A Rich Man                                                               10/11/09

         At a church meeting, a very wealthy man rose to tell everyone else about his Christian faith.  “I am a millionaire,” he said, “and I attribute it all to the rich blessings of God in my life.  I remember the turning point in my faith. 

         I had just earned my first dollar and I went to a church meeting that night.  The speaker was a missionary who told us about his work.  I knew I only had that one dollar bill in my pocket and I had to either give it all to God’s work or nothing at all.

         In that moment, I decided to give my whole dollar – everything I had --- to God.  I believe that God blessed that decision, and it is why I’m a rich man today.”

         He finished and there was an awed silence at his testimony as he moved toward his seat.  As he sat down, a little old lady sitting in the same pew leaned over to him and said, “I dare you to do it again.” 

         I have been good all of my life and that is why God has blessed me.  It’s exactly what the rich, young ruler apparently thought --- a theology of prosperity.  If you’re faithful, God will reward you. 

         That sounds great and it works well on a human level.  After all, hard work should NOT be its only reward.  It should get you a corner office and a six figure salary.  Why shouldn’t God reward us with health and wealth if we live a virtuous life?  It just makes sense.

         Until, of course, things begin to go south, and our job is eliminated and the factory closes down.  Until our good health is wracked by cancer and our wonderful marriage ends in divorce, then we wonder what we did to deserve that.  God doesn’t seem to play fair.  Our rewards don’t seem to match what we have worked to achieve.  Maybe, just maybe, God’s economic stimulus package is not the same as ours. 

         That’s what bothered the rich young ruler in our story.  Somehow he thought there may be something more he had to do to enter into heaven than the basics: don’t kill, don’t steal, don’t commit adultery.  So he goes to Jesus with his question, “What must I do to enter eternal life?  Is there going to be a test when I get to the pearly gates, or can I buy my way in?”

         And Jesus looked at him and loved him.  He could see the sincerity in the young man’s eyes.  He knew that the wealthy ruler wanted to do what was good, what was right, what would please God.

         So Jesus tells him what to do.  “Sell everything you have, give it to the poor, and come, follow me.”  You know what happens next: the young man walks away in sorrow because he has many possessions that weighed him down.

         Now, when I read this passage this week, I noticed something odd. 

         Every commentary I have ever read assumes the young man was not only sorrowful at the prospect of giving up every thing he owned but that he didn’t do it, and I wondered if that was because most of us wouldn’t.   

         You see, the text never says he doesn’t do it.  It just says he went away grieving.  I’d grieve too if Jesus asked me to sell my home, my brand new car, my television and all my furniture, so I could go be a missionary or join the Salvation Army or enter a nunnery. 

My first reaction wouIdn’t be an enthusiastic yes.  I wouldn’t be jumping up and down in joy.  I’d be grieving.  I’d probably do it, but it wouldn’t be easy, and praise God, He has never put me to that test.

         To be honest, the fact that the story says the young man walked away in sorrow makes it ring all the more true for me. 

         Another thing that is different about this story is that the text says that Jesus looked at him and loved him.  It’s the only time that we are told that.  Oh, we know Jesus looked at many people in love, but this is the only time it’s actually put down in black and white. 

         What makes that interesting is that in the gospel of John a “beloved disciple” whose name is never given, enters the picture at just about this time – right after Jesus enters Jerusalem.  Everyone has tried to figure out who that disciple is.  Many people believe it’s the apostle John, but that leaves the question of why the phrase doesn’t appear until the Last Supper. 

Another possibility is that it’s Lazarus, whom we also know Jesus loved.  But there is also the theory that that “beloved disciple” is our young man from this story.  If that’s true, it means he did actually do what Jesus asked and sold all he had to follow Christ to Jerusalem and to the cross.

It puts a different spin on the story, don’t you think? 

There’s something else about the commentaries I found interesting.  Not only do they say the young man didn’t do what Jesus asks, but they all judge him harshly, talking about how he was “owned” by his possessions and cared more for them than for Jesus. 

“That’s just like the rich,” they seem to imply.  “They’re not as moral as the rest of us.”  If they’re rich, they must be selfish and power hungry, consumed by their wealth.  There must be something wrong with them and we can turn up our noses at them in a kind of reverse discrimination. 

But then, what’s really funny, is that after condemning the young man for not selling everything, almost all of the commentaries go into a convoluted explanation about how what Jesus says can’t be literally true and even if it is, it doesn’t apply to the rest of us --- only to the rich. 

God forbid, that we should have to sell everything we own to give to the poor.  Why we should get bonus points if we spend a few dollars on cans of food when they go on sale at Hardings.  (Lord knows we wouldn’t do it if we had to pay the full price.) 

No, the commentaries say, we’re off the hook.  We don’t need to go to our broker to sell off our retirement fund just yet.  That would be too much to ask. 

But what if the text is literally true?  What if God does expect us to jettison whatever stands in the way of our faith in order to follow Jesus?  What would you have to sacrifice?  What would you give up?  How much does Jesus really mean to you?  And would you walk away full of sorrow?