"Who's Blind Here?" given 10-25-15

A large crowd was milling around outside the city walls of Jericho that day. All of them waiting to see the new rabbi and his disciples pass by. Emotions were running high. There was a sense of expectancy, of joyful waiting in the very air. Hope was certainly swelling in more than one heart. Perhaps-- they thought to themselves-- this Joshua Bar-Joseph, this Jesus might be the one-- the long awaited Messiah who would redeem Israel. Perhaps he would be the one who drove the hated Romans out and restored the fabled golden age of King David.

Someone must have seen him coming and called out.  The crowd began going wild. They were cheering, shouting! What a great day for Jericho! What a glorious day for Israel!

Then suddenly, from the back of the waiting crowd, came a different sort of cry. It wasn’t a cry of happiness or excitement. It was a wailing-- a howling out of grief and utter hopelessness.

"SON OF DAVID, JESUS HAVE MERCY ON ME!" Some of the locals turned to see who could be so rude. It was what’s-his-name, the blind beggar. They all recognized him. They practically tripped over him every day passing by on their errands.  Like all the street people and beggars in all the towns down through the centuries, this man in his miserable, yet familiar plight, had become a sort of invisible landmark. He was seen, and yet in the hurley-burley of every day life, really unseen.

They all knew him. He grew up in that town. And yet he was unknown.  His very name had been forgotten.  Even the Gospel account leaves him un-named. Bar-Timeaus is actually a surname that simply means the son of Timeaus.

The locals tried to hush him up.  How dare he!  This was intolerable! Beggars aren't supposed to call out like that.  It isn't correct. It defies the unspoken agreement between beggars and beggees.  Beggars are supposed to lie in the sun and pitifully but quietly moan, or jingle their cup, and hope that perhaps some stranger passing through will notice them and grudgingly toss a few copper pennies their way.

But Bar-Timeaus wasn't playing the game by the rules. Rather than continue in his unseen, unknown existence, he was actively protesting. He wailed at the top of his lungs. "JESUS! SON OF DAVID HAVE MERCY ON ME!" The crowd tried to silence him, but he would not be silenced. Their efforts only seemed to inspire him all the more.

"SON OF DAVID HAVE MERCY ON ME!" Bar-Timeaus had probably been leaning against that wall for most of his life. In the ancient world, the sightless had no hope whatsoever of any kind of a cure or even a better life. There was no Braille, no guide dogs, no white canes, no Public Aid, no Disability from Social Security. They had no other way to survive except upon the mercy and the generosity of others.

Certainly after a lifetime of seeing him there, day after day, none of the locals would have been likely to help him. He could have starved to death for all of them. The better part of Bar-Timeaus’ livelihood would have depended on the alms he could cadge from strangers or pious pilgrims passing through town on their way to Jerusalem.

So this was this nameless beggar's big chance. The world hasn’t changed much since Jesus’ time. Politicians, popular figures, celebrities and visiting big-time evangelists have no choice. They are expected to at least give the appearance of being charitable--and generous in their charity at that.

When the Bar-Timeaus heard that a big time traveling faith healer was passing through town, he must have figured-- this is it-- the chance for a big score. Old Bar-Timeaus knew very well that prominent religious figures HAVE to be overtly generous in their public charity. He waited until, by estimating the volume of noise, he knew this Jesus would be approximately opposite him. And he let loose. After a life- time of low-keyed, piteous cries of "Please help a poor blind man, gentle pilgrim", Bar-Timeaus let loose with a soul-wrenching screech that reflected all the pain and anger built up from a lifetime of degradation and misery.

"JESUS! SON OF DAVID, HAVE MERCY ON ME!"  Jesus heard this piercing cry over the general crowd noise. And Jesus understood in an instant-- as any Jew of that time and place would have-- what a breach this was of the accepted, understood way of doing charity in that time and place.

            And no doubt Jesus was saddened. He would have understood these human wrecks-- these legless, armless, sightless and diseased wretches were absolutely dependant for their very lives on the whimsical pennies of travelers. Simply because the people of their city, their neighbors, friends, and even families had grown too accustomed to the sight of them them, too callous to their all too obvious human suffering to care about, much less care for them.

And so Jesus sent one of the disciples to bring to him the man who had cried out. Bar-Timeaus' breach of the established way of doing things had gotten him what he wanted.  The disciples came, and helped him to his feet. He threw his ragged cloak back over his shoulder, and then, with the inherent sureness and dignity of the blind walking over ground they know well, the son of Timeaus crossed through a parting wall of humanity to stand before Jesus.

In that moment, Bar-Timeaus became more than just another un-known, unseen, nameless, sightless beggar. In that one moment, he became all who suffer, all who are oppressed, all those who must swallow their dignity in order to survive. In that moment, if we choose to look carefully, we can see in the sightless, un-named son of Timeaus, all those sights of human degradation that we so conveniently block out of our own sight on a daily basis.

Something was going on inside Bar-Timeaus during those few steps to Jesus. Suddenly he was no longer just another blind beggar looking for a soft touch. Suddenly he became all of the blindness in this world confronting all of the deliverance in this world. Somehow or other during his steps and during his conversation with Jesus, the issue became more than a few coins. The issue became deliverance.

"What is it that you want me to do for you?" Jesus asks him. And Bar-Timeaus knew from Jesus' voice and words and inflections that he wasn’t going to get any money from this man. If there was one skill that all of those years of pain had given him, it was the skill of survival in a hostile urban environment.  Bar-Timeaus had learned to be a hustler. And so it was with a hustler's ear that he heard Jesus' question.

This man was not offering money—that was for certain. But there was something else in that voice. There was something being offered that was beyond compassion, something beyond anger at Bar-Timeaus' plight. There was a sureness. It is as if this Jesus did indeed have something to offer--something that could alleviate the situation. But what? The voice seemed to say: "I can help. What do you want? Only ask."

 At that moment, a thought must have occurred to Bar-Timeaus. Could it be?  No, it couldn't be. Yet in the space of an instant something that had died painfully, many years ago, was reborn within Bar-Timeaus-- hope. Could he dare to hope, to ask, to believe?

"Rabbi," He said.  "I want my sight back." And it happened.   Beyond reason, beyond knowledge, beyond human possibility it happened. A miracle—Divine Deliverance met sightlessness and conquered it.

But who was really blind in this story? The un-named son of Timeaus was more than physically blind in this story. He was the focus of blindness. He was at the core of a blindness worse than physical-- the blindness of the people of Jericho toward human misery.

Helen Keller said “There are none so blind as those who refuse to see.” That was the blindness of the people of Jericho.  The refused to see-- looking right through Bar-Timeaus and all of his competitors as though they were not there. It was a blindness that refused to acknowledge all of the pain and misery in the world around them. It’s the same sightlessness that affects men and women of our time as well.

This is the same blindness that saw Jesus as teacher, glorious rabbi and political Messiah-- but did not see the cross before him. It was the same blindness that would later on see Jesus as no more than a troublemaker to be gotten rid of. This was a far more profound sightlessness than the physical blindness of the son of Timeaus. This was and it is a blindness that fails to see in Jesus and in his healings both deliverance and judgment.

A great deliverance took place that day outside the walls of Jericho. But it was only one of many. The Gospels tell time and time again of Jesus delivering people from lameness, mental illness, leprosy, and other afflictions. These healings were a fundamental part of Jesus' ministry.

            Many modern Christians look upon the healings and miracles of Jesus as either fairy tales, or as a sort of sideshow-- proof of Jesus' power, but really incidental to His teachings and later sacrifice. Something that happened in New Testament time, but not today. But the truth is, that the miracles and the healings were fundamental.

            They were a crucial part of Jesus' (and the Apostles’) ministry on this earth. Our Savior's healings, His deliverance of so many suffering men and women were symbolic acts of supreme importance  for Israel-- and for us in our world today.

           Each and every healing, miracle, every act of deliverance demonstrated Our Lord's compassion for and mercy upon the hopeless and helpless oppressed  of Palestine—and of those in our day and age as well. Like bolts of lightening, they illuminate the ugly ways that we ignore and mistreat each other in this world. Like bolts of lightening, they reveal for us our Maker's repugnance with what we so blithely accept as "the way things are". Each healing, each act of deliverance was also a judgment upon the hard hearts of Israel—and on us.

In that light, how can you and I look with sightless eyes upon the suffering of so many of God's children in our world today? How can we look with sightless eyes upon the rape of this good earth that God has given to us? How can we look with sightless eyes upon the face of war and ethnic cleansing and hate and terror in our world today?

