Welcoming Lazarus On Board

Описание: A church that sails only for itself will sink in its own weight. But a church that pulls Lazarus on board, that gives generously, prays faithfully, and sails with vision—that church will reach the harbor of God’s Kingdom. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

We just heard one of the most unsettling parables of Jesus. A rich man, clothed in purple and fine linen, feasting daily in luxury. At his gate, a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, longing for crumbs, tended only by the tongues of dogs. Death comes to both. But in God’s justice, the roles are reversed: Lazarus is carried to Abraham’s side, while the rich man finds himself in torment, crying out for relief. Between them, Abraham says, lies a great chasm that cannot be crossed.

This parable is about seeing who is at our gates. It is about recognizing the chasm created by indifference. It is about whether the life we live is one of mercy or of selfishness.

Now let us place this image onto the one we have carried in recent weeks: the Church as a boat, sailing together toward God’s Kingdom. In our chaplaincy workshop, we said our voyage depends on faith, fellowship, and finances—prayer as our anchor and sail, fellowship as our rowing together, and stewardship as the provisions that fuel the journey. And in the Feast of St. Matthew, which some of you may have read again on our chaplaincy webpage, we remembered that following Christ means not holding back, but giving generously.

Today’s Gospel pushes this further: whose place on board are we ignoring? Who is left clinging to the side of the ship, waiting to be pulled in, while we enjoy safety on deck? A boat meant for mission is not a private yacht. If we sail comfortably while Lazarus is left behind, we are no better than the rich man who ignored him at the gate.

Jeremiah’s story sharpens this. In the midst of siege, while Babylon is at the gates, Jeremiah buys a field. It looks absurd—like patching sails in the middle of a storm. But it is an act of hope: “Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land.” Jeremiah shows us that the voyage of God’s people does not end in ruin. His purchase was an investment in the future. In the same way, our giving to the church is our own investment that this boat—the community of St. Catherine’s—will keep sailing, that worship, fellowship, and mission will not stop, but continue toward God’s promised horizon.
Paul, writing to Timothy, adds another dimension. He warns that the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil, leading many to ruin. Those who make wealth their anchor will see the ship capsize. But Paul does not tell us to throw money overboard. Instead, he says, use it rightly: “They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous, and ready to share.” Our finances are not the destination but the fuel. Without provisions, the voyage stalls. With generosity, the ship is steady, the sails are full, and the whole community journeys together.

Friends, this is not abstract. In our world today, Lazarus has many faces. Migrant workers who endure separation and risk just to provide for their families. Families who line up for rice that remains beyond their means while leaders feast. Fisherfolk who go out each day but barely bring home enough for dried fish and rice. Students who cling to hope for education while weighed down by debt. Hungry people in Gaza whose cries are drowned out by war. Ordinary people who row and row, but find the ship carried off course by the powerful who steer for themselves.

The parable makes clear: wealth without mercy is death-dealing. But life that really is life comes when we live generously, when we see Lazarus not as an outsider but as a fellow passenger. And here in St. Catherine’s, generosity includes our money given to God’s work. Let us not pretend otherwise. This boat sails only when provisions are shared, when fuel is supplied, when everyone on board gives according to ability so that the voyage does not falter.

So let us ask: what kind of voyage are we making? Is our boat a private feast or a mission vessel? Do we leave Lazarus clinging at the gate, or do we haul him on deck and make room at the table?

Our calling is not to hoard, but to share. Not to hold back, but to invest—invest in God’s promise, invest in God’s mission, invest in this community’s voyage. For in God’s Kingdom, the ship is large enough for all.

And so we return to where we began: a church that sails only for itself will sink in its own weight. But a church that trusts God’s promise, that rows together with generosity, that pulls Lazarus aboard and sails with vision—that church will reach the harbor of God’s Kingdom. That is the voyage worth making, the horizon worth steering toward, the life worth living. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.