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“The Great Rewrite”

Luke 16:19-31

September 28, 2025

Rev. Rebecca DePoe

Luke 16:19–31

19 “There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. 20 And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, 21 who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. 22 The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. 24 He called out, ‘Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in agony in these flames.’ 25 But Abraham said, ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony.

26 Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ 27 He said, ‘Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house— 28 for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.’

29 Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.’ 30 He said, ‘No, father Abraham, but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.’ 31 He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’

This is the word of the Lord, thanks be to God.

When Madeleine L’Engle wrote A Wrinkle in Time, she told the story of a young girl named Meg Murry. Meg doesn’t fit in. She feels awkward, angry, and alone. To make things worse, her father- a scientist- has mysteriously disappeared, and most people assume he abandoned the family. Meg believes her story is set: she will always be an outcast, her family will always be broken, and her father will never come home.

As the story unfolds, Meg and her brother Charles Wallace are drawn into an adventure that takes them across space and time. They discover a great darkness that is holding entire planets- including their father- in its grip. The evil force seems all-powerful, too strong to resist. For Meg, it feels like the end of the story.

But then comes the wrinkle- the impossible bend it time that opens a a way forward. And Meg learns that the one thing strong enough to overcome the darkness is not brute force or cleverness, but love. The love she though was powerless turns out to be the very thing that rewrites the story.  

That’s the gospel point in Jesus’ parable, too. At first glance, it seems like nothing ever changes. The rich man feasts; Lazarus starves. A great chasm lies between them. The story looks set in stone. But the God of resurrection is in the business of rewrites.

Jesus begins with what looks like a familiar scene. On one side is a rich man clothed in purple and fine linen, eating extravagantly every single day. On the other side is Lazarus, lying at the gate, covered in sores, hungry for scraps that never come. The contrast is so stark it almost feels like a caricature- luxury versus misery.

But that’s the point: Jesus wants us to see the great divide, a chasm already present before either of them dies. It is a picture of a world we recognize: where some live in ease and others barely survive. Where one person’s excess exists right alongside another’s hunger. Where gates and walls are built to keep the suffering out of sight.

And what’s most striking is that the story feels fixed. Everyone in Jesus’ audience would have recognized it. The rich get richer, the poor get poorer. That’s just the way the world works. The man in purple lines will always feast; the man at the gate will always beg.

Maybe we recognize that feeling too. The systems seem too big to change. The divides in our own world- between rich and poor, between neighborhoods, even between families- can feel so entrenched that nothing will ever be different. It’s just “the way things are.”

But then Jesus takes us beyond what we can see in this life. He carries the story past the grave, into God’s judgment. And suddenly, what seems fixed is flipped. The roles are reversed, and we discover that God does not see the world the way we do.

And here is where the parable gets uncomfortable- because the reversal carries with it a warning we don’t want to hear. Lazarus, the poor man, is carried by angels to Abraham’s side- an image of comfort and honor. The rich man, meanwhile finds himself in torment.

Even in the afterlife, the rich man still doesn’t see Lazarus as anything more than a servant. He calls out to Abraham, “Send Lazarus to bring me a drop of water.” Later, “Send Lazarus to warn my brothers.” He knows Lazarus’ name now, be he still treats him like a servant. The rich man’s blindness wasn’t just about wealth- it was about failing to recognize the humanity of the one right at his gate.

That’s the warning we don’t want to hear. Wealth itself isn’t condemned here, but indifference is. The sin is not what the rich man owned, but what he ignored. He had every opportunity to see Lazarus, to use his abundance for good, to let the suffering at his gate move him to mercy. And he didn’t.

And if we’re honest, that’s where this parable starts to sting. Because it’s not just about one rich man long ago. It’s about us. Who lies at our gates that we have learned not to see? What suffering have we grown numb to? How many times have we convinced ourselves that nothing could really change anyway?

The warning is sharp, and it’s meant to be. The chasm, Abraham says, is now fixed. The roles are reversed. It’s a world of judgment against complacency, a word that shakes us awake.

But remember- Jesus never tells these stories to leave us in despair. The parable isn’t finished. God has one more move, one more word, one more rewrite still to come.

Because hidden in Abraham’s words is another truth: “they have Moses and the prophets.” In other words, God has already spoken. The call to justice has already been given. And beyond that, Jesus hints at something even greater: “Even if someone rises from the dead…”

This is where the story turns again. The rich man begs Abraham “If only Lazarus could rise from the dead and warn my brothers, then they would repent.” And Abraham answers: “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”

It sounds like the end of the story. But for us on this side of Easter, we know it’s actually the beginning. Because someone has risen from the dead. Jesus himself has crossed the chasm, broken down the gates, and rewritten the story we thought weas fixed.

The world says the gap between rich and poor is permanent. The resurrection says no chasm is too wide for God to bridge.

The world says suffering is inevitable, the story ends in death. The resurrections says death is not the end of our stories.

The world says we are prisoners of our past, trapped in patterns that can’t be broken. The resurrection says, “See, I am making all things new.”

This is the great rewrite: not just a reversal in the life to come, but an invitation to live differently here and now. Because if Christ is risen, then we no longer have to accept the gates, the divisions, the complacency that feel so fixed. We can live as people of the resurrection- opening our doors, sharing our tables, seeing Lazarus not as a burden but as a brother.

The great rewrite begins when we take God’s story more seriously than the world’s story. It begins when we trust that the same love that raised Jesus from the dead can still transform lives, still heal communities, still rewrite endings we thought were carved in stone.

And that’s the heart of this parable. It’s not just a warning about wealth or a judgement on indifference- it’s a pointer to something greater. The story we thought was fixed has been rewritten by the power of resurrection.

Which leaves us with a choice. We can keep living as though nothing has changed- as though gates and chasms are permanent- or we can live as though Christ is risen, as though hope is real, as though God’s love really is stronger than death.

And that brings us back to where we began. In A Wrinkle in Time, Meg was certain her story was set in stone- her father lost, her family broken, the darkness too strong. But then came the wrinkle, the impossible turn, the story rewritten by love.

That’s what God has done for us in Jesus Christ. The Great Rewrite is already underway. The gates become tables. The chasm is bridged. The forgotten are remembered. And even the endings carved in stone are rewritten with grace.

So the question is simple: will we live by the old story, or by the new one? The world’s story of division and despair, or God’s story of resurrection and hope?

Thanks be to God,

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.