The Great Reversal: What a 2,000-Year-Old Story Reveals About Wealth, Poverty, and Eternity

Last week, I came across a video that stopped me cold. It showed a time-lapse of a wealthy Los Angeles neighborhood—mansions with perfectly manicured lawns, luxury cars, gates worth more than most homes. But the camera then panned just fifty feet away to reveal a homeless encampment. Tents. Cardboard shelters. People living on the street, literally in the shadow of unimaginable wealth.

This image has haunted me because it's not new. This exact scene has played out for thousands of years. In fact, Jesus told a parable about this very situation—one so uncomfortable that it's been making people squirm for two millennia.

The Story That Changes Everything

In Luke 16:19-31, Jesus tells the story of a rich man and a beggar named Lazarus. The rich man wore purple clothing (so expensive only royalty could afford it) and fine linen, feasting sumptuously every single day. This wasn't modest wealth—this was extravagant, excessive, look-at-me wealth.

Right at his gate—not across town, but at his very doorstep—lay Lazarus. He's the only character Jesus names in any of his parables, which is significant. Lazarus was covered in sores, so desperate for food that he longed for scraps from the rich man's table, so weak that dogs came and licked his wounds.

Then both men die.

Lazarus is carried by angels to Abraham's side—the place of highest honor in Jewish understanding. The rich man wakes up in Hades, in torment. The reversal is complete and shocking.

The Sin of Seeing and Doing Nothing

Here's what makes this story particularly convicting: the rich man is never described as doing anything actively evil. He didn't kick Lazarus. He didn't rob him. He didn't curse him. He simply feasted while Lazarus starved.

His sin was the sin of omission. He saw the suffering and did nothing.

From his place of torment, the rich man looks up and sees Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. And here's the crucial detail: he recognizes Lazarus. He knows his name. He'd seen him every single day.

He didn't ignore Lazarus because he didn't see him. He ignored him even though he saw him.

How often do we do this? We see the homeless person at the intersection. We scroll past stories about refugees. We change the channel when uncomfortable commercials come on. We see. But we insulate ourselves with rationalizations: "They probably made bad choices." "I can't help everyone." "That's what government programs are for."

The Unbridgeable Chasm

The rich man tries to negotiate, asking Abraham to send Lazarus to dip his finger in water and cool his tongue. Notice that even in torment, he still sees Lazarus as beneath him—someone to run errands.

Abraham's response is devastating: "Between us and you a great chasm has been fixed." The word "fixed" means established, permanent, immovable. All second chances have run out.

But here's the key: we're still living on the side of the chasm where choices matter. We still have time. We can still act. We can still change.

The question is: will we?

The Warning We Ignore

The story continues with the rich man begging Abraham to send someone to warn his five brothers, who are living the same selfish life he did. Abraham replies that they have Moses and the Prophets—they have God's Word, which clearly commands justice, mercy, and compassion for the poor.

The rich man pushes back: "If someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent."

Abraham's response is chilling: "If they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone should rise from the dead."

Someone did rise from the dead. Jesus himself. And still, many of us choose comfort over compassion, rationalizing our indifference while building our gates higher as Lazarus lays outside.

Living With Eternal Eyes

I once met a successful businessman who told me that for twenty years, he walked past the same homeless veteran outside his office building. Never once did he stop. Never once did he ask the man's name.

Then he had a massive heart attack and flat-lined on the operating table. When he was revived, those moments changed him forever. "All I could see was that man's face," he told me. "I realized I'd spent my whole life building wealth and ignoring souls."

He's still alive, volunteering at homeless shelters and sponsoring job training programs. But the rich man in Jesus's parable didn't get that chance.

When you start living with eternal eyes, your priorities shift radically:

• The square footage of your house matters less than the size of your heart

• Your retirement balance becomes meaningless compared to your compassion balance

• Your comfort is not worth another person's suffering

The Gap That Measures Everything

There's a principle woven throughout this entire parable: The gap between your comfort and someone else's suffering is the measure of your compassion.

The rich man had everything. Lazarus had nothing. And a gate stood between them—a physical barrier that represented the emotional and spiritual walls the rich man had built.

What gates have you built in your life? Maybe it's literal—living in an insulated community and never venturing outside it. Maybe it's digital—curating your social media to avoid uncomfortable realities. Maybe it's emotional—building walls around your heart to protect yourself from feeling overwhelmed.

Three Ways to Live Differently

Learn their names. The fact that Jesus names Lazarus but not the rich man is intentional. When you know someone's name, they stop being a problem to be solved and become a person to be loved. Learn the name of someone experiencing homelessness in your community. Learn the name of the struggling single parent. Learn the name of the refugee family being resettled in your city.

Open your gate. Volunteer somewhere that makes you uncomfortable. Invite someone different from you to coffee. Make a donation that actually costs you something. Do one thing this week that requires you to sacrifice time, money, comfort, or convenience—for someone who cannot pay you back.

Read Scripture like it's personal. The rich man's brothers had God's Word and ignored it. We have the complete Bible, yet we skip over the uncomfortable parts about caring for the poor, welcoming the stranger, and defending the vulnerable. Read passages like Isaiah 58:6-7, Matthew 25:31-46, James 2:14-17, and 1 John 3:17-18. Then ask yourself: "Who is my Lazarus?"

The Question That Matters

One day, each of us will stand before God. The question won't be, "How much did you accumulate?" It will be, "Did you see me? Did you see me hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, imprisoned—and did you care?"

You don't have to solve every problem in the world. But you do need to open your eyes to the Lazarus at your gate. To see them as God sees them—as infinitely valuable, eternally significant, and worthy of your time, attention, and love.

The rich man learned too late that eternity begins today, and the choices we make about the suffering around us echo forever.

What will your choice be?