đź’« Introduction
There are moments when Scripture becomes a mirror—showing us not just the people of the past, but the posture of our own hearts.
Luke 16:19–31 tells the story of a rich man and a beggar named Lazarus. It’s more than a parable about wealth and poverty—it’s a call to awaken compassion, to notice the people waiting just outside our gates.
There was once a rich man who lived every day in comfort and luxury. Just outside his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus—hungry, hurting, and covered in sores. While the rich man feasted, Lazarus longed for crumbs from his table.
Then came the day when both men died.
Lazarus was carried by angels into Abraham’s bosom—a place of rest and peace.
The rich man, however, awoke in torment and cried out for mercy.
But between them stretched a great chasm—a divide that could never be crossed.
“Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things; but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.”
— Luke 16:25
The message is timeless: the danger isn’t wealth—it’s blindness. Every day, compassion sat at the rich man’s gate, but he walked past it and never looked back.
Long before Lazarus, the prophet Ezekiel exposed a similar heart condition in Sodom.
“Behold, this was the iniquity of your sister Sodom: pride, fullness of bread, and abundance of idleness… neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.”
— Ezekiel 16:49–50
Sodom’s fall came not only from what they did, but from what they refused to do—care for the poor, the stranger, and the vulnerable.
Ancient Jewish writings echo this truth:
Wisdom of Solomon 19:13–17 condemns Sodom’s cruelty toward strangers.
Jubilees 16:5–6 and Sirach 16:8 highlight pride and injustice.
Josephus and Philo of Alexandria describe a society addicted to luxury and hostility.
The Talmud (Sanhedrin 109a) records laws that forbade feeding travelers and punished acts of mercy.
Sodom legalized selfishness and outlawed compassion—and God said, “Enough.”
Sodom’s story isn’t just ancient history—it’s a mirror for today.
We live in a world that celebrates independence but forgets interdependence. We scroll past pain, call it “someone else’s problem,” and never realize that our gate is closer than we think.
The sin of indifference thrives wherever comfort replaces compassion. Faith without empathy is noise without melody.
The rich man’s tragedy wasn’t his wealth—it was his vision.
Every day, Lazarus lay just beyond his reach—a divine opportunity wrapped in human need.
Your “gate” might be:
A coworker silently drowning in stress
A single parent holding life together by faith
A friend fighting invisible battles
A stranger who only needs acknowledgment
God still places Lazaruses in our path—not to shame us, but to awaken us.
Our blessings were never meant to build walls; they were meant to build bridges.
Lord, open my eyes to the Lazaruses at the gates of my life.
Soften my heart until compassion flows freely.
Break every chain of pride, comfort, or distraction that blinds me to the hurting.
Teach me to use my blessings as bridges of hope, not barriers of isolation.
Let my faith be proven in mercy and my life echo Your love—today and always.
In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.