In Mark's Gospel, the healing of Bar-Timeaus is the last miracle that Jesus performs as He sets out on His journey to Jerusalem-- the road that will lead Him to The Cross. I would short-change this story, and short- change you if I were to simply sum up this sermon by scolding you about all the wrong in this world that we choose to be sightless to. I would short-change Our Lord,  if I were to conclude this sermon by simply telling you that Jesus can help us all to see such things in a new light, and therefore we ought to go out and do something about all the evil things in this broken world of ours.

The truth is that we are indeed blind. And Jesus can indeed banish that metaphorical blindness. But there is a transforming grandeur in the story of Jesus healing Bar-Timeaus' physical blindness. Jesus does far more than just open our eyes to human need. Jesus can do far more than just help us revise our attitudes about the many pressing issues facing us and our world. Jesus does far more than even giving us the strength to reconcile ourselves to those with whom we have broken relationships. And Jesus does far more than empowering us to defeat our out-of-control emotions and addictions and life-situations. Jesus does do all of those things-- and far more.

There's a transforming grandeur that occurs when we allow Jesus to heal all that deeply rooted sin and indifference that exists within us, and among us, and between us and our God. If, like Bar-Timeaus we are willing to open ourselves to hope, to change open ourselves to Christ's reforming love, Our Lord can and will not only heal us, but reform us and make us whole.

Of all the beggars sitting there that day when Jesus arrived, only one stood up and asked for healing. What held the rest back? What holds us back from healing and wholeness, from reformation and renewal of our lives?  It’s Fear.

We’re afraid of the unknown. We know who we are, and how to live our lives—whether or not we’re living them successfully. For all that we’ve heard about Him all of our lives, we don’t really know who this Jesus is. We have no idea of what He will call us to be or do. 

We’re afraid of becoming whole. If we’re whole we’re no longer off the hook. If we’re whole there are no excuses for our sins of indifference and blindness.

We’re afraid of change. The very familiarity of our everyday pain and stress and trials brings a certain perverse comfort. As painful as it can be, we’re comfortable in our rut because at least we know it.

We’re afraid of new life. We know it will bring us challenge and call and responsibilities—to one another, to ourselves, to Jesus. 

We’re afraid to hope. We’ve dared to hope in the past and had our hopes thrown in our faces by events and people. We dare not risk any more disappointment.

           It’s only when like Bar-Timeaus, we finally overcome our fears-- only when we can no longer bear our utter need and seeming hopelessness-- that we cry out to the Son of David and dare to hope for mercy. Then, and only then, Christ’s Spirit will empower us to reform and redirect the very direction of our existence.  It’s only there, in the depths of our desperation, that our Savior will reform our beings and give us new purpose and direction to remold the broken pieces of our lives.

 Jerusalem, to hope, to wholeness, to sanity, to salvation, with all the grandeur and possibility and risk and joy that pilgrimage entails.

Let us pray.

Lord Christ, we too are blind. Show us the brother or the sister who we can bless and minister to in your name. Show us the ways in which we can make a difference in the lives of others in this world. Show us the opportunities for service that lie before us every day. Show us the possibilities for growth you offer us each day. Show us the ways that you would have us walk. And show us always, that you walk among us. Amen.

Life is short

"The impatience of Job" given 10/18/15

We’ve all heard about the “Patience of Job”, but if you read the Book of Job as a single piece of literature instead of in dribs and drabs and pious quotes it becomes clear that after a certain point in the story, poor old long-suffering Job turns out to be anything but patient.

The Book of Job is a kind of extended morality play-- a philosophical parable written in the form of a series of arguments-- almost a courtroom drama.  It’s not fiction or non-fiction—but a parable—a myth in the sense that it conveys truth deeper than did it really happen like that—but truth in the deeper sense of ultimate truth about existence.

The passage opens the book is a prologue added later to the original book. It recounts Job's idyllic life before his troubles began. Then, quite quickly, in just a few verses, everything falls apart. He loses his family, his possessions, his health.

At first, Scripture tells us, Job held fast to his faith that these events, as terrible as they were, were part of some sort of Divine plan and had some rationale behind them. Even when he faces terrible misfortune, Job was able to assert, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return there" (Job 1:21).

Here is the traditional Ozzie and Harriet world-view of expected, explainable values that most of us grew up with. This is the moral universe in which virtue is rewarded and wrong punished. The good guys always wear white hats. God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world. Bad things happen to us as punishment for our sins, and earthly success comes as to us as reward for our faithfulness and piety.

All might be well in Job’s tidy moral universe if there were no intrusion, no conflict, no misfortune. Conflict intrudes into the story with the appearance of “The Satan”, the Accuser. In the parable of Job, The Satan is not portrayed as God’s enemy. Quite the contrary-- The Satan (it’s not a name—it’s actually a title that means roughly “The Adversary”) is presented to us as the member of God’s heavenly court charged with spying on the world. He’s God’s prosecuting attorney.

The accusing angel and God share a common concern - uncovering true piety. The Satan says, "Of course Job is pious; you make it worth his while. But what if you withdrew your rewards?" (Job 1:6-11).

            That's when bad goes to worse: Job is buffeted, assaulted, beaten down by totally unexpected, undeserved suffering. In misery Job cries out asking, "Why God, why? Why me?"

We all know this part of the story from personal experience. When our once placid lives are disrupted by the late-night phone call, the letter that was unexpected, terrible words, “You’d better sit down. I have some bad news for you..." - in those moments everything seems to come unglued and we cry out. We ask, "Why?"

Part of the reason we ask is because the tragic event has disrupted all of our old, accustomed answers and explanations. Everything has been torn loose, and we are desperate to get some answers that will enable us to restore our life's equilibrium.

When Job at last reaches that point and speaks his stunning, howling words, he does so with heroism, with poetry. His words "That day, let that day be darkness" are a dramatic reversal of the words with which we began our story with God in Genesis: "That day, let there be light.".

This complaint is in sharp contrast to the way Job spoke earlier. Now, language is being pushed to its limit. Prose is crackling open into poetry. Someone has said that poetry is violence done to prose. The language of tradition is now being challenged. Job has not technically cursed God, but he is coming quite close. Instead of seeking the release of death, Job demands to confront his accuser face to face.

Ambiguity is being introduced. Suffering does that. “The rain falls upon the just and the unjust alike.” Our lives, which once seemed so orderly, fixed, dependable, and serene, get disrupted, torn apart by pain and we haltingly ask, "Why?"

Job, the epitome of patience has run out of patience. Job, the noble silent sufferer becomes Job the verbose complainer. And now, because of Job's eloquent complaint, a world that was previously settled, fixed, and absolute has to be defended in the speeches of his "friends."

If you have been really sick, or suffered some loss or misfortune, then you know firsthand what it's like to have well-meaning friends or family try to offer you comfort. And if you’ve had that experience, you also know that well-meaning people, wanting to say something helpful, sometimes say the wrong things. In an attempt to offer some comforting word, they sometimes end up saying something that actually makes you feel worse rather than better.

Poor old Job suffered from the worst series of would-be comforters who ever tried to say something helpful to a friend in need. There’s even an expression you may have heard, “Job's comforters," It’s used to talk about people who say the wrong thing to somebody who is in need.

What do you say when a friend's life has been torn apart? Listen to Job’s friends: Think Job, what did you do to deserve this trouble? Nobody ever suffered innocently. You are suffering? You must have done something wrong. Your children died? They must have sinned.  There is a kind of moral arithmetic in the world, Job. If you do right, right will be done to you. If you do wrong, wrong will be done to you. Think now, what did do wrong Job?   

In the speeches of these so-called friends, there is no poetry. There is only adversarial speech, a free-for-all verbal battle of moralistic one-upmanship. The friends aren’t arguing to comfort, or even necessarily to be a witness to Job. They’re arguing because they’re desperate to get their own comfortable old moral worlds cut back together.

I suspect that ore reason why lots of us find it difficult to be with someone who has experienced some terrible calamity is that their misfortune threatens us. We say-- “There but for the grace of God, go I” But then we add to ourselves “So why him and not me?” Terrible, unexpected, undeserved tragedy threatens our simplistic explanations for what’s going on in the world.

This ethical drama we call the Book of Job, with its on-going moral and philosophical debate challenges us to listen, to compare for ourselves what is going on, to take sides, to think out our values and opinions, rather than simply accepting a point of view someone else gave us long ago in a Sunday School lesson or a sermon. Encountering the story of Job as a whole rather than in pre-digested single passages will introduce us to radically different images of what the universe may be like, morally speaking. 

The clash of different ethical world-views, which is rather intellectually interesting at first, begins to be tiresome as they go on, and finally excruciatingly tedious. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the needless repetition and wordiness is meant to impress upon us the inability of words alone to resolve the deepest of our questions about suffering, pain, injustice, fairness.

