28 September 2025, Luke 16:19-31, 'True Heaven: A Kingdom Shared'

Have any of you read the novel Pachinko? It’s written by a Korean American author, Min Jin Lee, and when it was published in 2017 it was chosen as Book of the Year by both the BBC and the Sydney Morning Herald and won many awards and was also a popular TV Series on Apple TV. The very first line of the book begins incredibly “History has failed us, but no matter.” Against the backdrop of the 20th century, World War I, Nazism, imperialism this story tells, in heartbreaking yet beautiful ways, how ordinary individuals and families endured suffering, separation, and loss. But through this book, I came across a lecture Min Jin Lee gave at MIT, and she shared her childhood story of immigrating to the U.S. It was an amazing story that left a deep impression on me.

In 1976, when she was just seven years old, her family left Korea and moved to America. The decision was made entirely by her father. His hometown had been in the North—what we now call North Korea. As a teenager, he lived through the Korean War, lost his entire family, and somehow survived alone in a refugee village in Busan. Can you imagine that? Even though he eventually built a new life in South Korea, started a family, and worked hard, he still carried a deep fear inside him.

And when you think about the 1970s, you can see why. He was terrified that the shadow of war might fall again on him, and on his children. So he made a life-changing decision: to move his family to the most powerful nation on earth, a land he believed could promise peace. Her mother was a pianist, a working musician with a good career, but even so, the whole family got on a plane bound for New York. Min Jin Lee remembers feeling excited on that journey. Her parents, no doubt, were filled with mixed emotions—half hope, half worry. At one point on the plane, she got very thirsty. She turned to her father and asked “What should I do?” Her father, preparing her for her new life, told her: “Just say, ‘Juice, please.’” That was the very first English phrase she learned. So this little seven-year-old walked up to the flight attendant the very first white person she had ever spoken to—and asked, “Juice, please.” And guess what? The attendant smiled and handed her a can of orange juice.

She was amazed absolutely amazed at the power of those two little words. With just two words, she got a taste of heaven, and then went back for more: “Juice, please.” She got cans of juice for her whole family and even for others sitting in their aisle.

When the family landed at JFK, her uncle picked them up and took them to his rental home. They all slept on the living room floor for a couple of weeks, but the very first thing her uncle did was buy them bunches and bunches of bananas. He piled the towering, humongous stack into a big metal basin. Now, for those who may not know, back in 1970’s bananas were incredibly expensive in Korea. Adjusted to today’s money, a bunch would’ve cost about $300. That means a single banana, just one was around $30. Can you imagine that? Thirty dollars for one banana! Min Jin Lee had never even tasted one before. So when she saw that mountain of bananas, she could only gasp in amazement: “Wow! Wow!” And then her uncle said, “Eat as many as you like. And when you finish, I’ll buy more.”

Wow… with no more fear of war, a brand-new beginning, and now “unlimited orange juice and an infinite number of bananas” for this little girl, America was a generous, abundant, and delicious Now, after living in America for fifty years, she reflected on her life and said this: “The opposite of peace is war. When human beings do not fight, men and women can build paved roads. They can invent printing presses. They can care for those who suffer. They can perfect art and song. They can design the beautiful buildings that still stand today. They can pause to gaze at the simple beauty of flowers. When there is no war, we fall in love, we bear children, we dance at weddings. We can hold onto our loved ones without the fear of losing them. We can turn our swords and guns into something wonderful.” Isn’t that beautiful?

Like Min Jin Lee’s family, sometimes life can change in ways we never expected. For her father, who had endured the trauma of war, America became the land that promised a life without fear. For young Min Jin Lee, it was a land of plentywhere she could drink juice and eat bananas as much as she wanted. To her, it was heaven itself.

But here’s the challenge,  heaven is not simply the place where all our desires are met after we die. Of course, the kingdom of God, the true heaven is far beyond anything we can imagine. Our Lord will be there, and there will be no more tears, no more pain, no more suffering. Scripture describes it again and again: whoever knows Jesus, whoever confesses Him as Lord, will inherit eternal life.

But here’s the problem,  we often think about heaven far too simply. As if it’s just the place where all my wishes are granted, where all my longings are fulfilled. We picture it as just a “nice place” where everything goes our way. But Jesus tells us a very different teaching. And this brings us to today’s parable: the rich man and Lazarus in Luke 16. Let’s recall the story briefly.

In this parable, Jesus paints the picture of a super rich man and a super poor man. The rich man dressed in purple, held parties every day, lived in luxury. And at his gate lay a beggar named Lazarus, He was unable to stand, starving, and covered in painful sores. And then, one day, both of them died. The rich man found himself in torment, in Hades. But Lazarus was carried by angles, into the arms of Abraham, comforted at last.

The contrast didn’t stop there. The rich man, in agony, cried out: “I’m on fire in this torment! Father Abraham, please have mercy! Send Lazarus down with a single drop of water on his fingertip to cool my tongue.” But Abraham replied, “I’m sorry, my son. There's a giant, uncrossable chasm between us. No one can get from here to there, and no one can get from there to here.” Everything is in stark contrast, isn’t it? Super rich man and beggar. Heaven and hell. Comfort and torment. Request and refusal. So what message does this parable bring us today?

