Lectionary Commentaries for September 28, 2025
Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

An enormous and growing wealth gap separates a few—both individuals and nations—from the many who live in poverty. Sound familiar? First-century life within the Roman Empire was much like the reality we know, in this regard. The Gospel of Luke assumes and addresses this reality.

Luke 16 follows the most enigmatic of Jesus’ parables, that of the dishonest (or shrewd) manager (in verses 1–13), with one of the most memorable and difficult, the parable featuring Lazarus and a rich man (verses 19–31). It is challenging, not because its meaning is hard to grasp, but precisely because its message is crystal clear.

Immediately preceding the parable that concludes the chapter, Luke presents a set of loosely related sayings about wealth, entrance into the realm of God, and the continuing validity of the law and the prophets (verses 14–18). The motif of wealth and the claim of law and prophets prepare readers for the story that follows.

Scene one: Life-threatening poverty alongside conspicuous wealth 

Verses 19–21 paint the starkest contrast between the lives of two men who exist in the closest proximity. We first meet a man who displays his enormous wealth in clothing (expensive purple garments and the finest linen) and lavish daily banquets. Then we see, deposited at the gate right outside his home, a destitute man whose physical health is compromised—he is desperately hungry and “covered with sores” (verse 20, New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition; this might also be translated “wounds”). Dogs lick the man’s sores or wounds, perhaps compounding his suffering, although this may be an image of comfort, if the notion that a dog’s saliva has curative effects is in play. 

While the rich man is unnamed, this man receives a name: Lazarus, a form of the name Eliezer. As this is the only named human character in a parable of Jesus in the Gospels, apart from Abraham in this story, the symbolic meaning of his name is especially meaningful. As the story unfolds, God—and only God—is his help.

Scene two: Trading places—you can’t take it with you

The men and their experience of life could not be more different, but the story takes a dramatic turn in verse 22. Death intrudes, and while Lazarus is carried by angels to be with Abraham, the rich man receives the honor of burial—presumably a dignity denied his impoverished counterpart. From Hades, the place for the dead that is now his home, he spots Lazarus “far away” right next to Abraham, and an extended dialogue ensues between the wealthy man and “Father Abraham.” Family language is prominent in the scene, connecting the patriarch and his “child.” Claiming to be a descendant of Abraham, however, is no guarantee of a place within God’s realm, as John the Baptizer made clear earlier in the narrative (Luke 3:7–8). For Abraham’s family, too, it matters how one lives!

The dialogue reveals that the rich man knows well who Lazarus is. He calls out Lazarus’s name as he begs Abraham for mercy: Dispatch him to bring comfort and relieve my pain “in these flames” (16:24, New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition). No help is forthcoming, however; there is now an unbridgeable chasm between two men who once were separated only by a gate. 

Abraham explains the principle that is at work, a radical reversal of circumstance that is reminiscent of Jesus’ earlier declaration of blessing and woe: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. … But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep” (6:20–21, 24–25).

Does Lazarus enter into bliss simply because he had been poor? Does the rich man now suffer simply because he had prospered? The parable intimates that the blessing of the one who suffered poverty is a matter of sheer grace, apart from anything he does. (In fact, the story gives him no agency at all. Persons today who experience poverty do have agency, can and do make many decisions—though the range of possible actions is so often extremely limited due to circumstances beyond their control.) Yet for the rich man, it is not wealth alone that causes his demise, but his failure to act generously toward the man he encountered outside his home every day. With wealth comes great responsibility.

Epilogue: What about the rest of my family—and what about us?

So there is no hope for the rich man, but the story doesn’t end there. Is there hope for the man’s five wealthy brothers? Family language continues as the dialogue pivots back to this world and this life (verses 27–31). No, Lazarus can’t be sent back to the living (like Marley’s ghost to Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens’s A Christmas Carol) to issue a warning. If these brothers know the law and the prophets, they already know what God expects of them. Not even resurrection from the dead will work a miracle of repentance, a premonition in Luke’s narrative of things yet to come in the Acts of the Apostles.

