Luke 16:19 - Meaning and Application

As the parable of the prodigal son set before us the grace of the gospel, which encourages us all, so this parable sets before us the wrath to come, and is meant to wake us up. People are very deeply asleep in sin if this will not rouse them. The Pharisees, who mocked Christ’s warning against loving money and comfort too much, needed something that would make them serious. This parable does that by showing the end of both wealth and poverty in the next world.

The gospel of Christ tends both to help us accept poverty and suffering, and to guard us against love of the world and sensual living, that is, living only for bodily pleasure. This parable does both things by lifting the curtain and showing the outcome in the world to come. It is unlike Christ’s other parables, where spiritual truths are pictured through earthly comparisons, like the sower and the seed, or the sheep and the goats. Here, the spiritual truth is shown directly through a story about the different lot of the good and the bad in this world and the next.

We do not need to treat it as a record of one exact event, but it reflects what happens every day. Poor godly people, whom others ignore and trample on, die out of their troubles and enter heavenly joy, which is made sweeter by the sorrows they endured first. Rich, self-indulgent people, who live in comfort and treat the poor without mercy, die and enter unbearable torment, which is made worse by the pleasure-centered life they lived. And once they are there, no relief can be gained.

Is this a parable? What likeness is there in it? The conversation between Abraham and the rich man is really only an added illustration, meant to make the lesson more powerful, like the dialogue between God and Satan in Job. Our Savior came to make us familiar with the other world and to show how this world points toward it. That is what he does here.

In this description, as I will call it, we can notice the different condition of a wicked rich man and a godly poor man in this world. Some people, including the Jews of old and some later ones, were ready to make outward success a mark of God’s favor. They could hardly think well of a poor person. Christ kept correcting that mistake, and here he does so very fully.

There was a certain rich man (Luke 16:19). We commonly call him Dives, which is Latin for “rich man.” But Bishop Tillotson notes that he is not given a personal name, unlike the poor man, because naming a rich man in such a scene might have stirred jealousy and anger. Others think Christ did not honor the rich man with a name, even though he may have thought his own lands would keep his memory alive longer than the beggar at his gate. Yet here the beggar’s name is preserved, while the rich man’s is lost.

This rich man was clothed in purple and fine linen. That was his fine display. He had fine linen for comfort, clean clothing every day, day linen and night linen. He wore purple for status, since purple was the clothing of princes, and some have thought Christ may have had Herod in mind. He never went out except in great splendor. He also lived each day in luxury, with a table full of the best food, fine dishes prepared by art and nature, rich silverware, servants in costly uniforms, and guests who added to his honor.

What was wrong with that? It is no sin to be rich, to wear purple and fine linen, or to keep a full table if a person can afford it. We are not told that he gained his wealth by fraud, oppression, or extortion. We are not even told that he was drunk, or made others drunk. Yet Christ is showing several things. A person may have much wealth, outward beauty, and pleasure, and still perish under God’s wrath and curse. We cannot assume that God loves people because he gives them much, or that they love God because they receive much. True happiness does not rest in these things.

Plenty and pleasure are also dangerous, and for many people they become a deadly trap. They lead to luxury, self-indulgence, and forgetting God and the world to come. This man might have been happy if he had not had such great possessions and comforts. The body’s ease and pleasure ruin many souls and damage their best interests. Eating good food and wearing fine clothes are lawful, but they often become fuel for pride and luxury, and then they become sin. Feasting ourselves and our friends, while ignoring the troubles of the poor and hurting, is very offensive to God and deadly to the soul. The rich man’s sin was not mainly his clothes or his food, but that he cared only for himself.

Here is also a godly man, and one who will be forever happy, in deep poverty and distress. There was a certain beggar named Lazarus (Luke 16:20). A beggar by that name, known for devotion and great suffering, was likely well known among good people then. He was a beggar, perhaps one of those whose name means “the help of God,” which is exactly what poor people must seek when all other help is gone. This man had been brought to the very lowest state of outward misery that one could easily imagine.

His body was covered with sores, like Job’s. Being sick and weak is a great trouble, but sores are even more painful and far more unpleasant to those around the sufferer. He was also forced to beg for bread and live on scraps from rich people’s doors. He was so weak and disabled that he could not even go there himself, but had to be carried by someone compassionate and laid at the rich man’s gate.

Those who cannot help the poor with money should help them with effort. If they cannot give a penny, they can lend a hand. If they cannot bring them help themselves, they should go and get help for them. Lazarus had nothing of his own to live on, no family to turn to, and no public care to support him. It shows the sad decline of the Jewish church at that time that such a godly man should be left to suffer for lack of necessary food.

