We were studying Jesus’ story of the rich man and Lazarus on Wednesday night (Luke 16:19–31). The chasm between heaven and hell in the story isn’t just geographical—it’s moral, spiritual, and, ultimately, self-imposed. Because even as the rich man is roasting in Hades, his heart remains stubbornly unchanged. He doesn’t repent. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t even ask to be brought into paradise. Instead, he clings to the same old presumptions that damned him in life: entitlement, self-centeredness, and a bloated sense of importance.
Here’s the setup: there’s an unnamed rich guy living like Gérard Depardieu, and outside his gate lies Lazarus, basically a doormat with a pulse and body covered with boils. Then they both die. Lazarus is carried off to eternal bliss with Abraham, while the rich man checks in to the underworld’s lowest-reviewed Airbnb.
Now here’s the kicker: even while he’s roasting like a marshmallow in the hands of an angry Jonathan Edwards, the rich man still thinks he’s running the show. He doesn’t say, “I was wrong,” or “God, have mercy.” No—he says, and I’m paraphrasing, “Hey Abraham, send that poor guy to fetch me water and run errands.” Read the room, pal. He still sees Lazarus not as a brother, but as help.
Which is the point: hell isn’t just punishment—it’s being locked inside the worst version of yourself forever. The rich man didn’t become remorseful. He just became crankier.
Jesus is warning us. You don’t become a better person by dying. You become who you already are—just more so. The heart you cultivate now sets your eternal trajectory.
So maybe don’t wait until you're on fire to learn to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. Start now. Before you start barking orders from the furnace.
Maranatha,
Jordy
