A week or so ago we got one of those offers for a credit card in the mail, with a great interest rate, and all kinds of benefits that promised to enrich our lives. You've seen these offers of credit cards—the biggest source of recycle material in the world. Only this one really made me pause and shudder. Because—well, I said "we" got it in the mail. That's not quite right. It wasn't addressed to us—meaning Leslie or me or both. It was addressed to our 15 year old daughter! Scary thought—but of the people in our family who I would give a credit card to without fear—including me—it would be our daughter. But what is society saying with that easy access to plastic for? We are saturated in the material world.
In the ministry of Jesus a lot of people came up to him for different reasons. There were distraught parents seeking a cure for sick children. There were religious leaders who wanted to debate theology or entrap him for future prosecution. There were people who wanted to be his friend, like Zaccheus, and there were others who needed their sight restored, or leprosy healed, or lameness cured. Once in a great while someone even asked about a spiritual matter. Such was the case in today's passage of the rich young man who ran up to him. Yes, it says, he ran up to him. What does that tell us? The man was sincere, and it was a matter of real importance to him. In those days, it was thought that running was beneath the dignity of someone who was rich. If you had to get something in a hurry, you sent a servant for it. Let others do the legwork; let someone else do the exertion. But he doesn't seem concerned about appearances. He's got something on his mind, and it won't wait. He ran up and kneeled in front of Jesus. This was not exactly an act of worship, but it was the gesture of someone who urgently wanted the rabbi's attention, and who wouldn't let his pride get in the way. He deeply, sincerely, passionately wanted an answer.
Now, consider his question. Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life? Jesus almost seems to snap at him a little bit. Why you do you call me good? Nobody's good—only God. Maybe it's a warning—don't try to butter me up. I'm about to share a hard truth.
But what is the man asking? What's required to get into heaven? In his case, it's a rather self-interested inquiry. He had all the good things of this world—lots of toys—and now he wants to secure his eternal destiny, too. This was a man who knew the importance of tending to business, and planning ahead.
In his response, Jesus says, You know the commandments: no murder, no adultery, no theft, no false testimony, no defrauding—which commandment is that?—and honor your father and mother. It's an interesting list—slightly out of the usual order, and only six instead of Ten Commandments. And it doesn't include the first four commandments: no other gods before me, no graven images, no taking the holy name in vain, keep the Sabbath.
But notice how Jesus' reply is worded. He doesn't say, Okay—here's how you can inherit eternal life. Keep the following commandments. He says, you know the commandments. The unspoken subtext: "What are you asking me for? You already have what you think is the answer." We ask a lot of things like that. In matters philosophical and spiritual, we look for affirmation of what we've already decided. Yes, when we ask a store clerk, how much is this avocado—we hope to get an accurate response. And there might have been a bit of that in this man's question. It's a rare thing for anybody to ask a question and really want the answer. Most questions we ask are designed to buttress our preconceived position. We're not really seeking wisdom, new insights, or guidance. We're seeking affirmation of what we've already decided.
But that's not all. There was something more going on in him. Why would he have come to Christ as a spiritual seeker, with such urgency, if he wasn't looking for something? He seemed almost embarrassingly certain that he had led a decent life. There was no trace of self-doubt as he declared, I've kept them all since my youth. I've done all the right things. But—again unspoken—Is that all there is? He was simply not satisfied with his own spiritual life. It left him looking for something more. That dissatisfaction with things can be very promising. It made him open to Christ.
Elsewhere in the New Testament Jesus points out, it's a pretty low bar to say," Well, at least I haven't murdered anybody."
Jesus said, "One thing you lack." That alone would have gotten his attention. Remember, this is the guy who has everything. He never thought in terms of lack. He had it all. Jesus said he lacked something. But that something was everything. Just one more thing? Let's be careful here. Would it be like Jesus to add one more burdensome requirement to someone who has spent a lifetime trying to do the right thing? It's like promising a kid fifty dollars if he finishes a long list of chores and then when—to your surprise—he does them you say—sorry: You're not done yet. Now you have to go paint the whole house. That's not the gracious Lord we know.
