Howdy We we love comfort I Think that's fair
to say to be honest. I think it's fair to say
we love comfort in our lives the comfort of a
recliner after a long day That the remote right
there next to you because you don't want to have
to reach over and heaven forbid you had to get
up binge watching the favorite show, the favorite
show of the week because that has to change every
week, of course. And the comfort of knowing maybe
it's a day you don't have to rush anywhere and
you don't really have to do anything particular.
Comfort. It's something that we are so grateful
to have, especially in our country, especially
in our world, especially in this modern age.
But sometimes comfort can be more than just relaxing.
Sometimes comfort can weaken us. sometimes comfort
can undermine what makes us strong. Do y 'all
remember that movie WALL -E? The little bitty
robot, you know, WALL -E. Yeah, and he was like,
he would go around and he was rolling around
the whole earth, right? And he was on a planet,
he was on the earth at a time later on when...
We had just polluted it way too much. It was
covered in garbage. And he would go around and
organize all the garbage into little stacks and
try to tidy up the whole world being polluted
and everything. But one day, he discovered a
tiny little plant. And this tiny plant he saw,
he picked it up, and he was giving it to his
little robot crush, Eve. And he went up, and
when she saw it, though, she ran away. And what
ends up happening is they're trying to get it
to the spaceship that has all of the human beings,
because if they could get it there, then it would
be time to return to Earth and fix the whole
Earth all over again. But that's the thing about
this, though, is that the ship was meant to be
perfectly comfortable, perfectly comfortable
for everyone, taking care of every comfort imaginable,
But the ship also did not want to let anybody
go. See, the comfort itself, let's not worry
about the earth, and it's a little too dirty.
Let's go just take care of all of your comforts.
The comfort had become all -consuming, and everything
resisted the letting go of that comfort and returning
home to restore it. Imagine all the humans that
were floating in their chairs on their screens,
always in front of them, with messages that determined
everything they said and did, their bodies no
longer able to support themselves because their
bones had shrunk too much. They were safe, entertained,
and oblivious, but the earth cried out beneath
them. I'm sure that we have no idea what that
is like. Now picture us and maybe we aren't floating
in chairs, but spiritually and morally We can
be just as lazy we scroll we watch we tweet we
plan and the cries that are at our gates The
issues that may be facing our world we barely
notice unless it's right there in the screen
in front of us Comfort erodes our moral and spiritual
backbone. We may not literally be floating But
spiritual and moral reclining can feel just like
this. Glued to comfort, screens, routines, habits,
numb to what's around us and only paying attention
to what's put in front of us. And then we hear
the voice of Amos. Amos 6. That progress without
grief lacks compassion. Amos begins... Woe to
those who are at ease in Zion. Picture the scene.
Zion's leaders, the leaders of Israel, they're
reclining on ivory beds, sipping wine from their
bowls, humming along as the harpist plays. Not
quite how a harp sounds. The candles flicker
off the polished walls. Laughter rises over platters
of roasted lamb, honeyed bread, and dad jokes.
They see themselves as refined, cultured, successful
progress in motion because they had escaped the
everyday problems of all the other Israelites.
But outside the hall, it's different. Families
scavenged for scraps. Soldiers guard crumbling
borders that people can go in and out of whenever
they wish. Widows beg in the streets. Smoke drifts
from broken homes. Amos says, you are not grieved
over the ruin of Joseph. In other words, you
are not hurting over your brothers and sisters.
