Through the Prophets, God has spoken
revealing heaven and hell.
Between the two, there is a space
so far, so wide, it's hard to tell.
But whatever is broken, whatever is bent,
no one can pass through…
unless they repent.[1]

There was once a priest and one of his parishioners who decided to take a proactive stance toward what they saw as an imminent danger. Their quaint little white church sat on the side of a mountain, with a river running behind it. They felt compelled to warn others of a looming threat, so they made a sign. It read:

“TURN AROUND. THE END IS NEAR.
TURN BACK NOW BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.”

Traffic was occasional, but whenever someone drove by, they would honk in support. One man even leaned out the window and said, “Good work, Father!” Another shouted, “Give 'em hell!” Then came someone else, speeding in a convertible, top down, radio blasting. They saw the sign, slowed down, and yelled out: “You bunch of freaks!” Moments later, the screeching of tires... and then a huge splash. The parishioner turned to the priest and said, “Do you think maybe the sign should’ve said:
‘THE BRIDGE IS OUT’?”

Sometimes, signs of imminent danger are too vague. They’re poetic or religious or abstract. But danger is still danger, and the warning is still urgent. Today’s Gospel gives us such a sign, one that points directly to the condition of our very souls.[2] We read about a chasm, a space between heaven and hell. Between comfort and torment. Between eternal joy and eternal regret. In Jesus’ parable, there are two figures: a rich man, and a poor man named Lazarus.

Let’s reflect on this through two artistic depictions. The first is a watercolor by James Tissot. In his painting, we see Lazarus: broken, bent, bandaged, propped up against a staircase. He looks wounded, weary, and in pain. He is poor, sore, and longing for even the smallest bit of relief. If he could describe his experience, I imagine he might say, “I feel like I’m already in hell.” That’s a word the Church doesn’t talk about much these days. It scares people. Makes us uncomfortable. We'd rather rush through life ignoring it than sit with the reality of it. But Jesus doesn't shy away. He says:
“There is a chasm.
There is a place of comfort.
And there is a place of torment.”

Lazarus, this man in the parable, is not the Lazarus who was the brother of Mary and Martha. This is a fictional character, used by Jesus to tell a deeper truth. That’s what parables do. They allow us to place ourselves in the story. What would it be like to be this poor man, wounded, broken, alone? Would I expect someone to feed me, clothe me, give me shelter? Or would I just wait to die, believing only God could help? Most of us haven’t lived exactly like Lazarus. But some of you may have been close. Some of you may be there now. Tissot’s painting shows dogs licking Lazarus’s wounds, perhaps the only creatures who acknowledge him, and even that attention is more pitiful than comforting.

Now let’s turn to another painting by Russian artist Vasily Surikov. His version includes the rich man. Lazarus is only 10 to 12 feet away from him. That’s it. Just a few steps, and yet, the man with abundance ignores the man with nothing. The rich man reclines on a lavish bed, peacocks beside him (symbols of wealth in Eastern European art). Servants fan him and drape fine linens around him. It’s not just that he has wealth, it’s that he believes he is entitled to more than others. That is the sin. It’s not just possession, it’s prideful detachment.
Then comes the turning point. Both men die. Now, the rich man finds himself in torment, in Hades, and across the chasm, he sees Lazarus, comforted in the bosom of Abraham. The roles have reversed. Now it is the rich man who is desperate. He begs Abraham to send Lazarus, to dip just the tip of his finger in water and cool his tongue. But it is too late. That great chasm, once only 10 feet wide, is now eternal. Uncrossable. He pleads, “Then at least send Lazarus to warn my five brothers, so they don’t end up like me!” But Abraham replies, “They have Moses. They have the prophets. Let them listen.” The man protests, “But if someone rises from the dead, they will believe!” Abraham says, “If they won’t listen to Moses and the prophets, they won’t be convinced, even if someone rises from the dead.”

Jesus, in telling this story, is revealing His own heart.[3] He knows He will rise from the dead. He knows many still won’t believe.
They will continue to live for themselves.
They will continue to feast on pride.
They will ignore the signs.
They will not believe the bridge is out.

Many of you have asked me a question over the years, a deep and sincere one: “Can’t I just wait until the end? If I see the signs, if I get a terminal diagnosis, then I’ll give my life to Christ.” It’s not always spoken aloud, but it’s a common thought: “I’ll worry about God later. I still have time.” Yes, the Church teaches that the penitent person who calls for a priest at the end of life, who confesses and repents, can be forgiven. That is true. That is mercy. But others have told me, with sorrow in their voices: “Why didn’t I do this sooner?”
The regret of the soul isn’t just fear of hell, it’s the realization that they missed the point of life. That this life is not the destination but the preparation. A moment in eternity to live with purpose. Even those who die at 100 sometimes ask, “Why didn’t God give me more time?” The question remains: How much time do you really need?

In the parable, the rich man is not granted a second chance after death. The time to bridge the chasm is now. So, beloved, take this short time you’ve been given and use it well.
Build bridges like Christ did.
Build them with your spouse.
Build them with your children.
Build them with neighbors, co-workers, and yes. even with those you’ve avoided.
You don’t need to know what form your help should take, whether it’s food, shelter, clothing, or simply acknowledgment. The point is to bend, to kneel, to reach. That’s what Christ did for you. Because God has spoken, revealing heaven and hell. Between the two lies a space so far, so wide, it’s hard to tell.
But whatever is broken, whatever is bent—
No one will pass through... unless they repent.

[1] The Rev. Jon Roberts, From "The Great Chasm", September 26th, 2010 and "The End is Near", September 25, 2016
[2] Luke 16:19-32
[3] Matthew 16:26, 15:26