I tried to follow the gaze of the rich man, and then the gaze of Lazarus. Where are they looking? Who are they looking at? The rich man, he’s looking up toward heaven. And who does he see? Lazarus. Of all people, Lazarus! The beggar who used to lie at his gate. And not only is Lazarus alive, but he’s now being comforted in Abraham’s side. Can you imagine how that deepened the rich man’s agony? “Not him… not that beggar! He would say” The sight of Lazarus receiving comfort only made his pain even greater.  His agony intensified.

Now let’s follow Lazarus’ gaze. He is in Abraham’s arms, finally receiving comfort. No more pain, no more hunger and yet… he looks back and sees the rich man. He sees his agony, his thirst, his cries from the fire. Was Lazarus’ comfort truly perfect? Was heaven truly heaven for him, while still seeing the suffering of another soul?  This is where I realized something: if, in heaven, we can still see the torment of hell, then that cannot be the complete heaven Jesus promises. Heaven must be more than that. And if, in hell, we can still see the beauty of heaven, then that hell becomes an even more terrible hell. This is the heart of today’s message. Why would Jesus give us such a troubling, uncomfortable story? He wasn’t simply describing the afterlife. No, Jesus was pointing us back to our lives right now.

Heaven is not just where we go when we die. Heaven is here, breaking in, already among us. Just as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer: “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” In fact, Jesus says in Luke 17:20–21, “The kingdom of God is not something that can be observed, nor will people say, ‘Here it is’ or ‘There it is,’ because the kingdom of God is in your midst.” Here’s the question we cannot avoid: if my joy, if our church’s blessings, are completely cut off from the suffering of others, can we really call that heaven? If our spiritual rest is built while ignoring the pain of today’s Lazaruses, the poor, the forgotten, the hurting then maybe what we have is not truly the kingdom of God.

And the same is true for those who are spiritually poor. If we simply leave today’s “rich” to live in their own emptiness and fear, without ever reaching out, then that too cannot be the fullness of heaven.

Even today, we see nations still trembling under the shadow of swords and guns. Yet the message of Jesus gives us this fundamental challenge: if our joy, our blessings, our happiness, even our faith, exist apart from the suffering of others, then are they truly complete?

Jesus said, “The kingdom of God is within you.” Our calling, then, is to share and to expand that kingdom. When we see the Lazaruses of this world, we are to invite them in. And when we meet the rich of this world, we are to invite them too. Because the kingdom of God doesn’t shrink when it is shared, it grows wider. The distance between us grows smaller. And it is then that we begin to experience the true kingdom of God.

Brothers and sister, do we know that Koreans call Australia “Hoju”? It literally means “the great land in the south.” And America “ Mikok” do you know what that means in Korean? It means “the beautiful country.” That’s how people understood it. That’s how they defined it.

So in the early days, Korean immigrants prayed prayers like this in their churches:“Lord, thank you. Back home in Korea so many people are still poor, but you loved us and brought us to this land flowing with milk and honey. Korea is always living under the threat of war, but here you’ve given us safety. Thank you, Lord.” There is no doubt, those prayers were sincere. They were prayed with tears. For those immigrants, America and Australia as well truly felt like heaven on earth.

But today, through this parable, Jesus asks us another question. Even if we have unlimited orange juice and an infinite banana, if our lives are lived apart from the suffering of our brothers and sisters, is that really heaven? Even if my life feels like a constant party, full of comfort and abundance, if I can still see and hear the pain of others then can oranges and bananas really give me joy? Heaven, the kingdom of God is not just about personal pleasure or comfort. Heaven is the place where we share together, where we rejoice together, where we are comforted together. That is true heaven. So imagine someone asked you: “Would you rather live like Lazarus, suffering in this life, but carried to heaven? Or would you rather live like the rich man, enjoying everything now, but ending up in torment?” Which would you choose? Well, there’s a clever answer that some people joke about: “Live like the rich man here, but die like Lazarus there!” We can laugh at that… but in a way, doesn’t it reflect our human nature? So let me bring us back to the real question: Is the heaven we long for the true heaven? Is the blessing we hold on to the true blessing? Is our happiness true happiness? And most importantly, is our faith genuine faith?

Jesus tells us, “The kingdom of God is within you.” That means we are called not just to treasure it for ourselves, but to live it, to share it, and to make room for others in it. Whenever we notice the Lazaruses of this world, we are called to welcome them. And when we encounter the rich, who may be trapped in their own fears and emptiness, we are called to invite them as well.  

The beauty of God’s kingdom is this: when it is shared, it doesn’t become smaller. It grows. Divides begin to close. And together, we taste the fullness of heaven here and now. So this is our calling: to stand with those who suffer, to reach out to those who seem far, and to extend God’s invitation to all. And as we do, our heaven becomes true heaven.

May God’s grace and peace rest on each of you, as we live and build His kingdom together, in this community and in the world. Amen.