These elite though, they were real people. They're
not just some cartoon villains sitting in their
ivory thrones, but they were humans who were
lulled by comfort. They told themselves, we're
fine. Things will work themselves out. We're
on the right side of history. Their sophistication,
though, dulled their grief, for their neighbors
ruined. But soon, God would allow Assyria to
come along and take these very elites. into exile
and destroy their kingdom. Today, we can fall
into the same trap. We celebrate growth and culture
and achievement, but we miss the single mom struggling
on our block. We post about justice, but we don't
actually sit down and eat and talk with people
who are hurting. We binge the latest creative
work, but we don't grieve the brokenness that
still exists on our planet. We think of a corporate
party celebrating record profits while factories
close in nearby towns. A church committee debating
pews while the food pantry sits empty. A young
professional in a cafe with headphones in, scrolling
the latest headlines while the neighbors wrestle
with bills. Amos convicts us of a comfort that
says, I'm right, I'm enlightened, I don't need
to change. This isn't about one group or another,
it's a mirror for us all, frankly. Comfort. In
progress, culture, sophistication, our own way
of thinking, it can blind any of us. Amos is
speaking to people who pride themselves on being
refined, cultured, progressive for their time,
lovers of music, art, and luxury, but their comfort
lets them ignore the collapse of justice around
them. Their curse is self -satisfaction. We are
wise. We are fine. Things will work out. We're
doing everything right, aren't we? The blind
spot, though, is that the cultural or moral progress
doesn't excuse being indifferent to the suffering
of the poor. But then we hear Jesus speaking
into this several centuries later because, of
course, the people of Israel had not learned
the lesson quite yet. So we find Luke 16, where
we discover that security without compassion
lacks vision. There's a rich man. He's respectable.
He's established. He wears purple and fine linen.
Every day he feasts roasted meat, platters of
fruit and bread. Servants shuffle in and out
the clinking of cups, marking the rhythm of his,
and even realizing this secure, abundant life
with or without a Starbucks card. He likely prays,
gives to the synagogue, manages his estate. Everything
about him says, I'm fine, I'm secure, I must
be in the right. But at his gate lies Lazarus.
His body Crusted with sores. Eww. Hunger gnawing
at him. Dogs licking his wounds. He stretches
a hand towards scraps that never come. The smell
of sickness. The itch of hunger. The ache of
longing. All of it right there. Right at the
threshold of abundance. See, here's what's chilling.
The rich man never hurt Lazarus. He never cursed
him. He didn't actually do anything, he just
ignored him. Every day, he stepped over Lazarus
on the way to the synagogue, on the way to business,
on the way back to dinner. And he told himself,
I'm fine, I'm secure, everything must be right.
And he was unmoved. See, the rich man, he's not
condemned for robbing or oppressing, he was condemned
for ignoring. His curse was self -sufficiency.
I have what I need. God must be blessing me.
That's what matters, and maybe I deserve it.
But Jesus unmasks the blindness, the tradition,
the morality, even generosity can all become
excuses if they let us step past our neighbor
without compassion. Hard work, piety, even community
service. Don't excuse indifference to the suffering
that's at our doorstep. Jesus tells us what happened
next. The roles, they're reversed. Isn't it funny
how the roles always seem to get reversed even
when we feel like we're right where we wanted
to be? Lazarus is carried to Abraham's side,
but the rich man is tormented. He pleads for
relief and Abraham says, between us a chasm has
been fixed. That's it. It's over. Security without
compassion, it has eternal consequences. Now,
before we point any fingers, though, notice how
subtle the trap is. The rich man, he's not a
monster. He's probably devout and respectable,
secure, yet that's actually what numbed him to
the suffering in front of him. Hearing what he
wanted to hear. following the path that he thought
was right. We might have justification for ignoring
a man at a stoplight with a cardboard sign because
we don't know the story. We assume someone else
will help. But let's instead think about what
about the elderly neighbor, the one you do know?
Their lights stay dark night after night. Maybe
they can't pay the bill. But it's easier to assume
someone else is helping. Security, stability,
and routine They blind us just as surely as wealth
and luxury. And here's where it presses on us.
We say people should take responsibility, but
we don't stop to help them bear their load. Maybe
they were trained in a job that doesn't exist
anymore. Or maybe they never had the money to
pay for job training in the first place. We say
the world needs stability, but we close our eyes
to things that are unstable. even the unstable
lives that are around us, we can see that people
are suffering from warfare and poverty, but we'd
rather they just leave us alone. We tell ourselves
my morality is the reason why I'm secure, while
Lazarus sits at the gate for reasons we don't
even understand. And we know that many immoral
people are living quite easy lives. It's not
about pointing fingers. Many of us, we love stability.
Tradition, security, the comfort that blinds
us, though, just as surely as anyone else. But
that's when we start to see Amos and Jesus intersecting.
Different viewpoints, but the same curse and
the same problems. See, Amos convicts those who
are comfortable in their rightness. Being right.
So many of us see ourselves as progressing in
the world. We're making our name, living beautiful
lives because we're not foolish like the poor
people in the olden ways of living. Jesus convicts
those who are comfortable in their righteousness
or self -righteousness. So many have decided
that their morality or their Christian behavior
has allowed them to be blessed. And that therefore
that's why they're immune to examining themselves.
