Having It All

Amos 5:6-7, 10-13          Hebrews 3: 1-6         Mark 10:17-27

Before I go any further, I must confess to wondering, as perhaps you are, about the placement of this particular Gospel passage in the lectionary line-up.  Is it coincidence that the story of the rich, young ruler falls during stewardship season?  I don't pretend to know the motives of the Biblical scholars and liturgists who formulated the sequence of the readings, but on the surface, the choice of today's lesson from Mark might seem . . . well . . .  particularly timely.  Of course, in the case of St. James’ this year, they-or we-- missed it by one Sunday.

Yet as I thought more about the story, it seemed not just timely in an every-member canvass context, but timely in other, deeper ways.  Because of our recent stewardship campaign, we have been thinking about money.  In the act of thinking about money, each of us is forced to review our expenditures, to anticipate our needs and desires, and to prioritize.  To ask basic questions: What is really important to me?  What do I lack?  What would make my life happier, more secure?

Perhaps because we have recently been involved in this challenging kind of  self-examination, we can identify more closely with the bright-eyed young man who runs to Jesus, kneels before Him and breathlessly asks, ”Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

The very act of asking that question suggests that he, too, has undertaken an assessment of his finances and his life.  And has found something lacking.  Despite his obvious advantages, he may feel a nagging sense that there must be something more.  That Jesus may have the answer he seeks.
 
Repeated with slight variations in Matthew and Luke, this story from Mark depicts a young, wealthy, powerful man who, by worldly standards, would seem to have it all.   He is neither blind, nor deaf, nor lame.  He is able, fit.  Alive as only the young can be.  Not for him the tattered rags of the leper or the supplicating hands of a beggar.  He is rich, and in the culture of that time, wealth was considered a clear indication of God's favor and blessing.  And he has power.  He is a ruler--occupying a position of status and influence in his society.

Enviable.  A veritable icon of success.  Then, as now.

We know how important it is to be young.  On every side we are enticed by products which will transform gray hair to its former color, remove wrinkles, tone up sagging abdomens, whiten our teeth, or help us lose those fifty ugly pounds.  Young is, after all, beautiful, so we are told.

We know how important it is to be rich.  Why, we were brought up on the American Dream.  Study hard, keep your nose to the grindstone, hobnob with the right people, work hard, climb that ladder.  And when we do?  Yes, we have it all—the house with the picket fence, the two late model cars, the country club membership, the boat, the plane, the whatever.  We are . . . rich?  Well, we suppose so, but then we look at the Joneses . . . and, with a sigh, fret because they have so much more.

Power–now there's the really important thing.  To be in control.  As William Ernest Henley proclaimed in his poem “Invictus” (which, by the way, I had to memorize in 9th grade): “I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”  To preside in the boardroom, to enact laws, to lead armies, to sway public opinion.

Youth, wealth, power.  Enviable.  All of it.  But is it enough?

And so we come back to the rich, young ruler.  Like us, a product of his day and time.  Like us, a seemingly well-intentioned seeker.  He has lived an ethical life, keeping the commandments.  He has not murdered or borne false witness.  He has been honest and honored his father and mother.

He is no People magazine playboy consumed with fast cars, starlets and bling-bling.  Quite the contrary, he is a good man.  A thoughtful man.  He means well.  He wants what Jesus is offering.  Just as we do.
 
But at what price?  “You lack one thing,” Jesus says.  “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

Thus we arrive at the unavoidable crux of the matter.

Every time I hear or read this story, I want to change the ending.  I long for the young ruler to say, “Whatever you ask, Lord, I will do.”

I want him to say that because that is what I want to say, yet fear I cannot.

“He was shocked and went away, for he had many possessions.”

At heart, this story is counter-cultural.  Everything admirable in the young man’s frame of reference—youth, beauty, riches, power, obedience to the commandments—meant nothing to Jesus without sacrifice.  Because without sacrifice, nothing holds value.

The young man is at his most vulnerable—asked to give up his identity as the rich, young ruler to become . . . what?  Stripped of the possessions that have given him comfort, of the status that has formed his persona, of family and friends, who is he?

“Jesus, looking at him, loved him . . . “

One of the most poignant passages in all of Scripture.  Jesus sees directly into the soul of the young man and understands the struggle within him.  And . . . loves him regardless.  Likewise, Our Lord knows each of us without the trappings we so carefully assemble to define ourselves to others.  He sees us naked—as who we really are, failings and all.  And . . . He loves us.

The young man goes away from Jesus, grieving, we are told, for he had many possessions.  On some level, no doubt, sensing what he has given up.  We might sit back and say, “You made the wrong choice.  You traded eternal life for short term rewards.  You can’t take it with you, you know.”

Yes, we might do that.  Until we, too, come to the moment of truth: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

I am not implying, nor do I think the text suggests, that we should rush from the building to put on a mammoth garage sale.  But the story raises significant issues.

To what extent do we use our possessions to “wall off” our vulnerability and fear?

Would loss of our possessions mean a loss of protective armor?

Do our possessions set up a barrier, keeping us insulated and isolated, especially from those who have nothing?

Have we permitted our possessions to become our “gods?”

Do our possessions keep us from more fully knowing, serving, and loving God?

I would imagine that those displaced by famine, war, and natural disasters, such as Hurricane Katrina, might have far more penetrating answers than I.

In the Gospel lesson, we have contrasting examples.  The rich, young ruler who, sadly, cannot risk leaving his old world behind, and those among the disciples, who did exactly that—left their families, their homes, their nets, or their tax-collecting to follow Jesus.

We are invited.  “Come, follow me.”

Jesus makes no bones about it: His way will not be easy.  Beyond keeping the commandments, beyond caring for the poor, we are asked to sacrifice whatever of our own making is an obstacle between us and God.  We are to leave all that “stuff” behind to follow Him, just as we are.

Timely questions.  What is really important to me?  What do I lack?  What would make my life happier, more secure?

Like the rich young man, we have a choice.  We must be brutally honest with ourselves.  Do I really want to be master of my fate, captain of my soul?   Or do I fall to my knees in humble acknowledgment that it is impossible for me to save myself?  That only in God, for whom all things are possible, can I put my trust.

Awaiting whatever our answer may be, Our Lord looks at us . . .  and loves us.

In the words of today's pop culture, the challenge is simply and profoundly this: Deal or no deal?

AMEN.

Laura Shoffner
October 15, 2006

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