Sometimes those of us in the church fall into the trap of responding to people's pain with words-- words from Scripture, words from our tradition, slogans, sayings, sermonettes, irrelevant anecdotes and trite cliché’s. If you’ve ever been in pain and have been the recipient of this sort of concern, you can probably testify that words alone really don't speak to the depth of the questions, the threatening questions that deep tragedy forces each of us to ask ourselves.

These arguments among the friends and between the friends and Job drone on and on and on. Until all at once, in the last couple of chapters, comes a different sort of speech—a voice from a whirlwind-- the speech of the Lord. What Job has been demanding all along was his day in court-- a trial, a chance to face his accusers --an opportunity to cross-examine his Maker in which God would finally give definitive answers. But Job’s hoped-for, divine-human dialogue never quite takes place.

The God whom Job wants to question becomes questioner. God never actually addresses the issues that Job so eloquently raised. Instead, Job is invited, as we are invited to look at the world, just for a moment, as God looks at it. There are wonders here beyond human comprehension. God brags about the words of creation, the mysteries, the wonders. God's speech is a remarkable vision of the cosmos

Why is there undeserved suffering in this world, asks Job. Why is there injustice? Heartache?  I’ll tell you why, say God.  But first, answer my questions.

Where you there when I said the foundations of creation? Have you commanded the morning since your days began?  Do you know when the mountain goats bring forth their young?  Who has let the wild donkey go free?  Is the wild ox willing to serve you? The wings of the ostrich wave proudly-- but are they pinions of love?

Look at the Hippopotamus, says the voice from the whirlwind-- I made him, just as I made you. Can you do the same? Can you catch a crocodile with a fish hook, or tie down his mouth with a shoelace? Can you even make a tree?

That’s the answer Job gets-- why do innocent creatures suffer? Can you make an ostrich?  Why is there undeserved suffering?  Can you understand my reasons for making a duck-billed platypus?  It‘s no answer-- and yet it is.

The rabbis long ago noticed that, when God boasts of these handiworks, none the animals offered as evidence of divine creative genius are of any earthly use to humanity. What can you or I do with a wild donkey or an ostrich? Moreover, when proudly bragging about all these wonderful animals, God fails to express any pride at all at the creation of humanity. It's a big creation out there and we’re only a small part of its wonder.

Why?  We don’t know, said the rabbis. That’s the point. We don’t know. These utterly useless, impractical, apparently pointless creatures are signs of the extravagance of God’s creation. God only knows why God made duck-billed platypuses and wild donkeys and mountain goats.  Don’t ask me to explain unfairness says the Creator of the Universes, to someone who can’t even make a tree.

The speech from the whirlwind has thwarted Job's expectations of how God was supposed to talk. Job had demanded answers. What Job gets is x crash course in Reality 101, a cosmic-wide view of humanity and the world and of creation.

Look at what Job says at the end. "I had heard of you by the hearing oh the ear, but now my eye sees you" (Job 42:8). Previously, Job had only heard words about a God who sets the world in motion, who creates out of chaos. Now Job sees. 

Job had lived in a rather narrow world where bad things don’t happen to good people, where the good get rewards and the bad get punished. But then come the contradictions, and the questions, and the demand for answers that help him patch his world back together. “The rain falls upon the just and the unjust alike” Job suffers. Is he guilty? Is God fair?

When our familiar world or cause and effect morality crumbles, we find ourselves devastated. Our world has been dismantled. Will anything takes its place?  Why God? Why? Why me? What did I do wrong?

Job has been invited out toward a new world, a world based on more than simplistic, distributive, eye-for-an-eye justice. What does Job receive? We really don’t know. What we do know is Job is given a glimpse of the breadth of the wide world and the depth of the most profound of creation’s mysteries.

God speaks to Job. It may not be the words that Job expected to hear. But what Job gets is better than words. Because the truth is, there are no words good enough or satisfying enough. There are only incomprehensible answers that Job—and you and I must never-the-less live with.

In the end, there is only the Presence that designed us, and made us, and nurtures us, and doesn’t even feel the need to brag about us. In the end, there is only the awesome, inscrutable, Presence who also made the moon and the stars and hung the sun in the sky. In the end, that indescribable, mysterious Presence did it all out of a majestic, incomprehensible, overwhelming love. In the end, Job gets no answers—because there really are none to get. In the end, Job gets that Presence. In the end, Job gets God. In the end, we get God.

Maybe that’s all Job really wanted in the first place. Maybe in our own times of deepest distress and frantic questioning that’s all we’re really seeking as well. Maybe, just maybe that loving, undergirding, mysterious Presence—that assurance that our God in Jesus Christ is standing beside us, and with us is really all that we want and need most. Even more than we think that we want words or need answers. God.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Crisis

"What Must I Do?" given 10/11/15

            One day, as he was walking down the road, a man came running up to Jesus. He ran as if his very life depended upon it. And as it turned out, that was true--he was running for his life. Because you see, he wanted to change that life.  He fell down on his knees before the Master, and grabbed Jesus around his legs. Then, his chest pounding, gasping for breath, his eyes big and desperate he looked up into Jesus' face and pleaded,

            "Good Teacher, what must I do in order to become perfect? What must I do in order to inherit eternal life?"

            I don't suppose I have to tell you that he was a young man. Mark doesn't say that he was young. But for the past two thousand years, scholars and preachers and lay people reading their Bibles have unanimously called him: "the rich young man."

And for good reason. Stop and think about it and you'll realize. An older person wouldn't have asked such a question. Only a young person-- a very young person, in fact, would ask it. Oh, we'd all like to be perfect, no matter our age.

We may call it by different names—“walking the walk” or “getting saved”, or “clinging to the cross”, or becoming more holy, or maintaining our sobriety, or “going on toward perfection” as Wesley put it. But in the end, it’s the same-- we’re all working on our own spiritual growth. Otherwise, what are we doing here?

We'd all like to know without a doubt, that we'll one day inherit eternal life. But I wonder if any one of us, however old or young we are, really expects to ever do enough to earn eternal life— to be made perfect— in this world?

            It doesn't take a whole lot of life experience to realize that none of us are ever going to become perfect in this world. Few of us are all we ought to be. Few of us are even going to become all that we might become. Few of us are likely to possibly begin to become all that we'd like to be. It doesn’t take very long for our youthful hopes and dreams and ideals to begin to give way to our disillusionment in this life.

            Even while we're still young adults, most of us have come to realize that perfection demands a cost few if any of us are willing to pay. The rules of the game, the way of this broken world, our own human weaknesses exclude the dream of any kind of earthly perfection— not intellectual, not physical, not spiritual. The best any of us can possibly do after all, is going to only be the best we can do. 

All of the disciples and the women and the crowd standing around Jesus that day knew it. Jesus himself knew it. That's probably why he didn't give that young man a direct answer. He refused to play that game. In fact, he questioned the very idea that any human being-even he himself— could teach anyone spiritual perfection-- much less how to “earn” eternal life. He said,

"Why are you calling me good? Why do you speak of human perfection, or earning eternal life? Don't you realize that only God is totally good? Only God is perfect."

And then, born teacher that he was, Jesus proceeded to describe human goodness— relative goodness. As usual, the Master spoke in words the young man, and all those listening would understand-words right out of their heritage. He pointed to the Commandments Moses brought us from on High.

" Do not set up idols. Do not steal. Do not kill. Do not commit adultery. Do not slander. Honor your parents. Do not covet."

But that young man was in fact really young. You could see in his face that these weren't enough. He had decided that he couldn't be satisfied with just these rules for human morality. They weren’t enough. He replied to Jesus with a straight face,

 “I’ve kept all those since my Bar-Mitzvah.  Now I want to know what else I have to do in order to guarantee that I’ll gain eternal life.”

            No doubt hearing these words, the disciples and the women and some of the crowd gathered there had to turn away to hide their knowing smiles. Maybe some of them actually snickered out loud. How truly young this man was!

How naïve he was--to truly believe that he had managed to keep absolutely all the commandments every single day of his adult life? Who could imagine that anyone could manage to keep every single solitary commandment, all the time?

But Jesus didn't smile or turn his head away. The Master looked deep into that man's face. He looked deep into his eyes, deep into his heart. And Jesus knew him.  Maybe looking upon the young man, Jesus remembered his own youth, his own path of growth. Maybe Jesus remembered when he reached the point in his own life when he had to move on. Maybe the Master recalled when he realized he would have to give up that homey, comfortable, virtuous life in Nazareth for the hard and uncertain road of a traveling rabbi.

