🐮 Proper 21

Hades, Sheol, and Seeing Our Neighbors

This week’s lectionary readings (Amos 6, Psalm 146, 1 Timothy 6, and Luke 16) gave me a lot to chew on. I’ve always had a soft spot for the so-called “pastoral letters” in the New Testament—even if their Pauline authorship is debatable. But the text that grabbed me most today was Luke 16, a passage where Jesus sketches a scene in the afterlife, borrowing imagery straight out of Greek imagination.

Hades and Sheol

Luke uses the word Hades, drawing on the Greek underworld, a place ruled by myth and symbol. In the Hebrew Bible, though, the word is Sheol—the grave, the place where you ask for rest when death comes. It’s striking that Sheol sounds almost exactly like Shaul—Saul, Israel’s first king. Both words carry the meaning “to ask for.” Saul was the king Israel asked for in 1 Samuel 8, and he ultimately asked for the grave when he took his own life.

This wordplay isn’t accidental. It frames the story in Luke 16 as a meditation not only on death, but on the choices people make when they ask for something other than God’s way of life.

The Rich Man and Lazarus

Luke, a physician and likely a God-fearing Gentile, sets the story in Hades but fills it with Hebrew imagination. A rich man dressed in imperial purple—colors reserved for Augustus and the imperial cult—dies alongside a poor man named Lazarus.

Elsewhere in the Gospels, Lazarus is raised from the dead, one of the most extraordinary miracles in scripture. Here, though, his role is quieter. He is simply the poor man at the gate, ignored by the wealthy neighbor who had every chance to treat him like family.

The reversal comes after death: Lazarus is lifted up in Abraham’s embrace, while the rich man finds himself in torment, still blind to his neighbor but suddenly concerned for his own relatives.

Sheep and Goats

The story echoes Matthew 25’s separation of sheep and goats. Sheep, dependent on their shepherd, live in symbiotic relationship with humans. Goats, independent and self-sufficient, symbolize those who refuse that relationship. The rich man thought he was fine—but independence from God turned him into a goat.

And Abraham’s answer is blunt: your family already has Moses and the prophets. They already have neighbors. If they ignore the people suffering on their doorstep, why should a miracle change their hearts?

Faith That Acts

Luke reminds us that miracles are not a substitute for compassion. If we can walk past Lazarus every day unmoved, no sign from heaven will save us. Faith that does not act—faith that ignores neighbors and only looks inward—is no faith at all.

This is what makes Luke such a powerful voice in scripture. He bridges Greek and Hebrew worlds but centers the story on Abraham, Moses, and the prophets. He names the poor man, not the rich one. And he insists that the real miracle is not in the afterlife, but in whether we treat our neighbors as family here and now.

A Cautionary Tale

Ignorance may be bliss, but it is not an excuse. If we refuse to hear the cries of those suffering in our neighborhoods, why should God be moved by our own cries? The story of the rich man and Lazarus is a cautionary tale, one that pulls on Greek mythology but insists on Hebrew justice: love your neighbor, trust their voice, and recognize them as your family before it’s too late.