Notice what he hoped for from the rich man’s table: he wanted to be fed with the crumbs (Luke 16:21).

He did not even ask for the rich man’s leftovers from the table, though he should have had some of the best food. He would have been thankful for the crumbs that fell under the table, the broken food left behind by the rich man, even the scraps left for the dogs. Poor people must plead and be glad to receive whatever they can get.

This is mentioned to show, first, the poor man’s distress and his humble spirit. He was poor, but he was content to be poor. He did not sit at the rich man’s gate crying out or making a scene. Instead, he quietly and modestly wished for crumbs to eat. This miserable man was a good man, and he was in God’s favor. Often some of God’s dearest saints and servants suffer greatly in this world, while wicked people prosper and have plenty. See (Psalm 73:7, Psalm 73:10, Psalm 73:14). Here was a child of wrath and an heir of hell enjoying a rich house and fine food, while a child of love and an heir of heaven lay at the gate, starving. So we must not judge people’s spiritual state by their outward condition.

Second, this shows the rich man’s attitude toward him. We are not told that he insulted him, stopped him from using the gate, or hurt him in any direct way. But he clearly ignored him. He had no concern for him and took no care of him. Here was a real and moving case for charity, right at his own gate. The poor man had a good reputation, behaved well, and had every reason to be helped. A little care would have meant a great deal to him. Yet the rich man did not even have him brought into a barn or some other outbuilding. He just left him there.

It is not enough that we do not crush or mistreat the poor. We will be found unfaithful with our Master’s goods, on the great day, if we do not help and relieve them. The most frightening judgment includes these words: “I was hungry, and you gave me no food.” I cannot understand how rich people who have read Christ’s gospel, and say they believe it, can often be so unconcerned about the needs and suffering of the poor.

The dogs also treated him in a certain way. The dogs came and licked his sores. The rich man may have kept hunting dogs or other dogs for pleasure, and they were fed well while poor Lazarus could not get enough to stay alive. Those who feed their dogs and neglect the poor will have much to answer for later. It is a serious shame in many rich people that they spend money on their own comforts and pleasures, while that same money could meet the needs and lift the hearts of many suffering Christians. They offend God, and they treat human life with contempt, when they pamper dogs and horses and let poor neighbors’ families go hungry.

These dogs came and licked poor Lazarus’s sores, and this can be read in two ways. First, it made his misery worse. His sores were bloody, and that drew the dogs near, as dogs were drawn to blood in Scripture (1 Kings 21:19; Psalm 68:23). They attacked him while he was still alive, almost as if he were already dead. He had no strength to drive them off, and none of the servants were kind enough to stop them. The dogs acted like their master, as if they were enjoying a feast when they fed on human blood.

Second, it may be seen as some small relief in his suffering. The master was hard-hearted, but the dogs came and licked his sores, which may have cleaned and eased them a little. It does not say they sucked them, only that they licked them, and that was helpful. The dogs were kinder to him than their master was.

Here now is the different state of this godly poor man and this wicked rich man at death and after death. So far the wicked man seems to have had the advantage, but let us wait and see the end. Both died (Luke 16:22). The beggar died, and the rich man also died. Death comes to rich and poor, godly and ungodly alike, and there they meet. One dies in strength, another in deep sorrow, but both lie down in the dust together (Job 21:26). Death does not favor the rich because of their wealth, or the poor because of their poverty. Saints die so their sorrows may end and their joys begin. Sinners die so they can give an account for their lives. Rich and poor alike must prepare for death, because it comes for both.

The beggar died first. God often takes godly people out of the world while he lets the wicked continue to prosper. It was mercy for the beggar that his suffering ended quickly. Since he could find no other shelter or rest, he was hidden in the grave, where the weary rest.

The rich man died and was buried. Nothing is said about the burial of the poor man. They likely dug a grave anywhere and threw his body in without ceremony. He was buried like an animal. It is possible they even let the dogs that had licked his sores gnaw his bones. But the rich man had a grand funeral, lay in honor, had mourners follow him, and a fine monument was set over his grave. He may even have had a funeral speech praising him and his generous living, and the fine table he kept, spoken by those who had enjoyed his hospitality. Scripture says the wicked are carried to the grave with much display and laid in the tomb, while the stones of the valley are made sweet to him, if that were possible (Job 21:32, Job 21:33). Yet all this ceremony means nothing to the man’s true happiness.