Looking into the young man's soul--Jesus loved him. No doubt Jesus recalled when he realized-- just like that young man kneeling before him had apparently realized-- that there was more to the godly life than simply personal virtue. The Almighty was calling him to a higher obedience. A higher commitment would be required of him. Just like the day he called Peter and Andrew and James and John and Mary Magdalene, and all the others to their commitment. Just as you and I are called.

And Jesus must have known that the young man would not be satisfied with anything less than the whole truth about his question. And no doubt Jesus understood what that truth would mean, what it would do to that idealistic young man. It must have been with a sad heart that the Master at last spoke to the young man.

“If as you say, you’ve kept the commandments perfectly all your life, then you ought to be ready. You ought to be righteous enough to enter and be a part of God's coming Realm. But something still holds you back. To put it simply, you have too much. Your many possessions are blocking you from God. Walk away from them. Give all that you have acquired to the poor. Hand it out, and follow me."

And then that young man's face fell. It was as if his heart had been broken. Mark tells us that he turned away from Jesus sad and disillusioned. Because—just as Jesus had known all along-- this young man had many possessions. He could not bear even the thought of parting with any of all that he had acquired. He walked away from the sight of Jesus. He walked away from the disciples. He walked away from you and me. And perhaps it was just as well.

After all, he doesn't really belong with us. He has nothing to teach us. He's different from us. He was rich. We're not. Jesus was still speaking about him-and to some of the others there-but not to us-- when he continued,

"How hard it is for those who have riches to enter into communion with God. My children, how hard it is to enter the New Jerusalem."

Then, seeing the looks on some of their faces, Jesus made a joke.  "Why, it would be easier for a camel to crawl through the eye of a needle, than for a wealthy person to find rest in God's Eternal Sabbath."

F. Scott Fitzgerald is supposed to have once remarked to Ernest Hemingway,

"You know Ernest, the very rich are different from us."

"I know" Hemingway replied. "They've got more money."

One of the things about the wealthy is that they know very well that their wealth can protect them from all the everyday concerns and petty problems that bedevil ordinary folk like you and me. They don’t have small, practical problems to worry about. So they can find themselves worrying about but the great problems of life-- how to love and be loved-- how to find something worth getting out of bed for every morning-- how to spend your day if you don’t have to make a living—how to contribute-- how to be happy. As a result, some of them come to think that they can solve those problems as well, with their checkbooks. But the truth is, sooner or later they must come to realize-- they can't.

As Jesus continued teaching, some of the disciples must have begun to wonder. Why is he speaking of these things? What has this got to do with us?  All this applies to princes and merchants and rich landowners. We're not like them. We're different. We're poor. And yet, they still must have begun to feel uneasy, hearing this teaching.

            Why did the Lord’s words bother them so much? They were poor peasants. Most of them owned little more than the clothes on their backs. They had already walked away from their most valuable possession-- half interest in a dilapidated fishing boat and some torn netting.

Yet Jesus' words seemed to burn in their souls. He seemed to be talking to them-- as well as to that rich young man. Finally Peter found the courage to ask Jesus the question that was in all their hearts.

            "But if that's the case, Master, who can possibly be saved?" They must have realized that there are none among us who are not rich in one way or another. Who among us does not acquire wealth of one sort or another? Who among us is not filled up to the brim— rich in our loves or hates, our habits or desires, our needs, skills, customs, longings, pride, thoughts, desires, dreams, children, loved ones, friends, families, property or responsibilities? 

Who among us can set aside those things that they have acquired?  Suppose a man comes to Jesus asking, "Master, what can I do?"  And Jesus replies

 "Set aside the envy you harbor in your heart against your brother". 

A woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus says,

"End your feud with your sister--reconcile yourself to her."

 And another man asks, "And what can I do?" And Jesus replies,

"Give up alcohol, it enslaves your body and your soul."

Another woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus replies,

"Forget your selfish pride. Admit your human frailties."

And another man asks, “What must I do?" "What about me?". "And me?"

            The Lord’s answer would vary from person to person. "Quit smoking." "End that negative relationship you're embroiled in." "Put away that torch you're carrying for that married man." "Forsake your prejudices" "Put away your fears."

When you and I first come to Jesus and honestly ask, "What must I do?" There is a different reply for each of us. It's a reply that first asks, "What enslaves you?" And then says, “Give it up."  What holds you back? Whatever it is, walk away from it.

            So the story of the rich young man does apply to our lives, after all.  Jesus is talking to us. This is where you and I come into this story. This is where Jesus is calling us to build in our own lives, and our own community, a foretaste of God’s coming reign. This is where we are invited to build from the ashes of our old worlds-- a New World. Jesus invites and calls us to set aside everything that stands in our way,

"That's a hard call, Jesus. We're not sure we're up to it."  And Jesus replies,

"You're absolutely right. For human beings it is quite impossible. But not for God. Nothing is impossible for God." 

           

Sisters and brothers, Jesus invites us each to ask ourselves the question. “What is it that I am so rich in—what am I so attached to-- that it holds me back from Jesus’ call? What do I need to jettison?  What's keeping me from total commitment? What is in the way of me giving myself in faithful discipleship?"

It’s not a matter of earning, or becoming worthy to inherit salvation. It’s a matter of freeing ourselves up to be able to follow Jesus wholeheartedly—without reservations or hindrances. I don't pretend to know what that will be for any of you. We may pretend that we don’t. But each of us knows what is inside our inner most heart. Each of us knows, what's in the way, what's blocking us.

            I'm afraid that what blocks most North American Christians is exactly the same thing that blocked the rich young man. The love of possessions-- the love of money.  We are the richest people in the richest country in the history of the world. And for people in our shoes, money can be a spiritual problem of devastating potential. 

Jesus may have been making a joke with that camel in the needle remark, but he was pointing to a real spiritual struggle that you and I must engage in. There's an ultimate question that each of us must sooner or later answer for our selves.

Are our possessions in the way of our relationship with Him? And by the way, with one another?  And if so, how do we use our possessions? What do we do with our wealth in a world of poverty? And if it’s not our possessions, then what is in our way? The only way you and I are ever going to be able to answer that is to dare to look within.

If you and I are serious about following this Jesus, sooner or later, each and every one of us is going to have to pull back all the inner walls and pretensions and images and self delusions we’ve built, and look deep inside ourselves. We’ll need to enter into that place within where we never admit anyone else, and are afraid to visit too often ourselves-- our deepest and most secret hearts.

            And once we're in there, we need to ask ourselves what it is that's standing between us and the fullness of existence, the joy of believing, the new and abundant life, the eternal life that rich young man was so desperately seeking? And then we need to ask ourselves—can I walk away? And once we've finally done it for the first time, we'll still have to go back every now and then, just to make sure things haven't changed. 

 It is the basic requirement for a life of integrity. It is obligatory to any sort of spiritual life. None of us gets off the hook. Even that old pagan Plato knew it.

 “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

It won't necessarily be pleasant.  Some people call it call it examining our consciences.  In Twelve Step groups they call it “making a searching and fearless moral inventory”. Muslims call it “the Inner, or Greater Jihad”.  We Christians call it being “convicted of our sins”.  Whatever we call it, it’s no more and no less than asking ourselves the question. What is there in my life-- in my heart-- that I need to get rid of?

It won’t necessarily be easy. But Jesus has promised. If you and I make the honest effort—forgiveness will be there for us. If we are willing to repent—to actually walk away— even only that first time— if we’re willing to follow Him in faith—all the power and the possibility that we could possibly need or imagine will be there for us.

And Jesus has assured us. In that Kingdom he calls us to join him in building and living out—we will receive all we truly need. We will receive all we long for, all we had forsaken, all that we might have thought we'd lost for ever--- relationships, vocation, joy, challenge, hope--- transformed and magnified and liberated and renewed a hundred fold.

            Let us pray,

            Empower us to walk away from the false and simply follow you. Amen.

             One day, as he was walking down the road, a man came running up to Jesus. He ran as if his very life depended upon it. And as it turned out, that was true--he was running for his life. Because you see, he wanted to change that life.  He fell down on his knees before the Master, and grabbed Jesus around his legs. Then, his chest pounding, gasping for breath, his eyes big and desperate he looked up into Jesus' face and pleaded,

            "Good Teacher, what must I do in order to become perfect? What must I do in order to inherit eternal life?"

            I don't suppose I have to tell you that he was a young man. Mark doesn't say that he was young. But for the past two thousand years, scholars and preachers and lay people reading their Bibles have unanimously called him: "the rich young man."