And that others who are not blessed must somehow
not be good enough or always to blame. Different
viewpoints. Same curse. Comfort blinds us. We
miss out on the ways in which God wants to bless
us by moving us to bless others. The comfort
of our mindset undermines God speaking to us.
It blinds us to grief. It blinds us... to compassion
and thereby it blinds us to God. Like Wally's
humans, the comfort can literally weaken us.
Not just physically, but spiritually, morally,
emotionally, until we cannot stand to hear what's
even good and true because it might challenge
us. We're willing to let others put a message
right in front of us that makes us feel good.
about our lazy minds. And we don't even question
it. But imagine someone choosing to stand, literally
and figuratively. Reaching out to the neighbor
in need, making a meal, just listening. Comfort
no longer rules. Compassion. Courage to take
the weight. And imagine that person even being
willing to die for them. See, Christ had every
right to stay comfortable. He didn't age. He
didn't have to eat. He didn't have to deal with
eye crusties and toe jam. But instead, He left
the glory, the worship, the security. He didn't
cling to it. He left it and humbled Himself to
become one of us, to enter into our ruin. To
notice our source to bear our griefs to carry
our comfort our sins to the cross He gave up
the comfort so that he could share his eternal
comfort with us He gave up being right in the
world's eyes So we could be made righteous in
God's sight But Jesus ends this parable with
a haunting truth if they do not listen to Moses
and the prophets They will not be convinced even
if someone rises from the dead. What's he saying?
Unless we're willing to be convicted of our own
need to repent, we could stand face to face with
the crucified and risen Jesus and still miss
Him. If I look at my own morality and conclude,
you know what, I'm good enough. I'm righteous,
I'm the kind of person God must be pleased with,
I'm the one that Jesus wanted to come and die
for. Then the message of Jesus becomes completely
moot. The Gospel is not about reinforcing my
goodness, it is about exposing my desperate need
for forgiveness. And if I won't let the Spirit
convict me here, then even resurrection itself
won't shake me awake. But notice how subtle the
danger is. We can talk about sin and grace. We
can even nod along to confessions of, oh, yes,
I am a broken person, and yet still stand on
a moral high ground that looks down on others.
We end up trying to argue people into faith by
proving we're right and they're wrong, but the
world, it sees right through it. They sense when
our words about being sinners Just surface level
lines so that we sound humble. But underneath
we're still unconvicted. We're still unmoved.
We're still unwilling to change. Without the
Spirit pressing that truth into us, our repentance
is just a performance. Our morality is just another
comfort that we hide behind. I appreciate Tullian
Chavijian, how he put it, The church is not a
factory producing better people. It's a recovery
place announcing that in Christ, the sick are
healed and the guilty are pardoned. If you know
anything about the speaker, you know that he's
needed it as much as any of us. He reminds us
the mission of the church is not to build a flawless
kingdom that others will envy, but to point to
Christ by first admitting how much we need Him
ourselves. The invitation we extend to the world
is not, look how righteous we are, don't you
want to join us? Rather, it's come with us, we're
broken too, and Jesus is the only one who can
make us whole. That's the shock of the gospel.
The very thing that changes the world is not
our morality, but our willingness to admit our
desperate need for grace. But do you realize
how uncomfortable it is to hear what I've just
said? But it's also the only way for us to shift
ourselves to compassion. Because that's when
we realize we need it just as much as the sinners
all around us. Where have you chosen ease over
compassion? Where have you been so certain that
you were right that you stopped listening? Who
is lying at your gate while you step over them?
What ruin are you ignoring because progress over
security looks good? And where has comfort become
the curse? What if we as a church refuse to let
comfort blind us? What if instead of being known
for ease, we were known for compassion? What
if instead of clinging to progress or security,
we clung to Christ who makes us new? We would
become, then, a signpost of eternity. A people
who live now in light of forever. And a community
awake. not asleep. See, comfort is a gift when
it leads us to gratitude, but it's a curse when
it blinds us to the grief, to compassion, and
to God. Don't let comfort tell you you're fine.
Let Christ open your eyes. And through Him, may
we truly live now in light of eternity. Thanks
be to God.