It is too late for the rich man, and there appears to be no hope for the rest of his family. But what about us? In this fictional narrative, Jesus invites listeners to examine their own life choices and actions in light of the reality that we have limited time in which to live well. We will have only so many opportunities to do the right thing. It is not too late for us: Not too late to pay attention to the needs around us. Not too late to share what we have to help others flourish. Not too late to challenge business practices and economic systems that allow a few to enjoy massive wealth while others experience unrelieved, crushing poverty. The work of this parable isn’t finished until we answer the question: How will we respond?

In Amos 6, one is confronted with a picture of utter opulence. At the pinnacle of luxury, people are reclining on ivory beds. They eat meat every day, the most succulent lamb and calf, while the rest of the population only consumes meat during festivals. They enjoy leisurely meals accompanied by dinner music, trying their hand at songwriting like David, while others are working. They are drinking wine from bowls, not goblets. And they beautify themselves with the best cosmetics available. 

This picture of wealth and self-indulgence at their worst sounds all too familiar these days in what has been described in certain areas as a new Gilded Age. Social media and reality TV sell luxury goods and designer brands enjoyed by the few but coveted by the many. All the while, the gap between rich and poor has been growing more pronounced.

In this week’s lectionary text, the Southern prophet Amos, an incidental prophet called by God while going about his daily business tending sycamore trees and his flock of sheep, offers a strong rebuke of both his fellow countrymen and -women as well as their Northern cousins regarding the profound self-absorption that is a side effect of utter opulence: 

Woe to those who are at ease in Zion
and for those who feel secure on Mount Samaria. (verse 1)

According to Amos, affluence and self-indulgence make one oblivious to the needs of anyone but the self and the self’s inner circle. Amos laments that because of their opulent and comfortable lives, they “are not grieved over the ruin of Joseph” (verse 6). Elsewhere in Isaiah 5:8–13, this lack of empathy and inability to see the plight of the poor is attributed to drunkenness—perhaps also implied in light of the reference in Amos 6:6 to bowls of wine!

The strong indictment in verses 4–6 is followed by harsh judgment in verse 7. In one of its first occurrences, the term “exile” is used in an ominous prediction of what is to come or, if stemming from a later time, as an explanation for what already has occurred. The judgment continues in the next pericope, which speaks of great suffering and hardship that will come over the land since they “have turned justice into poison and the fruit of righteousness into wormwood” (Amos 6:12). Wormwood, as also in Amos 5:7, is an exceedingly bitter herb used to describe the great bitterness caused by Israel’s lack of justice. (Also, see Amos 5:7 and Isaiah 5:20 to describe the behavior of calling evil good and good evil.)

It is important to note that Amos is written in a particular time and place. The book of Amos sets the words of Amos that he saw concerning Israel “in the days of King Uzziah of Judah and in the days of King Jeroboam son of Joash of Israel, two years before the earthquake” (Amos 1:1). There is thus something very specific about the litany of social justice infractions referenced in Amos 6 (see also Amos 4:1, 5:10–12, 8:4–7).

But there is also something profoundly universal about Amos’s diatribe against the super-rich who live in utter opulence, taking their privilege and self-indulgent lives for granted. Amos reveals that these riches are not just incidental and, as was also evident in last week’s lectionary reading (Amos 8:4–7), come at the cost of those who are already vulnerable to begin with. 

An online search for who, most recently, has been drawn to this book steeped in the pursuit of justice and righteousness, is telling: Results show many scholars from the Developing World concerned about the state of their people in impoverished countries where the rich are getting richer and the poor poorer—for example, Nigeria, Zimbabwe, Myanmar, and parts of Latin America. These countries feel in tangible ways the effects of neoliberal capitalism, imperialism, and globalization, with all the unfair labor practices and extraction of resources by the Global North, as well as the corruption and self-enrichment of leaders within their countries. 