And for good reason. Stop and think about it and you'll realize. An older person wouldn't have asked such a question. Only a young person-- a very young person, in fact, would ask it. Oh, we'd all like to be perfect, no matter our age.

We may call it by different names—“walking the walk” or “getting saved”, or “clinging to the cross”, or becoming more holy, or maintaining our sobriety, or “going on toward perfection” as Wesley put it. But in the end, it’s the same-- we’re all working on our own spiritual growth. Otherwise, what are we doing here?

We'd all like to know without a doubt, that we'll one day inherit eternal life. But I wonder if any one of us, however old or young we are, really expects to ever do enough to earn eternal life— to be made perfect— in this world?

            It doesn't take a whole lot of life experience to realize that none of us are ever going to become perfect in this world. Few of us are all we ought to be. Few of us are even going to become all that we might become. Few of us are likely to possibly begin to become all that we'd like to be. It doesn’t take very long for our youthful hopes and dreams and ideals to begin to give way to our disillusionment in this life.

            Even while we're still young adults, most of us have come to realize that perfection demands a cost few if any of us are willing to pay. The rules of the game, the way of this broken world, our own human weaknesses exclude the dream of any kind of earthly perfection— not intellectual, not physical, not spiritual. The best any of us can possibly do after all, is going to only be the best we can do. 

All of the disciples and the women and the crowd standing around Jesus that day knew it. Jesus himself knew it. That's probably why he didn't give that young man a direct answer. He refused to play that game. In fact, he questioned the very idea that any human being-even he himself— could teach anyone spiritual perfection-- much less how to “earn” eternal life. He said,

"Why are you calling me good? Why do you speak of human perfection, or earning eternal life? Don't you realize that only God is totally good? Only God is perfect."

And then, born teacher that he was, Jesus proceeded to describe human goodness— relative goodness. As usual, the Master spoke in words the young man, and all those listening would understand-words right out of their heritage. He pointed to the Commandments Moses brought us from on High.

" Do not set up idols. Do not steal. Do not kill. Do not commit adultery. Do not slander. Honor your parents. Do not covet."

But that young man was in fact really young. You could see in his face that these weren't enough. He had decided that he couldn't be satisfied with just these rules for human morality. They weren’t enough. He replied to Jesus with a straight face,

 “I’ve kept all those since my Bar-Mitzvah.  Now I want to know what else I have to do in order to guarantee that I’ll gain eternal life.”

            No doubt hearing these words, the disciples and the women and some of the crowd gathered there had to turn away to hide their knowing smiles. Maybe some of them actually snickered out loud. How truly young this man was!

How naïve he was--to truly believe that he had managed to keep absolutely all the commandments every single day of his adult life? Who could imagine that anyone could manage to keep every single solitary commandment, all the time?

But Jesus didn't smile or turn his head away. The Master looked deep into that man's face. He looked deep into his eyes, deep into his heart. And Jesus knew him.  Maybe looking upon the young man, Jesus remembered his own youth, his own path of growth. Maybe Jesus remembered when he reached the point in his own life when he had to move on. Maybe the Master recalled when he realized he would have to give up that homey, comfortable, virtuous life in Nazareth for the hard and uncertain road of a traveling rabbi.

Looking into the young man's soul--Jesus loved him. No doubt Jesus recalled when he realized-- just like that young man kneeling before him had apparently realized-- that there was more to the godly life than simply personal virtue. The Almighty was calling him to a higher obedience. A higher commitment would be required of him. Just like the day he called Peter and Andrew and James and John and Mary Magdalene, and all the others to their commitment. Just as you and I are called.

And Jesus must have known that the young man would not be satisfied with anything less than the whole truth about his question. And no doubt Jesus understood what that truth would mean, what it would do to that idealistic young man. It must have been with a sad heart that the Master at last spoke to the young man.

“If as you say, you’ve kept the commandments perfectly all your life, then you ought to be ready. You ought to be righteous enough to enter and be a part of God's coming Realm. But something still holds you back. To put it simply, you have too much. Your many possessions are blocking you from God. Walk away from them. Give all that you have acquired to the poor. Hand it out, and follow me."

And then that young man's face fell. It was as if his heart had been broken. Mark tells us that he turned away from Jesus sad and disillusioned. Because—just as Jesus had known all along-- this young man had many possessions. He could not bear even the thought of parting with any of all that he had acquired. He walked away from the sight of Jesus. He walked away from the disciples. He walked away from you and me. And perhaps it was just as well.

After all, he doesn't really belong with us. He has nothing to teach us. He's different from us. He was rich. We're not. Jesus was still speaking about him-and to some of the others there-but not to us-- when he continued,

"How hard it is for those who have riches to enter into communion with God. My children, how hard it is to enter the New Jerusalem."

Then, seeing the looks on some of their faces, Jesus made a joke.  "Why, it would be easier for a camel to crawl through the eye of a needle, than for a wealthy person to find rest in God's Eternal Sabbath."

F. Scott Fitzgerald is supposed to have once remarked to Ernest Hemingway,

"You know Ernest, the very rich are different from us."

"I know" Hemingway replied. "They've got more money."

One of the things about the wealthy is that they know very well that their wealth can protect them from all the everyday concerns and petty problems that bedevil ordinary folk like you and me. They don’t have small, practical problems to worry about. So they can find themselves worrying about but the great problems of life-- how to love and be loved-- how to find something worth getting out of bed for every morning-- how to spend your day if you don’t have to make a living—how to contribute-- how to be happy. As a result, some of them come to think that they can solve those problems as well, with their checkbooks. But the truth is, sooner or later they must come to realize-- they can't.

As Jesus continued teaching, some of the disciples must have begun to wonder. Why is he speaking of these things? What has this got to do with us?  All this applies to princes and merchants and rich landowners. We're not like them. We're different. We're poor. And yet, they still must have begun to feel uneasy, hearing this teaching.

            Why did the Lord’s words bother them so much? They were poor peasants. Most of them owned little more than the clothes on their backs. They had already walked away from their most valuable possession-- half interest in a dilapidated fishing boat and some torn netting.

Yet Jesus' words seemed to burn in their souls. He seemed to be talking to them-- as well as to that rich young man. Finally Peter found the courage to ask Jesus the question that was in all their hearts.

            "But if that's the case, Master, who can possibly be saved?" They must have realized that there are none among us who are not rich in one way or another. Who among us does not acquire wealth of one sort or another? Who among us is not filled up to the brim— rich in our loves or hates, our habits or desires, our needs, skills, customs, longings, pride, thoughts, desires, dreams, children, loved ones, friends, families, property or responsibilities? 

Who among us can set aside those things that they have acquired?  Suppose a man comes to Jesus asking, "Master, what can I do?"  And Jesus replies

 "Set aside the envy you harbor in your heart against your brother". 

A woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus says,

"End your feud with your sister--reconcile yourself to her."

 And another man asks, "And what can I do?" And Jesus replies,

"Give up alcohol, it enslaves your body and your soul."

Another woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus replies,

"Forget your selfish pride. Admit your human frailties."

And another man asks, “What must I do?" "What about me?". "And me?"

            The Lord’s answer would vary from person to person. "Quit smoking." "End that negative relationship you're embroiled in." "Put away that torch you're carrying for that married man." "Forsake your prejudices" "Put away your fears."

When you and I first come to Jesus and honestly ask, "What must I do?" There is a different reply for each of us. It's a reply that first asks, "What enslaves you?" And then says, “Give it up."  What holds you back? Whatever it is, walk away from it.

            So the story of the rich young man does apply to our lives, after all.  Jesus is talking to us. This is where you and I come into this story. This is where Jesus is calling us to build in our own lives, and our own community, a foretaste of God’s coming reign. This is where we are invited to build from the ashes of our old worlds-- a New World. Jesus invites and calls us to set aside everything that stands in our way,

"That's a hard call, Jesus. We're not sure we're up to it."  And Jesus replies,

"You're absolutely right. For human beings it is quite impossible. But not for God. Nothing is impossible for God." 

           

Sisters and brothers, Jesus invites us each to ask ourselves the question. “What is it that I am so rich in—what am I so attached to-- that it holds me back from Jesus’ call? What do I need to jettison?  What's keeping me from total commitment? What is in the way of me giving myself in faithful discipleship?"

It’s not a matter of earning, or becoming worthy to inherit salvation. It’s a matter of freeing ourselves up to be able to follow Jesus wholeheartedly—without reservations or hindrances. I don't pretend to know what that will be for any of you. We may pretend that we don’t. But each of us knows what is inside our inner most heart. Each of us knows, what's in the way, what's blocking us.

