9-28-25 “What Do We See, and What Will Last?”
“What Do We See, and What Will Last?”
I want to start with something funny that I found on an internet site: A man died and arrived at the Pearly Gates. St. Peter asked him, “What have you done to merit entrance into heaven?” The man thought for a moment and said, “A week ago, I gave a quarter to a homeless person on the street.” St. Peter asked the angel Gabriel to check the records, and after a moment, Gabriel affirmed that this was true.
St. Peter said, “Well, that’s fine, but it’s not really enough to get you into heaven.” The man said, “Wait, wait! There’s more! Three years ago, I also gave a homeless person a quarter.” St. Peter nodded to Gabriel, who after a moment nodded back, affirming this as true as well.
St. Peter whispered to Gabriel, “Well, what do you suggest we do with this fellow?” Gabriel gave the man a sidelong glance, then said to St. Peter, “Let’s give him back his 50 cents and tell him to go to hell.”
It is a beautiful season in Wisconsin. I love all the seasons here, but especially the fall, when I delight in the breathtaking scenery around our area. As the leaves turn gold, orange, and red in October, we are reminded that seasons change and nothing earthly lasts forever.
Today’s Gospel tells a story about what we see—or fail to see—in this life, and what will truly outlast us in God’s kingdom. What do we see, and what will last? These are the questions Jesus presses upon us in today’s parable. We meet two men whose lives could not have been more different: a rich man, clothed in purple and fine linen, who feasted every day, and Lazarus, a poor man lying at the gate, covered with sores, longing for crumbs from the table.
On the surface, it is easy to see who “had it all” and who had nothing. But Jesus invites us to look deeper—not just at what is before our eyes, but at what will last into eternity.
We live in a world that teaches us to see success in terms of wealth, comfort, and recognition. The rich man in the parable would have looked impressive, respected, maybe even envied. Lazarus, on the other hand, would have been invisible to most, someone to step over or walk past quickly.
But Jesus reminds us that appearances deceive. What we see with our eyes is not always the truth of a person’s worth. God sees differently. God sees the heart. God sees the dignity of the poor man at the gate.
So we must ask: What do we see? Do we see only what is shiny, comfortable, and appealing? Or do we see the image of God in the least, the lost, and the lonely?
Last week, I checked a voice message in the office from someone asking for help. I thought, “I’ll call her back later,” and walked out, caught up in my errands. That moment reminded me—how often do we fail to notice the Lazarus at our gates? The lonely neighbor, the struggling co-worker, the youth in our church quietly asking for attention?
Every Communion Sunday, we confess our sins before we receive the bread and juice. Among the confession prayers, one line often stands out to me: “we have not heard the cry of the needy.” It sticks in my throat like a fishbone. Have you ever experienced something like that? Sometimes we feel someone poke us on the side, saying, “It’s time to help them out.” Think of a time when someone reached out to help you unexpectedly. How did it change your day—or even your life? Gratitude opens our eyes to opportunities to do the same for others.
Stewardship begins not with money, but with seeing. When we open our eyes and hearts, we can act with compassion and generosity.
The parable shifts after both men die. Suddenly, the roles are reversed: Lazarus is carried to Abraham’s side, comforted at last, while the rich man is in torment.
This isn’t simply about a reversal of fortunes—it’s about eternal truth. Wealth, clothing, feasts, status—none of it lasts. Compassion, mercy, justice, faith—these endure.
The rich man had the Law and the Prophets to guide him, but he ignored them. He could have seen Lazarus; he chose not to. He could have shared his abundance; he withheld it. He built a life around himself, and it did not last.
So again: What will last in our lives? Will it be the fleeting things we accumulate, or the eternal treasures of love, service, and faith? Jesus calls us to open our eyes to see what God sees, to notice the Lazaruses at our gates, and to let our lives be shaped not by temporary comfort but by eternal values.
This is not just about what happens after death—it is about how we live now. Every act of kindness, every moment of compassion, every decision to see and to care—these are the things that last. When we lift our eyes from ourselves to God and to our neighbors, we begin to live in the light of eternity.
So today, the parable asks us: What do we see, and what will last?
Do we see only what the world prizes, or do we see as God sees? Do we invest our lives in what fades, or in what endures forever?
May God give us eyes to see the Lazaruses around us, hearts to respond in love, and faith to live for what will truly last. Fall reminds us that seasons change and earthly things fade. The question is: What colors will we add to God’s tapestry that endure into eternity?
When we choose gratitude, notice the Lazarus at our gate, and give generously, we invest in God’s kingdom—the one place where treasures never fade.
This week, look for the person at your gate. Offer kindness, generosity, or even a simple word of encouragement. That is what will outlast us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.