Amos offers an interesting case of being both an outsider and an insider. On the one hand, he is very much a Southerner from a small town in rural Tekoa, traveling north to deliver his message of judgment to the citizens of Samaria, the capital of the Northern Kingdom, which has been the beneficiary of a period of peace and prosperity. But Amos is not merely at odds with the urban elite of his northern neighbors; he also finds himself an outsider attacking the Jerusalem establishment and elite, who are similarly guilty of forcing subsistence farmers to produce surplus wealth for the benefit of the ruling class. 

Amos could also be read against the backdrop of the imperial regimes of Assyria, Babylon, and Persia, which all traveled to distant lands to get their hands on precious goods to build their respective empires. There are some interesting parallels between the economic practices of the royal palaces that engaged in the economics of extracting resources from their subjects in both Samaria and Jerusalem, and this succession of empires that funded their numerous building projects and administrative bureaucracies by means of incessant plunder of neighboring lands.

Finally, Amos can also be viewed as an insider. After all, he is a landowner with a flock and income-generating fruit trees, so he also speaks from a position of privilege. Regardless, called by God to proclaim a different view of the world, Amos dares to speak to multiple audiences—in his context and in centuries to come—about the dangers of thinking privilege and riches are God-given rights. Rather, the message is that ivory beds and luxury goods, such as are on display in Amos 6, are fleeting, bringing to mind the wisdom of Matthew 6:19–21:

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal, but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 

One version of the Bible titles this text “Jeremiah Buys a Field,” which might seem unremarkable, especially compared to other happenings in Jeremiah. However, with the inspiration of the word of the Lord and given the surrounding circumstances, an ordinary transaction becomes extraordinary.

Jeremiah is clear that this purchase is not something random he dreamed up but comes about and has profound meaning due to the power and influence of the word of the Lord. Within this pericope, Jeremiah refers to the word of the Lord three times (verses 1, 6, 8) and invokes the prophetic messenger formula “thus says the Lord” twice (verses 14, 15). His purchase and its meaning are nothing less than the workings of God.

Jeremiah 32 begins with significant historical context. Zedekiah is king in Judah, and Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon. The Babylonian army is besieging Jerusalem, where Zedekiah has imprisoned Jeremiah. Verses omitted from the reading remind us that Jeremiah had prophesied that Jerusalem would be given over to Babylon, and with it, King Zedekiah taken captive. Jeremiah had essentially told Zedekiah that resistance would be futile.

After this reminder of Jeremiah’s prophecy that is now unfolding, the word of the Lord tells him that Hanamel, son of his uncle Shallum, will visit him with a proposition for Jeremiah to buy a field. This is not a run-of-the-mill land deal. The land itself is under siege by a powerful invader, and the suggested buyer is in jail! But Hanamel indeed shows up and makes Jeremiah the offer.

Even Jeremiah may have initially questioned the sensibility of purchasing the field. The word of the Lord and Hanamel say Jeremiah has a right to redemption of the land, referring to Leviticus 25:23–28 in which a next-of-kin could acquire land to prevent it from being lost by the family. However, it is unclear how such a purchase by a next-of-kin in jail could save the land from loss to an invading army. When Hanamel’s visit and offer happen, however, just as God had revealed to Jeremiah, the prophet realizes that his experience of the word of the Lord was legitimate (verse 8b), so he proceeds with the purchase, the details of which are meticulously recorded in verses 9–12.

Additionally, the field is in Anathoth, where Jeremiah was born and delivered some of his earliest prophecies. In response to those prophecies, however, Jeremiah faced ridicule and even threats against his life. God had warned Jeremiah of the plot against his life and declared that, as a result, the city would be punished by the sword and famine (see Jeremiah 11).

So this text is more complicated than simply “Jeremiah buys a field.” Instead, a family member offers for sale to Jeremiah, who is in jail in Jerusalem, a field in a city Jeremiah had to flee due to persecution and threats, in a region under siege by an invading army. That would seem an offer easy to refuse! And yet, Jeremiah accepts—listing out the details of the purchase as if to emphasize the point that, against all logic, this is a legit, by-the-book land-sale transaction. Furthermore, in verses 13–14, Jeremiah charges his scribe, Baruch, to seal the deeds in a clay jar “in order that they may endure many days” (my translation). Why on earth would Jeremiah bother, or even want, to ensure the preservation of the documents for such a ludicrous purchase?