            I'm afraid that what blocks most North American Christians is exactly the same thing that blocked the rich young man. The love of possessions-- the love of money.  We are the richest people in the richest country in the history of the world. And for people in our shoes, money can be a spiritual problem of devastating potential. 

Jesus may have been making a joke with that camel in the needle remark, but he was pointing to a real spiritual struggle that you and I must engage in. There's an ultimate question that each of us must sooner or later answer for our selves.

Are our possessions in the way of our relationship with Him? And by the way, with one another?  And if so, how do we use our possessions? What do we do with our wealth in a world of poverty? And if it’s not our possessions, then what is in our way? The only way you and I are ever going to be able to answer that is to dare to look within.

If you and I are serious about following this Jesus, sooner or later, each and every one of us is going to have to pull back all the inner walls and pretensions and images and self delusions we’ve built, and look deep inside ourselves. We’ll need to enter into that place within where we never admit anyone else, and are afraid to visit too often ourselves-- our deepest and most secret hearts.

            And once we're in there, we need to ask ourselves what it is that's standing between us and the fullness of existence, the joy of believing, the new and abundant life, the eternal life that rich young man was so desperately seeking? And then we need to ask ourselves—can I walk away? And once we've finally done it for the first time, we'll still have to go back every now and then, just to make sure things haven't changed. 

 It is the basic requirement for a life of integrity. It is obligatory to any sort of spiritual life. None of us gets off the hook. Even that old pagan Plato knew it.

 “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

It won't necessarily be pleasant.  Some people call it call it examining our consciences.  In Twelve Step groups they call it “making a searching and fearless moral inventory”. Muslims call it “the Inner, or Greater Jihad”.  We Christians call it being “convicted of our sins”.  Whatever we call it, it’s no more and no less than asking ourselves the question. What is there in my life-- in my heart-- that I need to get rid of?

It won’t necessarily be easy. But Jesus has promised. If you and I make the honest effort—forgiveness will be there for us. If we are willing to repent—to actually walk away— even only that first time— if we’re willing to follow Him in faith—all the power and the possibility that we could possibly need or imagine will be there for us.

And Jesus has assured us. In that Kingdom he calls us to join him in building and living out—we will receive all we truly need. We will receive all we long for, all we had forsaken, all that we might have thought we'd lost for ever--- relationships, vocation, joy, challenge, hope--- transformed and magnified and liberated and renewed a hundred fold.

            Let us pray,

            Empower us to walk away from the false and simply follow you. Amen.

  One day, as he was walking down the road, a man came running up to Jesus. He ran as if his very life depended upon it. And as it turned out, that was true--he was running for his life. Because you see, he wanted to change that life.  He fell down on his knees before the Master, and grabbed Jesus around his legs. Then, his chest pounding, gasping for breath, his eyes big and desperate he looked up into Jesus' face and pleaded,

"Good Teacher, what must I do in order to become perfect? What must I do in order to inherit eternal life?"

I don't suppose I have to tell you that he was a young man. Mark doesn't say that he was young. But for the past two thousand years, scholars and preachers and lay people reading their Bibles have unanimously called him: "the rich young man."

And for good reason. Stop and think about it and you'll realize. An older person wouldn't have asked such a question. Only a young person-- a very young person, in fact, would ask it. Oh, we'd all like to be perfect, no matter our age. 

We may call it by different names—“walking the walk” or “getting saved”, or “clinging to the cross”, or becoming more holy, or maintaining our sobriety, or “going on toward perfection” as Wesley put it. But in the end, it’s the same-- we’re all working on our own spiritual growth. Otherwise, what are we doing here? 

We'd all like to know without a doubt, that we'll one day inherit eternal life. But I wonder if any one of us, however old or young we are, really expects to ever do enough to earn eternal life— to be made perfect— in this world?

It doesn't take a whole lot of life experience to realize that none of us are ever going to become perfect in this world. Few of us are all we ought to be. Few of us are even going to become all that we might become. Few of us are likely to possibly begin to become all that we'd like to be. It doesn’t take very long for our youthful hopes and dreams and ideals to begin to give way to our disillusionment in this life.

Even while we're still young adults, most of us have come to realize that perfection demands a cost few if any of us are willing to pay. The rules of the game, the way of this broken world, our own human weaknesses exclude the dream of any kind of earthly perfection— not intellectual, not physical, not spiritual. The best any of us can possibly do after all, is going to only be the best we can do.  

All of the disciples and the women and the crowd standing around Jesus that day knew it. Jesus himself knew it. That's probably why he didn't give that young man a direct answer. He refused to play that game. In fact, he questioned the very idea that any human being-even he himself— could teach anyone spiritual perfection-- much less how to “earn” eternal life. He said,

"Why are you calling me good? Why do you speak of human perfection, or earning eternal life? Don't you realize that only God is totally good? Only God is perfect."

And then, born teacher that he was, Jesus proceeded to describe human goodness— relative goodness. As usual, the Master spoke in words the young man, and all those listening would understand-words right out of their heritage. He pointed to the Commandments Moses brought us from on High.

" Do not set up idols. Do not steal. Do not kill. Do not commit adultery. Do not slander. Honor your parents. Do not covet." 

But that young man was in fact really young. You could see in his face that these weren't enough. He had decided that he couldn't be satisfied with just these rules for human morality. They weren’t enough. He replied to Jesus with a straight face,

 “I’ve kept all those since my Bar-Mitzvah.  Now I want to know what else I have to do in order to guarantee that I’ll gain eternal life.”

No doubt hearing these words, the disciples and the women and some of the crowd gathered there had to turn away to hide their knowing smiles. Maybe some of them actually snickered out loud. How truly young this man was! 

How naïve he was--to truly believe that he had managed to keep absolutely all the commandments every single day of his adult life? Who could imagine that anyone could manage to keep every single solitary commandment, all the time?

But Jesus didn't smile or turn his head away. The Master looked deep into that man's face. He looked deep into his eyes, deep into his heart. And Jesus knew him.  Maybe looking upon the young man, Jesus remembered his own youth, his own path of growth. Maybe Jesus remembered when he reached the point in his own life when he had to move on. Maybe the Master recalled when he realized he would have to give up that homey, comfortable, virtuous life in Nazareth for the hard and uncertain road of a traveling rabbi. 

Looking into the young man's soul--Jesus loved him. No doubt Jesus recalled when he realized-- just like that young man kneeling before him had apparently realized-- that there was more to the godly life than simply personal virtue. The Almighty was calling him to a higher obedience. A higher commitment would be required of him. Just like the day he called Peter and Andrew and James and John and Mary Magdalene, and all the others to their commitment. Just as you and I are called.

And Jesus must have known that the young man would not be satisfied with anything less than the whole truth about his question. And no doubt Jesus understood what that truth would mean, what it would do to that idealistic young man. It must have been with a sad heart that the Master at last spoke to the young man.

“If as you say, you’ve kept the commandments perfectly all your life, then you ought to be ready. You ought to be righteous enough to enter and be a part of God's coming Realm. But something still holds you back. To put it simply, you have too much. Your many possessions are blocking you from God. Walk away from them. Give all that you have acquired to the poor. Hand it out, and follow me."

And then that young man's face fell. It was as if his heart had been broken. Mark tells us that he turned away from Jesus sad and disillusioned. Because—just as Jesus had known all along-- this young man had many possessions. He could not bear even the thought of parting with any of all that he had acquired. He walked away from the sight of Jesus. He walked away from the disciples. He walked away from you and me. And perhaps it was just as well.

After all, he doesn't really belong with us. He has nothing to teach us. He's different from us. He was rich. We're not. Jesus was still speaking about him-and to some of the others there-but not to us-- when he continued,

"How hard it is for those who have riches to enter into communion with God. My children, how hard it is to enter the New Jerusalem." 

Then, seeing the looks on some of their faces, Jesus made a joke.  "Why, it would be easier for a camel to crawl through the eye of a needle, than for a wealthy person to find rest in God's Eternal Sabbath."

F. Scott Fitzgerald is supposed to have once remarked to Ernest Hemingway,

"You know Ernest, the very rich are different from us."

"I know" Hemingway replied. "They've got more money."

One of the things about the wealthy is that they know very well that their wealth can protect them from all the everyday concerns and petty problems that bedevil ordinary folk like you and me. They don’t have small, practical problems to worry about. So they can find themselves worrying about but the great problems of life-- how to love and be loved-- how to find something worth getting out of bed for every morning-- how to spend your day if you don’t have to make a living—how to contribute-- how to be happy. As a result, some of them come to think that they can solve those problems as well, with their checkbooks. But the truth is, sooner or later they must come to realize-- they can't. 