One thing you lack. This guy had everything—he had many possessions. He was the kind of person you scratched your head trying to figure out what to give him for his birthday. He's the guy who has everything. Here's one take on it. You've done all the right things—but now you need to give your heart to the Lord. As it is, your heart is set on your money. You'll never find what you're looking for as long as your heart belongs to something, or someone, other than the one true God. So, let's do something about that. That's a very different meaning than, "I'm going to pile one more thing on you. I'm going to make one more crushing demand."
Now, we know that Jesus called on us to share with those in need. That's a good thing to do—but it's not what this passage is about. This passage is about liberating a spiritual seeker from what was holding him back.
The really tough part is to try to name my own addictions. By definition, I am blind to the things and habits and sins that have a hold on me. A big part of why addictions can retain their hold on us is, we can't see what they're doing to us. The ability of the human heart and mind to rationalize is almost infinite. I tried to think of what really has a hold on me. I couldn't think of anything. Then I went out to the driveway and noticed a little dent in our Honda Civic. Up until then it had been the perfect car. That really bugged me. I tried to make myself feel better by looking for dents in other car doors. I'll bet I passed 500 cars without seeing any dents. That bothered me. Then I went back to trying to think if any material objects have a hold on me. Couldn't think of anything.
Well, it says he was rich. What's rich? It's someone who's making at least several hundred thousand more a year than I am. So in that respect I'm immune to this passage. It doesn't apply to me. But is that really what it's about? How about the idea of the one thing needful?
Sometimes money can have a hold on us spiritually not because we have so much but because we have so little, and what we have is already spoken for. We might want to use it for the Lord's work, but it's already tied up. For the foreseeable future.
He was attached to it. He worried about it; wondered how to hang onto it, how to increase it, how to protect it. Notice how Jesus addresses his concern. I'll show you how you can take it with you. By giving your money away, you are actually holding onto it. You're putting it in the safest bank in the world. You're investing in the stock fund with the highest return of all. You're investing with God. But the man, it says, was shocked, and went away grieving, for he had many possessions. You might think it would go in one of two ways: he was overjoyed, because he had found the way to life. Or he laughed at the very idea of giving up his things, and went off to enjoy his many possessions. One or the other. But now he has neither. He's shocked and saddened. He has neither the joy of salvation, nor the happiness of his wealth. Some advice to the rich guy: choose one or the other. You'll feel a lot a better.
Why shock? Well, his prosperity was the very sign that he had the favor of God. Now he learns that it's the one thing coming between him and God! It even gave him leisure to pursue the things of the spirit. You remember when in Fiddler on the Roof, Rev. Tevye dreamed of being a rich man. He'd have respect and time to relax and have fine food—and he'd spend seven hours every day discussing the holy book—and that would be the greatest thing of all.
Yet in that shock, in that grieving, there lies hope. He didn't dismiss Jesus as a madman or a dreamer. His grief means at least that he recognizes Christ's authority. I can easily shrug off a teacher or leader for whom I have no respect, or whose ideas seem totally outrageous. But he couldn't shrug off what Jesus said. It had the ring of truth. It might have been the start of a life decision for him. He was wrestling with what Jesus said. Sooner or later—just to relieve his own misery—he'll have to make up his mind one way or the other. There's a time to grieve the old way we're leaving behind. There's nothing more miserable than being just partly committed to Christ. We notice that Jesus didn't go running after him and say, "Wait—I didn't really mean it." He let him live with it. The uncompromising call of Christ can really make us wrestle with ourselves—and then finally commit to following him.
The last word leaves open that possibility. With humans it's impossible, but with God, all things are possible. That's what Jesus said. A mentor of mine, Rev. Cary Weissiger of Menlo Park Presbyterian Church said, "We are called and invited to give as much of ourselves as we can to as much of Christ as we know." I like that. It helps me to believe I can do that, with God's help. With grace, we can. |