The answer comes in verse 15: The Lord God declares that houses, fields, and vineyards will someday again be bought in the land. This is more than just a real-estate transaction, and Jeremiah’s role is anything but that of a crafty investor. The purchase of this field is a prophetic act—a prophecy delivered through something Jeremiah does rather than says.¹

In all likelihood, Jeremiah will never see the field he has purchased in Anathoth, let alone be able to do anything with it. Jeremiah’s utilization of the field is not the point, however. Instead, his peculiar purchase witnesses to the field having a future. Despite the dire circumstances currently faced by Jeremiah and all of Judah and Benjamin, hope remains for the future—a hope for the future that is not a foolish pipe-dream of humans but a promise from God. This promise does not negate God’s judgment on the people for their gross misdeeds—the Babylonian siege is already underway. Nevertheless, neither the Babylonians nor judgment will be the end of the story of God’s people.

Although the pericope ends with verse 15, there follows the opportunity to immerse the congregation more fully in this prophetic book, as the rest of the chapter builds upon the appointed verses. The next section (verses 16–25) may be referred to as “Jeremiah’s prayer for understanding.” Jeremiah still seems to be scratching his head over the prophetic act in which he has just engaged. Was it really something set in motion by the word of the Lord, or a desperate gasp of a man in jail?

The prophet goes through a highlight reel of God’s past saving acts for God’s people (through verse 23a), but then turns to the people’s disobedience and resulting punishment. In verse 24, Jeremiah says the siege ramps are against the city, as if to say, “See, God, just like you said—there they are!” Yet, says Jeremiah in the next verse, you told me to go buy a field, even though the city is under siege. Although Jeremiah had declared that nothing is too hard for God (verse 17), he may be thinking that under these circumstances, hope for the future just might be.

The rest of the chapter conveys God’s response. In verse 27, God reminds Jeremiah of his earlier statement and asks rhetorically, “Is anything too hard for me?” In the remaining verses, God makes it clear that no, not even this is too hard for the Lord, the God of all flesh. Because of the people’s transgressions, God’s judgment will run its course. However, redemption will follow. God will gather what was scattered and establish an everlasting covenant—even pledging the divine heart and soul as an indication of God’s faithfulness (verse 41). God resoundingly reassures Jeremiah that the purchase of the field in Anathoth was not foolish, but rather a profound prophetic act pointing to God’s ultimate desire to redeem God’s people. “For I will restore their fortunes, says the Lord” (verse 44).

Notes

1. Other prophetic acts of Jeremiah include burying and later digging up a linen loincloth (13:1–11), purchasing and smashing a clay jar (19:1–15), and making and wearing a yoke (27:1–8).

Just in case you missed it: This psalm is about the Lord! “Lord” appears 11 times in 10 verses and is referenced six additional times with pronouns (who, he). “God” is used four times. Add those together, and we hear the Lord our God referenced a whopping 21 times in 10 verses! Whatever you do, preacher, stick to this extraordinarily clear subject at hand.

One of the quicker ways the subject might be shifted to someone other than the Lord is by turning the list of the Lord’s steadfast activity into a to-do list for human beings. While to-do lists have their place, that is simply not what this psalm is doing. This psalm is not a call to action; it is an assurance and celebration of the Lord’s trustworthiness in acting on our behalf. It is pure thanksgiving for what God has done and is doing, for God’s faithfulness throughout eternity. 

The only thing that is said about human beings in this psalm is not positive: Human beings are not ultimately trustworthy. We can’t seem to help but place our trust in the hands of “princes” (verse 3), the next politician, activist, faith leader, or other person who makes promises that align with our hopes and dreams. Moreover, these leaders may have noble intentions. Let us not forget, however, that they are mortal sinners like us. Their motives are impure, their power is limited, and their “plans perish” as soon as “their breath departs” (verses 3–4). There is no salvation in any human being.

