Jesus gives us a tale of contrasts.
A rich man dressed in purple, feasting daily.
And a poor man, Lazarus, starving at his gate, covered in sores, licked by dogs.

Augustine says: Two men, two worlds. One has everything in this life but nothing in the next. One has nothing in this life but everything in the next.

Notice: the rich man is not accused of theft, violence, or murder.
His sin was indifference.
He saw Lazarus every day and stepped over him.

The tragedy is not hatred, but blindness.
He could have bridged the chasm with a crumb.
Instead, he built the chasm with his neglect.

Even the dogs showed more mercy than the rich man.
Ambrose comments: the dogs tried to soothe Lazarus’ wounds, while the rich man hardened his heart.

Creation itself groaned in compassion, while the man made in God’s image shut his eyes.

At death, the roles reverse.
Lazarus is carried to Abraham’s side.
The rich man is buried in torment.

Gregory the Great says: What was despised on earth is honoured in heaven. What was honoured on earth is despised in eternity.

The chasm is fixed, not by God’s cruelty, but by the man’s own choices.
The separation in eternity simply reveals the separation he lived already.

The rich man begs for relief, then for a warning for his brothers.
But Abraham answers: “They have Moses and the prophets; let them listen to them.”

The Word of God is enough.
If someone ignores Scripture, they will ignore miracles too.
Faith comes not by spectacle, but by hearing.

And Paul says to Timothy: “Fight the good fight of faith. Pursue righteousness, faith, love, endurance.”
In other words: do not laze on sofas like the rich man.
The Christian life is struggle, not luxury.
It is discipleship, not decadence.

So what does this mean for us?

• Lazarus is still at the gate. The poor, the sick, the unborn, the elderly left alone.
• The rich man is still at the table. We are tempted to live in comfort, distracted, blind to the suffering at our doorstep.

The question is simple: who do we see, and who do we ignore?

Hell is not just the result of great crimes, but of daily neglect.
The rich man did not persecute Lazarus — he ignored him.
He did not hate him — he stepped over him.

That is the danger for us. Not outright rejection of Christ, but polite indifference.
Not active cruelty, but passive selfishness.

The road to hell is paved not only with bad intentions, but with blank stares.

Jesus ends with a chilling note:
Even if someone should rise from the dead, they will not believe.

And indeed, someone did rise from the dead — Christ Himself.
Yet many still do not believe.

The Word is clear. The warning is given. The time is now.

At death, everything is revealed.
The clothes, the banquets, the houses — dust.
The only thing that remains is love.

The rich man took nothing with him but his selfishness.
Lazarus took nothing with him but his suffering — and God turned it into glory.

This is the great reversal: the first will be last, and the last will be first.

So what must we do?

• Examine your life. Who is at your gate? Who are you ignoring?
• Live generously. Give alms, serve, notice, listen. Small acts matter eternally.
• Stay awake. Comfort is not security. Wealth is not salvation. Only Christ is.

This is not about guilt, but about grace.
God places Lazarus at our gate as a gift — a chance to love, a chance to bridge the chasm before it is too late.

Catholicism is not a religion of comfort.
It is a call to conversion.
A faith that costs nothing is worth nothing.

The world says: keep, hoard, protect yourself.
The Gospel says: give, share, lay down your life.

We cannot serve both God and comfort.
We cannot feast daily while Lazarus starves.
We cannot ignore the Cross and still hope for the crown.

So Amos cries out: “Woe to those who lie on ivory couches and are not grieved at the ruin of Joseph.” Paul cries out: “Fight the good fight of faith.”
And Christ cries out: “Remember Lazarus at your gate.”

The Gospel demands a choice.
We can live like the rich man — or like Lazarus.
We can build a chasm of selfishness — or bridge it with love.

At the end, the question will not be how well we dined, or what we wore, or how much we built.
The question will be: did you notice the one at your gate?
Did you love them?

If yes, heaven opens. If no, the chasm is fixed.

Two men, two worlds, two destinies.
One feasted for a moment and starved for eternity.
One starved for a moment and feasts for eternity.

Choose carefully.
Because eternity begins at the gate.