The beggar died and was carried by angels into Abraham’s bosom. How much greater was the honor shown to his soul, carried to its rest by this heavenly escort, than the honor shown to the rich man’s body, carried with such display to the grave. Notice three things. First, his soul still existed apart from the body. It did not die or sleep with the body. His life was not extinguished with him. He still lived, acted, and knew what was happening to him. Second, his soul went to another world, the world of spirits, back to God who gave it, back to its true home. That is part of what is meant by being carried there. The spirit of a person goes upward. Third, angels cared for it. It was carried by angels.

They are ministering spirits for those who will inherit salvation, not only while they live, but when they die. God has given them a task concerning his people, to carry them in their hands, not only on their travels here on earth, but on their great journey to their eternal home in heaven. They are both guide and guard through places that are unknown and unsafe.

The human soul, if it is not chained to this earth and weighed down by it, as unholy souls are, has a kind of inner power that makes it rise upward as soon as it is free from the body. But Christ will not trust his people to that alone. Instead, he sends special messengers to bring them to himself. One angel might seem enough, yet here there are more, just as many were sent for Elijah. Amasis, king of Egypt, had his chariot drawn by kings, but what is that honor compared with this? Believers rise by the power of Christ’s ascension, but this escort of angels is added for dignity and honor.

The saints are brought home not only safely, but honorably. What were the bearers at the rich man’s funeral, even if they were men of high rank, compared with Lazarus’s bearers? The angels were not afraid to touch him, because his sores were on his body, not on his soul. His soul was brought to God without spot, wrinkle, or anything like that. A good man once said as he was dying, “Now, blessed angels, come and do your duty.”

It was carried into Abraham’s bosom. The Jews described the happiness of the righteous after death in three ways: they go to the garden of Eden, they go to be under the throne of glory, and they go to the bosom of Abraham. That is the picture our Savior uses here. Abraham was the father of the faithful, and where should the souls of the faithful be gathered except to him? Like a tender father, he lays them in his bosom, especially when they first arrive, to welcome them and refresh them after the sorrows and weariness of this world.

He was carried to Abraham’s bosom, that is, to feast with him. At feasts, guests often recline close together, leaning on one another’s breasts. In heaven, the saints sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Abraham was a great and wealthy man, yet in heaven he does not think it beneath him to welcome poor Lazarus into his bosom. Rich saints and poor saints meet in heaven. This poor Lazarus, who could not even get inside the rich man’s gate, is brought into the dining room, into the bedchamber of the heavenly palace. He is laid in Abraham’s bosom, though the rich man had once scorned him and treated him as less than the dogs of his flock.

The next news we hear of the rich man, after his death and burial, is that in hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torment (Luke 16:23). His condition is terribly miserable. He is in hell, in hades, that is, in the state of separated souls, and there he suffers the greatest misery and pain possible. Just as the souls of the faithful, as soon as they are freed from the burden of the body, are in joy and blessedness, so wicked and unholy souls, as soon as death removes them from the pleasures of the body, are in endless, useless, and hopeless torment. That torment will be even greater and more complete at the resurrection.

This rich man had given himself entirely to the pleasures of the visible world. He was absorbed by them and chose them as his portion, so he was completely unfit for the pleasures of the spiritual world. To such a carnal mind, those pleasures would bring no delight, and he could have no taste for them, so he is shut out from them. But that is not all. He was hard-hearted toward God’s poor, and so he is not only cut off from mercy, but receives judgment without mercy. He falls under punishment of pain as well as punishment of loss.

His misery is made worse by what he knows about Lazarus’s happiness. He lifts up his eyes and sees Abraham far away, and Lazarus in his bosom. It is the soul that is in torment, and the eyes of the mind are lifted up. He begins to wonder what has become of Lazarus. He does not find him where he is, but clearly sees him, as plainly as if with bodily eyes, far off in Abraham’s bosom. We saw a similar increase of the misery of the lost before, when Jesus said, “You will see Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, and yourselves thrown out” (Luke 13:28).

He saw Abraham far away. Seeing Abraham should be a pleasant sight, but seeing him at a distance was painful. Near him he saw devils and damned companions, which were dreadful and distressing sights. Far away he saw Abraham. Every sight in hell adds to the pain. He also saw Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom. That same Lazarus whom he had once treated with scorn and contempt, as if he were beneath notice, he now sees honored and blessed. That sight reminds him of his own cruel treatment of Lazarus, and Lazarus’s happiness makes his own misery feel even worse.

Here we have an account of what passed between the rich man and Abraham in the state after death, a state in which they are separated from each other and both separated from this world. It is likely that there will not be, and are not, any such conversations between glorified saints and damned sinners. Still, in descriptions meant to move the heart, such dialogues are fitting, because they help show what the thoughts and feelings of each would be. Since we read of damned sinners being tormented in the presence of the Lamb (Revelation 14:10), and of God’s faithful servants looking on those who broke the covenant, where their worm does not die and their fire is not quenched (Isaiah 66:23-24), such a conversation is not out of place.

