Scripture Daily

Context No. 1760 of 4322 · Luke

Context · Reflection

Luke 16:19-24: in context

19“Now there was a certain rich man, and he was clothed in purple and fine linen, living in luxury every day. 20A certain beggar, named Lazarus, was taken to his gate, full of sores, 21and desiring to be fed with the crumbs that fell from the rich man’s table. Yes, even the dogs came and licked his sores. 22The beggar died, and he was carried away by the angels to Abraham’s bosom. The rich man also died and was buried. 23In Hades, he lifted up his eyes, being in torment, and saw Abraham far off, and Lazarus at his bosom. 24He 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 in anguish in this flame.’

Jesus tells of a rich man who dressed in purple and fine linen and feasted in luxury every day, while at his gate lay a beggar named Lazarus, covered in sores, longing for the crumbs from the rich man's table. Both men die. Lazarus is carried by angels to Abraham's side; the rich man is buried and finds himself in torment, and lifting his eyes he sees Lazarus far off in comfort, and begs for a drop of water to cool his tongue.

It is worth noticing what the rich man is not accused of. He is not said to have robbed Lazarus, or beaten him, or driven him from the gate. His sin was quieter and more common: he simply did not notice him. Day after day he stepped past the suffering man at his own gate, absorbed in his comfort and his feasting, and did nothing, because Lazarus had become, to him, invisible, part of the scenery, a need he never let himself see. The condemnation falls not on active cruelty but on comfortable indifference, the failure to see and help the suffering that lay right at his doorstep. There is a searching warning here for those of us who live in comfort. It is possible to do no one any active harm and yet to be guilty of the rich man's sin, the sin of not noticing, of letting the needs around us become invisible, of stepping past the suffering at our own gate absorbed in our own ease. Comfort has a way of blinding us; the more insulated our lives, the easier it is not to see the Lazarus nearby, the person in need whom we pass daily without letting their need register. And the parable makes plain that God sees what we overlook, and that this indifference is not the small thing it feels like. The suffering at our gate is a summons, not a piece of scenery. The rich man was not condemned for what he did to Lazarus, but for what he failed to see and do; and the question the parable presses is whether there is a Lazarus at our own gate whom our comfort has let us stop noticing.

Is there a Lazarus at my gate, a person in need near me whom my comfort has let me stop noticing, stepping past their suffering as part of the scenery, and can I let the rich man's quiet sin of indifference warn me to see, and to help, the need at my own doorstep?

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