As Christians, we can name Christ as the only one whose breath departed but whose plans did not perish when he died. In John’s account, Jesus’ last words from the cross were, “It is finished” (John 19:30). With these words, we hear that Jesus’ final breath brought the completion of the incarnation of the eternal Word and, with that completion, the reconciliation of all things to Godself. This reconciling activity was not a past-tense reality that perished with him. It is a present-tense reality in every present moment, even now. God’s action here in Christ is the fullest and clearest expression of God’s trustworthiness; it is the essence of the gospel. 

In our preaching, this is the one to whom we point and not any human being, certainly not ourselves. We are members of the body of Christ; however, this is a metaphor—it is not intended to be taken literally. Otherwise, our ultimate trust is in ourselves, and however well we sinners embody the one “who knew no sin” (2 Corinthians 5:21), the headlines suggest the result.

Practical considerations

Honor the genre and tone when this psalm is read or sung aloud in the context of worship. This is a psalm of praise, beginning and ending with “Praise the Lord!” or “Hallelujah!” “Hallelu” or “praise” is defined variously as to celebrate, glory, exclaim, make a show, or boast! The psalmist isn’t just listing information about the Lord or offering some good advice about how we ought to relate to the Lord. The psalmist is celebrating the Lord! 

If you serve in a context where the reading of Scripture tends to be done in a more subdued manner, this is a potential Sunday to stretch that habit a little bit for the sake of giving faithful voice to these words (Would “Joy to the World” be faithfully sung with no emotion?). Whether by inviting your most expressive worship leader to read it, incorporating children, or finding a musical setting to sing it, ensure that the Lord is praised not just in words but in voice and spirit.

The sermon might include open questions for the congregation to ponder in their hearts, inviting them to reflect on reasons to praise the Lord “as long as [they] live” and “all [their] life long” (verse 2). What has the Lord done in their lives that cannot help but result in praise (as evidenced by their showing up to worship this day)? How has the Lord “kept faith forever,” giving them their daily bread and the Eucharist, setting them free from what holds them captive, and raising them to new life (verses 6–8)? 

Depending on the season, your people’s hearts might be overflowing with reasons to praise God, or they might struggle to come up with anything at all. Either way is fine, because they are present to hear a preacher proclaim the gospel! Preachers get to declare God’s feeding, freeing, and life-giving activity to and for the congregation, in faith that the same Lord that the psalmist is praising is present in the preacher’s preaching, assuring the congregation that these things are promised to them too. 

This God is “the God of Abraham,” the God of people who lived thousands of years ago on the other side of the world. And this same God is the God “for all generations” (verse 10). This God is “[your people’s] God” (verse 5). The psalm even begins using the first person, singing, “I will sing praises to my God all my life long” (verse 2). The Lord who is close enough to be called “my God,” close enough to hear the praises that the psalmist sings throughout his entire life (verse 2), is that close to you and your people. You get to give your people this good news.

Perhaps, after reflecting on the Lord’s activity in their own lives, and hearing from the preacher that the Lord who “keeps faith forever” is still giving and will continue to give good gifts in Christ through the Spirit, the congregation could be invited to praise the Lord by reading the psalm together, whether in unison, alternating verses with the preacher, or some other way. This allows the psalm to be not merely the psalmist’s psalm but your people’s psalm, so that the “I” and “me” in the psalm refer to all of the I’s and me’s who are speaking the words. 

Live not for battles won.
Live not for the-end-of-the-song.
Live in the along.¹

In her charge to “live in the along,” Pulitzer Prize–winning poet Gwendolyn Brooks guides us to focus on the journey rather than the destination. This may sound cliché to some, but for others, it resonates within our hearts, minds, and spirits. Along the journey is the place of learning, growing, and building community with fellow travelers.

In this way, Brooks’ words are a valid accompaniment to Paul’s pastoral counsel in 1 Timothy 6:6–19. It takes work, but when we can “live in the along,” we flow between inner maturation and outer expression of faith in the present moment. Verse 6 projects us into the rest of Paul’s guidance on vices and virtues. It is worthwhile to sit with verse 6 and reflect on what speaks to us about living in the present moment. After all, the present moment is the gift, challenge, and opportunity in front of us.