In this conversation, we first have the request the rich man makes to Abraham for some relief from his misery (Luke 16:24). Seeing Abraham far off, he cried out to him, as one in deep pain and urgency, mixing cries with his request to stir compassion. The man who once spoke with authority now begs loudly, louder than Lazarus had ever begged at his gate. The songs of his feasting and wild pleasure are all turned into cries of sorrow.

Notice the title he gives Abraham: “Father Abraham.” Many in hell can call Abraham father, because they were Abraham’s children by physical descent, and many were even, by name and outward profession, children of the covenant made with Abraham. This rich man may once have mocked Abraham and the story of Abraham, as scoffers do in later times, but now he gives him a respectful title, Father Abraham. The day is coming when wicked people will be glad to seek friendship with the righteous and claim family ties with them, even though they now despise them. In this picture, Abraham stands for Christ, since all judgment has been given to him, and Abraham speaks here with Christ’s mind.

Those who now ignore Christ will soon be pleading with him, “Lord, Lord.”

Second, the rich man describes his present misery: “I am tormented in this flame.” He is speaking of the pain of his soul, so this must be a fire that can act on the soul. God’s wrath is such a fire, because it presses on a guilty conscience. So are horror of mind and the bitter words of a self-accusing, self-condemning heart. Nothing is more painful or frightening to the body than fire, and Scripture uses that image to show the agony of lost souls.

Third, he asks Abraham for mercy because of this misery: “Have mercy on me.” Notice this, the day is coming when those who now think lightly of God’s mercy will beg for it desperately. They will cry out for mercy when the day of mercy is over and mercy is no longer offered. The man who showed no mercy to Lazarus now expects Lazarus to have mercy on him. He seems to think, “Lazarus is kinder than I ever was.” The specific favor he asks is this: “Send Lazarus, so he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.”

Here he complains especially about the torment of his tongue, as if that part suffers most. The punishment fits the sin. The tongue is the tool of speech, so this pain reminds him of the wicked words he spoke against God and people, his cursing, swearing, blasphemy, harsh talk, and filthy speech. He is condemned by his words, so his tongue is tormented. The tongue is also the tool of taste, so this pain would also remind him of his greedy love of pleasure, which he once savored.

He asks only for a drop of water to cool his tongue. He does not ask, “Father Abraham, set me free from this misery and lift me out of this pit,” because he has given up all hope of that. He asks for the smallest possible relief, just one drop for a moment. At times he may have even had a hidden bad intent toward Lazarus, hoping to use him and keep him from returning to Abraham’s side. A heart full of anger against God is also full of anger against God’s people. Yet we should speak as kindly as possible even of a lost sinner, and suppose he meant to show respect to Lazarus, since he would now gladly depend on him. He names Lazarus because he knows him, and he thinks Lazarus will not mind doing this small favor for an old acquaintance.

Grotius quotes Plato here, who described the torment of wicked souls and said they keep crying out to those they have murdered or wronged, asking them to forgive the injuries done to them. There is a day coming when those who now hate and despise God’s people would gladly receive kindness from them.

Abraham’s reply was, in general, a refusal. He would not give him even one drop of water to cool his tongue. Notice this, the damned in hell will not have the smallest easing of their pain. If we make use of our present chances now, we may one day enjoy full and lasting comfort from God’s mercy. But if we ignore the offer now, it will be useless to ask for even the least drop of mercy in hell. See how justly this rich man is repaid in his own way, he who denied a crumb is denied a drop. Now we are told, “Ask, and it will be given to you,” but if we miss this favorable time, we may ask and not receive.

But Abraham says more than, “You will get nothing to ease your torment.” What he says makes the rich man’s pain even sharper, because everything in hell adds to torment.

First, Abraham calls him “son,” a kind and polite word, but here it only makes the refusal harder. It shuts the door on the compassion a father might show. He had been a son, but a rebellious one, and now he is cut off and disinherited. See the mistake of those who trust in the claim, “We have Abraham as our father,” when we find one in hell, and likely there forever, whom Abraham calls son.

Second, Abraham reminds him of what his life had been like, and of Lazarus’s condition too: “Son, remember.” Those are painful words. The memories of lost souls will torment them, and conscience will then wake up and do its work, which they refused to let it do here. Nothing will pour more fuel on hell’s fire than “Son, remember.” Now sinners are often told to remember, but they do not, and they will not. They find ways to avoid it. “Remember your Creator, your Redeemer, remember how your life will end,” but they can turn away from these warnings and forget the very things for which memory was given. So it will be just for their endless misery to begin with “Son, remember,” which they will not be able to shut out.

