our routines—work, family, even church—that we miss the people God has placed right at our gates.
So we ask, “Lord, help me notice today—help me truly see.” It might be a neighbor, a coworker, a classmate, or even someone in your own family who is quietly hurting.
Third, compassion requires personal engagement.
Lazarus was never seen as a person—only as a problem. Jesus is calling us to something deeper.
Compassion isn’t theoretical. It’s relational. It’s personal.
Sometimes it starts with something as simple as asking a name or listening without rushing.
“Tell me your story.” “How can I pray for you?”
Small questions that carry sacred weight.
Fourth, true compassion leads to action—and often, to sacrifice.
It’s easy to feel emotionally moved. But Jesus wants more than sentiment—He wants us to act.
For some, that might mean giving generously. For others, it might mean advocacy, volunteering, or intentionally rearranging a schedule to serve.
Think of Zacchaeus: when grace touched his heart, his hands opened.
Fifth, compassion changes us even as it helps others.
This isn’t just about making a difference in the world. It’s about becoming more like Jesus.
Serving others breaks the grip of pride, selfishness, and spiritual apathy. It realigns our hearts with God’s heart. It opens our eyes to what truly matters.
Finally, compassion flows from grace—not guilt.
We can’t muster this kind of love on our own. It’s the Spirit’s work.
As we stay connected to Jesus—through Scripture, through prayer, —our hearts are softened. Our eyes are opened. Our lives begin to overflow with the compassion we’ve received.
This is holiness. Not a list of rules. Not withdrawal from the world.
But love—perfect love that sees Lazarus and moves toward him with grace.
4. Communion: Seeing Clearly at Christ’s Table
We’ve spent this morning listening to Jesus tell a story about seeing and not seeing—about wealth that blinded, suffering that was overlooked, and grace that still calls to us today.
Now we come to the table.
And here, more than anywhere else, we are invited to see clearly.
This meal isn’t just a tradition or a closing act.
Communion is where our spiritual eyes are opened—to the depth of Christ’s compassion, to the cost of our redemption, and to the call He places on our lives.
At this table, we don’t just remember Jesus’ death—we encounter His living presence. We remember not only that Christ saw us in our need, but that He came to us, laid down His life for us, and now sends us to do the same for others.
As the Apostle Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 11:23-26:
“For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.’
In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.’
For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”
As Nazarenes, we believe communion is more than a symbol—it is a sacrament, a means of grace. And in this grace, God restores our vision. He sharpens our hearts. He prepares us to live with eyes wide open to the Lazaruses at our gates.
So as we come to this table, we come with three things in our hands:
Our Need – Just as Lazarus depended on God’s mercy, so do we.
Our Call – To share that mercy with others, especially those the world ignores.
Our Hope – That through Christ’s sacrifice, not just our lives, but this broken world, can be healed.
Distribution of the Elements
Invitation to the Lord’s Table
So come—
All who hunger and thirst for the grace of God.
All who long to see others with the eyes of Jesus.
All who are ready to be reshaped by love.
Come with humility, come with hope.
Here, at Christ’s table, we meet the Savior who sees us clearly—and calls us by name.
Prayer of Consecration
Heavenly Father,
Pour out your Holy Spirit on these elements of bread and cup.
May they be for us the body and blood of Christ,
That we might be renewed, transformed, and empowered by Your compassion.
Give us, Lord, eyes that see—not just bread and cup,
But Your love poured out for us and through us.
Shape our hearts to love as Jesus loves.
Send us out from this table ready to serve the Lazaruses waiting at our gates.
We ask this in the strong name of Jesus, our Savior and Lord.
Amen.
The Bread:
“The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, broken for you, preserve you blameless unto everlasting life.
Take and eat this in remembrance that Christ died for you, and be thankful.”
The Cup:
“The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, shed for you, preserve you blameless unto everlasting life.
Drink this in remembrance that Christ died for you, and be thankful.”
Closing Communion Prayer
Gracious God,
Thank You for feeding us with Your grace.
Thank You for meeting us where we are—
and for calling us into deeper compassion.
As we leave this table, open our eyes clearly.
Help us to see the Lazaruses You’ve placed at our gates.
Help us carry the love of Christ to every person, every place, every need.
Shape our hearts. Empower our steps.
Make us people whose love overflows from this table to the world.
And now we join our voices together, praying as Jesus taught us:
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
May God give us eyes that see… and hearts that act.
Let this table be the beginning of that vision.