As Jesus continued teaching, some of the disciples must have begun to wonder. Why is he speaking of these things? What has this got to do with us?  All this applies to princes and merchants and rich landowners. We're not like them. We're different. We're poor. And yet, they still must have begun to feel uneasy, hearing this teaching.

Why did the Lord’s words bother them so much? They were poor peasants. Most of them owned little more than the clothes on their backs. They had already walked away from their most valuable possession-- half interest in a dilapidated fishing boat and some torn netting. 

Yet Jesus' words seemed to burn in their souls. He seemed to be talking to them-- as well as to that rich young man. Finally Peter found the courage to ask Jesus the question that was in all their hearts.

"But if that's the case, Master, who can possibly be saved?" They must have realized that there are none among us who are not rich in one way or another. Who among us does not acquire wealth of one sort or another? Who among us is not filled up to the brim— rich in our loves or hates, our habits or desires, our needs, skills, customs, longings, pride, thoughts, desires, dreams, children, loved ones, friends, families, property or responsibilities?  

Who among us can set aside those things that they have acquired?  Suppose a man comes to Jesus asking, "Master, what can I do?"  And Jesus replies

 "Set aside the envy you harbor in your heart against your brother".  

A woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus says, 

"End your feud with your sister--reconcile yourself to her."

 And another man asks, "And what can I do?" And Jesus replies, 

"Give up alcohol, it enslaves your body and your soul." 

Another woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus replies, 

"Forget your selfish pride. Admit your human frailties." 

And another man asks, “What must I do?" "What about me?". "And me?" 

The Lord’s answer would vary from person to person. "Quit smoking." "End that negative relationship you're embroiled in." "Put away that torch you're carrying for that married man." "Forsake your prejudices" "Put away your fears."

When you and I first come to Jesus and honestly ask, "What must I do?" There is a different reply for each of us. It's a reply that first asks, "What enslaves you?" And then says, “Give it up."  What holds you back? Whatever it is, walk away from it.

So the story of the rich young man does apply to our lives, after all.  Jesus is talking to us. This is where you and I come into this story. This is where Jesus is calling us to build in our own lives, and our own community, a foretaste of God’s coming reign. This is where we are invited to build from the ashes of our old worlds-- a New World. Jesus invites and calls us to set aside everything that stands in our way, 

"That's a hard call, Jesus. We're not sure we're up to it."  And Jesus replies,

"You're absolutely right. For human beings it is quite impossible. But not for God. Nothing is impossible for God."  

Sisters and brothers, Jesus invites us each to ask ourselves the question. “What is it that I am so rich in—what am I so attached to-- that it holds me back from Jesus’ call? What do I need to jettison?  What's keeping me from total commitment? What is in the way of me giving myself in faithful discipleship?" 

It’s not a matter of earning, or becoming worthy to inherit salvation. It’s a matter of freeing ourselves up to be able to follow Jesus wholeheartedly—without reservations or hindrances. I don't pretend to know what that will be for any of you. We may pretend that we don’t. But each of us knows what is inside our inner most heart. Each of us knows, what's in the way, what's blocking us.

I'm afraid that what blocks most North American Christians is exactly the same thing that blocked the rich young man. The love of possessions-- the love of money.  We are the richest people in the richest country in the history of the world. And for people in our shoes, money can be a spiritual problem of devastating potential.  

Jesus may have been making a joke with that camel in the needle remark, but he was pointing to a real spiritual struggle that you and I must engage in. There's an ultimate question that each of us must sooner or later answer for our selves.

Are our possessions in the way of our relationship with Him? And by the way, with one another?  And if so, how do we use our possessions? What do we do with our wealth in a world of poverty? And if it’s not our possessions, then what is in our way? The only way you and I are ever going to be able to answer that is to dare to look within. 

If you and I are serious about following this Jesus, sooner or later, each and every one of us is going to have to pull back all the inner walls and pretensions and images and self delusions we’ve built, and look deep inside ourselves. We’ll need to enter into that place within where we never admit anyone else, and are afraid to visit too often ourselves-- our deepest and most secret hearts. 

  And once we're in there, we need to ask ourselves what it is that's standing between us and the fullness of existence, the joy of believing, the new and abundant life, the eternal life that rich young man was so desperately seeking? And then we need to ask ourselves—can I walk away? And once we've finally done it for the first time, we'll still have to go back every now and then, just to make sure things haven't changed.  

 It is the basic requirement for a life of integrity. It is obligatory to any sort of spiritual life. None of us gets off the hook. Even that old pagan Plato knew it.

 “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

It won't necessarily be pleasant.  Some people call it call it examining our consciences.  In Twelve Step groups they call it “making a searching and fearless moral inventory”. Muslims call it “the Inner, or Greater Jihad”.  We Christians call it being “convicted of our sins”.  Whatever we call it, it’s no more and no less than asking ourselves the question. What is there in my life-- in my heart-- that I need to get rid of? 

It won’t necessarily be easy. But Jesus has promised. If you and I make the honest effort—forgiveness will be there for us. If we are willing to repent—to actually walk away— even only that first time— if we’re willing to follow Him in faith—all the power and the possibility that we could possibly need or imagine will be there for us. 

And Jesus has assured us. In that Kingdom he calls us to join him in building and living out—we will receive all we truly need. We will receive all we long for, all we had forsaken, all that we might have thought we'd lost for ever--- relationships, vocation, joy, challenge, hope--- transformed and magnified and liberated and renewed a hundred fold.

Let us pray,

Empower us to walk away from the false and simply follow you. Amen.

One day, as he was walking down the road, a man came running up to Jesus. He ran as if his very life depended upon it. And as it turned out, that was true--he was running for his life. Because you see, he wanted to change that life.  He fell down on his knees before the Master, and grabbed Jesus around his legs. Then, his chest pounding, gasping for breath, his eyes big and desperate he looked up into Jesus' face and pleaded,

"Good Teacher, what must I do in order to become perfect? What must I do in order to inherit eternal life?"

I don't suppose I have to tell you that he was a young man. Mark doesn't say that he was young. But for the past two thousand years, scholars and preachers and lay people reading their Bibles have unanimously called him: "the rich young man."

And for good reason. Stop and think about it and you'll realize. An older person wouldn't have asked such a question. Only a young person-- a very young person, in fact, would ask it. Oh, we'd all like to be perfect, no matter our age. 

We may call it by different names—“walking the walk” or “getting saved”, or “clinging to the cross”, or becoming more holy, or maintaining our sobriety, or “going on toward perfection” as Wesley put it. But in the end, it’s the same-- we’re all working on our own spiritual growth. Otherwise, what are we doing here? 

We'd all like to know without a doubt, that we'll one day inherit eternal life. But I wonder if any one of us, however old or young we are, really expects to ever do enough to earn eternal life— to be made perfect— in this world?

It doesn't take a whole lot of life experience to realize that none of us are ever going to become perfect in this world. Few of us are all we ought to be. Few of us are even going to become all that we might become. Few of us are likely to possibly begin to become all that we'd like to be. It doesn’t take very long for our youthful hopes and dreams and ideals to begin to give way to our disillusionment in this life.

Even while we're still young adults, most of us have come to realize that perfection demands a cost few if any of us are willing to pay. The rules of the game, the way of this broken world, our own human weaknesses exclude the dream of any kind of earthly perfection— not intellectual, not physical, not spiritual. The best any of us can possibly do after all, is going to only be the best we can do.  

All of the disciples and the women and the crowd standing around Jesus that day knew it. Jesus himself knew it. That's probably why he didn't give that young man a direct answer. He refused to play that game. In fact, he questioned the very idea that any human being-even he himself— could teach anyone spiritual perfection-- much less how to “earn” eternal life. He said,

"Why are you calling me good? Why do you speak of human perfection, or earning eternal life? Don't you realize that only God is totally good? Only God is perfect."

And then, born teacher that he was, Jesus proceeded to describe human goodness— relative goodness. As usual, the Master spoke in words the young man, and all those listening would understand-words right out of their heritage. He pointed to the Commandments Moses brought us from on High.

" Do not set up idols. Do not steal. Do not kill. Do not commit adultery. Do not slander. Honor your parents. Do not covet." 

But that young man was in fact really young. You could see in his face that these weren't enough. He had decided that he couldn't be satisfied with just these rules for human morality. They weren’t enough. He replied to Jesus with a straight face,

 “I’ve kept all those since my Bar-Mitzvah.  Now I want to know what else I have to do in order to guarantee that I’ll gain eternal life.”

No doubt hearing these words, the disciples and the women and some of the crowd gathered there had to turn away to hide their knowing smiles. Maybe some of them actually snickered out loud. How truly young this man was! 