What a dreadful sound this will be in our ears: “Son, remember the many warnings given to you not to come to this place of torment, warnings you would not heed. Remember the gracious offers made to you of eternal life and glory, which you would not accept.” But what he is told to remember here is this: “You received your good things in your lifetime.” Abraham does not say he abused them, but that he received them. In other words, God was very generous to him and ready to do him good, so he cannot say God owes him anything, not even a drop of water. He received what was given, and that was all. He never gave God a thankful return, or any real use of those gifts. He was like a grave where God’s blessings were buried, not a field where they were sown. He received his good things and used them as if they were his own and as if he were never accountable for them.

Or rather, these were the things he chose as his good things, the things he counted best. He was satisfied with them and made them his portion. He had the richest food, the finest drink, and the best clothes, and he placed his happiness in them. They were his reward, his comfort, the wage he had agreed on, and he has had it. He cared for the good things of this life and had no thought of better things in the next life, so he has no reason to expect them now. The time of his good things is over, and now it is the time of his evil things, the time when he receives payment for all his evil deeds. He has already had the last drop of mercy he could expect. Nothing remains for him now but wrath, without any mixture of mercy.

“Remember too,” Abraham says, “what evil things Lazarus received.”

You may envy his happiness here, but think about how much misery he had during his life. You have as much good as could be expected for such a bad man, and he had as much evil as could be expected for such a good man. He received his evil things, and he bore them patiently. He took them from God’s hand, just as Job did (Job 2:10), “Should we receive good from the Lord, and should we not also receive evil?” He accepted them as medicine meant to cure the sickness of his soul, and the cure was completed.

As wicked people have only good things in this life, and at death they are forever cut off from all good, so godly people have only evil things in this life, and at death they are forever beyond their reach. By putting both of these things before the rich man, Abraham wakes up his conscience. He reminds him how he treated Lazarus when he was enjoying his good things and Lazarus was groaning under his bad things. He cannot forget that he refused to help Lazarus then, so how could he now expect Lazarus to help him? If Lazarus had later become rich and the rich man poor, Lazarus would have thought it his duty to help him, and not to remind him of his former unkindness. But in the life to come, where God repays each person rightly, those who are now treated by God and people better than they deserve must expect to be rewarded according to their works.

He also reminds him of Lazarus’s present joy and his own misery: the tables have now turned, and they must stay that way forever. Now Lazarus is comforted, and you are tormented. The rich man did not need to be told he was tormented, he felt it deeply. He also knew that someone in Abraham’s embrace could not be anything but comforted. Still, Abraham reminds him of this so he can compare the two and see God’s justice in giving trouble to those who trouble his people, and rest to those who are troubled (2 Thessalonians 1:6-7).

Notice these things. Heaven is comfort, and hell is torment. Heaven is joy, and hell is weeping, wailing, and pain at its worst. The soul, as soon as it leaves the body, goes either to heaven or hell, to comfort or torment at once. It does not sleep, and it does not go to purgatory, a supposed place of cleansing after death. Heaven will be true heaven to those who go there through many great troubles in this world. Some had grace, but little comfort from it here, perhaps because their souls refused to be comforted. Yet when they die in Christ, you can truly say, “Now they are comforted. Now all their tears are wiped away, and all their fears are gone.” In heaven there is lasting comfort.

On the other hand, hell will be true hell to those who go there from a life full of pleasures and comforts. Their pain will be even greater, because they are less used to hardship. Scripture speaks of this kind of suffering as the burden of the tender and delicate woman who would not even put the sole of her foot on the ground because of her weakness and luxury (Deuteronomy 28:56).

Abraham also makes clear that it is useless to think Lazarus could bring any relief, for, as verse 26 says, “Besides all this, between us and you a great gulf is fixed,” an impassable divide, so there can be no communication between glorified saints and damned sinners. The kindest saint in heaven cannot visit the company of the dead and damned to comfort or help anyone there, even if they were once friends. They cannot leave the Father’s face or the work around his throne to bring water to those in torment. That is no part of their task.

And the most daring sinner in hell cannot force his way out of that prison or cross that great gulf. They cannot pass to us who would go there from that place. No one should expect that, because the door of mercy is shut and the bridge is pulled up. There is no coming out on parole or bail, not even for an hour. In this world, praise God, there is no such gulf fixed between a state of human nature and grace, for we may pass from sin to God. But if we die in our sins, if we cast ourselves into the pit of destruction, there is no coming out. It is a pit with no water, and from it there is no escape.