It seems simple if we let verse 6 sit on the surface of our individual and communal relationship with God, self, and others. There is great gain in godliness combined with contentment. Who would say no to this proposition? Yet, if we look below the surface, some deeper truths emerge. These truths run deep in our lives of faith, and we need God’s help to fully bear the fruit they offer.

“Of course, there is great gain in godliness combined with contentment …” (1 Timothy 6:6).

What is godliness?

In the Greco-Roman world, the term could be understood as positioning oneself as a devoted servant of some divinity. For the followers of the way of Jesus Christ, those first-century forebearers, this godliness was more than adopting a set of behaviors. They were devoted to this life of discipleship. They abided with their awe of God, which helped them resist taking God for granted. Importantly, godliness relates to walking with God and others on this path. This mode of living can be articulated as a life of God-with-ness.

Behavior is formed and transformed in this way of life because the presence of God is an excavating catalyst—God’s presence roots out sources of waywardness and disconnection from God. God’s presence applies the sight-giving balm of wisdom. God’s presence propels and compels us to be conformed to Christ. Godliness is a response to God’s goodness rather than a method of scoring righteousness. The process of godliness begins with God, and we are called to collaborate in nurturing it through enlivened faith.

What images come to mind as we reflect on the godliness emphasized in 1 Timothy? What does godliness feel like? Communion, perhaps? Peace? What does godliness look like and sound like? Our discipleship continually returns to the questions individually and collectively, offering the questions to God. We listen for the answers and follow with trust in the power and will of God to form us as “godly.” Thus, the fruit of godliness is born in relationship with the One we seek to emulate.

What is contentment?

Understanding how “contentment” was used in the Greco-Roman world demonstrates how the first-century followers of Christ reinterpreted societal concepts within their newfound faith. For the larger culture, contentment was based on understanding one’s capacity for self-sufficiency and independence as defining self-worth. This created a mindset that we, in our humanity, find our purpose and satisfaction in life within our capacity.

On the surface, this may sound good, especially for those formed by societal norms that celebrate individual accomplishments over communal achievements. Yet, for Christians, this focus on the individual must be placed in a framework of formation in the way of following Jesus Christ. The early church was able to reinterpret contentment as being centered in God’s provision.

Furthermore, this reframing focused on Christ’s sufficiency as being the sufficiency of those who follow the path of Christ. This was revolutionary in the first century, and it is revolutionary now. We set down our false narratives of self-reliance and embrace the freedom of dependence on God’s sustenance for our minds, bodies, and spirits.

As we reflect on the gains and losses of life, what does this revolutionary turn call for, individually and communally? First, imagine what this surrender to Christ-contentment might look like. This is a way of opening ourselves up to the possibility of living out the hoped-for reality. From there, we can trust God to make up the difference. We can trust God’s Holy Spirit to re-interpret and re-form us in the way and will of contentment.

How do we combine one with the other?

Verse 6 shares that there is “great gain” in combining godliness and contentment. How do we quantify this great gain? Godliness leads us to a more profound capacity for holistically healthy relationships with God, self, and others. Contentment is the path of God’s peace beyond understanding and rejection of hollow success. Thus, the gain is limitless.

As is true with God’s provision in all things, we receive freely through grace, mercy, and love.

As is exhorted in verse 11, we intentionally and explicitly “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness.” We do not work this gain in our power. This is the relief of following Christ.

Remember, the present moment, the living in the along, is in front of us right now. We focus not on the battles, though they are difficult. We focus not on the end of the song, but on all the chord progressions as we go. Being formed in godliness and contentment is a lifelong journey that can only be traveled one step at a time. We let our sanctified imaginations show us what godliness and contentment look like in each season of life. Along the way, we share the fruit of each season of this journey. We do this “so that [we] may take hold of the life that really is life” (verse 19). May God give us strength for the journey.

Notes

1. Gwendolyn Brooks, “Speech to the Young.” BLACKS (Chicago, IL: Third World Press, 1991).