How naïve he was--to truly believe that he had managed to keep absolutely all the commandments every single day of his adult life? Who could imagine that anyone could manage to keep every single solitary commandment, all the time?

But Jesus didn't smile or turn his head away. The Master looked deep into that man's face. He looked deep into his eyes, deep into his heart. And Jesus knew him.  Maybe looking upon the young man, Jesus remembered his own youth, his own path of growth. Maybe Jesus remembered when he reached the point in his own life when he had to move on. Maybe the Master recalled when he realized he would have to give up that homey, comfortable, virtuous life in Nazareth for the hard and uncertain road of a traveling rabbi. 

Looking into the young man's soul--Jesus loved him. No doubt Jesus recalled when he realized-- just like that young man kneeling before him had apparently realized-- that there was more to the godly life than simply personal virtue. The Almighty was calling him to a higher obedience. A higher commitment would be required of him. Just like the day he called Peter and Andrew and James and John and Mary Magdalene, and all the others to their commitment. Just as you and I are called.

And Jesus must have known that the young man would not be satisfied with anything less than the whole truth about his question. And no doubt Jesus understood what that truth would mean, what it would do to that idealistic young man. It must have been with a sad heart that the Master at last spoke to the young man.

“If as you say, you’ve kept the commandments perfectly all your life, then you ought to be ready. You ought to be righteous enough to enter and be a part of God's coming Realm. But something still holds you back. To put it simply, you have too much. Your many possessions are blocking you from God. Walk away from them. Give all that you have acquired to the poor. Hand it out, and follow me."

And then that young man's face fell. It was as if his heart had been broken. Mark tells us that he turned away from Jesus sad and disillusioned. Because—just as Jesus had known all along-- this young man had many possessions. He could not bear even the thought of parting with any of all that he had acquired. He walked away from the sight of Jesus. He walked away from the disciples. He walked away from you and me. And perhaps it was just as well.

After all, he doesn't really belong with us. He has nothing to teach us. He's different from us. He was rich. We're not. Jesus was still speaking about him-and to some of the others there-but not to us-- when he continued,

"How hard it is for those who have riches to enter into communion with God. My children, how hard it is to enter the New Jerusalem." 

Then, seeing the looks on some of their faces, Jesus made a joke.  "Why, it would be easier for a camel to crawl through the eye of a needle, than for a wealthy person to find rest in God's Eternal Sabbath."

F. Scott Fitzgerald is supposed to have once remarked to Ernest Hemingway,

"You know Ernest, the very rich are different from us."

"I know" Hemingway replied. "They've got more money."

One of the things about the wealthy is that they know very well that their wealth can protect them from all the everyday concerns and petty problems that bedevil ordinary folk like you and me. They don’t have small, practical problems to worry about. So they can find themselves worrying about but the great problems of life-- how to love and be loved-- how to find something worth getting out of bed for every morning-- how to spend your day if you don’t have to make a living—how to contribute-- how to be happy. As a result, some of them come to think that they can solve those problems as well, with their checkbooks. But the truth is, sooner or later they must come to realize-- they can't. 

As Jesus continued teaching, some of the disciples must have begun to wonder. Why is he speaking of these things? What has this got to do with us?  All this applies to princes and merchants and rich landowners. We're not like them. We're different. We're poor. And yet, they still must have begun to feel uneasy, hearing this teaching.

Why did the Lord’s words bother them so much? They were poor peasants. Most of them owned little more than the clothes on their backs. They had already walked away from their most valuable possession-- half interest in a dilapidated fishing boat and some torn netting. 

Yet Jesus' words seemed to burn in their souls. He seemed to be talking to them-- as well as to that rich young man. Finally Peter found the courage to ask Jesus the question that was in all their hearts.

"But if that's the case, Master, who can possibly be saved?" They must have realized that there are none among us who are not rich in one way or another. Who among us does not acquire wealth of one sort or another? Who among us is not filled up to the brim— rich in our loves or hates, our habits or desires, our needs, skills, customs, longings, pride, thoughts, desires, dreams, children, loved ones, friends, families, property or responsibilities?  

Who among us can set aside those things that they have acquired?  Suppose a man comes to Jesus asking, "Master, what can I do?"  And Jesus replies

 "Set aside the envy you harbor in your heart against your brother".  

A woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus says, 

"End your feud with your sister--reconcile yourself to her."

 And another man asks, "And what can I do?" And Jesus replies, 

"Give up alcohol, it enslaves your body and your soul." 

Another woman asks, "What can I do?" And Jesus replies, 

"Forget your selfish pride. Admit your human frailties." 

And another man asks, “What must I do?" "What about me?". "And me?" 

The Lord’s answer would vary from person to person. "Quit smoking." "End that negative relationship you're embroiled in." "Put away that torch you're carrying for that married man." "Forsake your prejudices" "Put away your fears."

When you and I first come to Jesus and honestly ask, "What must I do?" There is a different reply for each of us. It's a reply that first asks, "What enslaves you?" And then says, “Give it up."  What holds you back? Whatever it is, walk away from it.

So the story of the rich young man does apply to our lives, after all.  Jesus is talking to us. This is where you and I come into this story. This is where Jesus is calling us to build in our own lives, and our own community, a foretaste of God’s coming reign. This is where we are invited to build from the ashes of our old worlds-- a New World. Jesus invites and calls us to set aside everything that stands in our way, 

"That's a hard call, Jesus. We're not sure we're up to it."  And Jesus replies,

"You're absolutely right. For human beings it is quite impossible. But not for God. Nothing is impossible for God."  

Sisters and brothers, Jesus invites us each to ask ourselves the question. “What is it that I am so rich in—what am I so attached to-- that it holds me back from Jesus’ call? What do I need to jettison?  What's keeping me from total commitment? What is in the way of me giving myself in faithful discipleship?" 

It’s not a matter of earning, or becoming worthy to inherit salvation. It’s a matter of freeing ourselves up to be able to follow Jesus wholeheartedly—without reservations or hindrances. I don't pretend to know what that will be for any of you. We may pretend that we don’t. But each of us knows what is inside our inner most heart. Each of us knows, what's in the way, what's blocking us.

I'm afraid that what blocks most North American Christians is exactly the same thing that blocked the rich young man. The love of possessions-- the love of money.  We are the richest people in the richest country in the history of the world. And for people in our shoes, money can be a spiritual problem of devastating potential.  

Jesus may have been making a joke with that camel in the needle remark, but he was pointing to a real spiritual struggle that you and I must engage in. There's an ultimate question that each of us must sooner or later answer for our selves.

Are our possessions in the way of our relationship with Him? And by the way, with one another?  And if so, how do we use our possessions? What do we do with our wealth in a world of poverty? And if it’s not our possessions, then what is in our way? The only way you and I are ever going to be able to answer that is to dare to look within. 

If you and I are serious about following this Jesus, sooner or later, each and every one of us is going to have to pull back all the inner walls and pretensions and images and self delusions we’ve built, and look deep inside ourselves. We’ll need to enter into that place within where we never admit anyone else, and are afraid to visit too often ourselves-- our deepest and most secret hearts. 

  And once we're in there, we need to ask ourselves what it is that's standing between us and the fullness of existence, the joy of believing, the new and abundant life, the eternal life that rich young man was so desperately seeking? And then we need to ask ourselves—can I walk away? And once we've finally done it for the first time, we'll still have to go back every now and then, just to make sure things haven't changed.  

 It is the basic requirement for a life of integrity. It is obligatory to any sort of spiritual life. None of us gets off the hook. Even that old pagan Plato knew it.

 “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

It won't necessarily be pleasant.  Some people call it call it examining our consciences.  In Twelve Step groups they call it “making a searching and fearless moral inventory”. Muslims call it “the Inner, or Greater Jihad”.  We Christians call it being “convicted of our sins”.  Whatever we call it, it’s no more and no less than asking ourselves the question. What is there in my life-- in my heart-- that I need to get rid of? 

It won’t necessarily be easy. But Jesus has promised. If you and I make the honest effort—forgiveness will be there for us. If we are willing to repent—to actually walk away— even only that first time— if we’re willing to follow Him in faith—all the power and the possibility that we could possibly need or imagine will be there for us. 

And Jesus has assured us. In that Kingdom he calls us to join him in building and living out—we will receive all we truly need. We will receive all we long for, all we had forsaken, all that we might have thought we'd lost for ever--- relationships, vocation, joy, challenge, hope--- transformed and magnified and liberated and renewed a hundred fold.

Let us pray,

Empower us to walk away from the false and simply follow you. Amen.