As
Jesus was starting out on his way to Jerusalem, a man came running up to him,
knelt down and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “Why
do you call me good?” Jesus asked. “Only God is truly good. But to answer your
question, you know the commandments: ‘You must not murder. You must not commit
adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. You must not defraud
anyone. Honor your father and mother.’” “Teacher,” the man replied, “I’ve
obeyed all these commandments since I was young.”
Looking
at the man, Jesus felt genuine love for him. “There is still one thing you
haven’t done,” he told him. “Go and sell all your possessions and give the
money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
At this the man’s face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.
(Mark 10:17-22)
The man came to Jesus on his knees, even
though it probably hurt to have the pebbles and rocks biting into his skin. But
he was earnest and genuine. And with an intensity of expression, he looked up
and asked Jesus, “What can I do to inherit eternal life?” Good question. It’s
like he was saying, “Look, I’ve seen enough, Jesus – the good and the bad. I
know where it’s headed. No matter how much I do or achieve, one day I’m gonna die.
I have an expiration date here on my forehead. Can you help me out here? Is
there an antidote? What can I do to inherit eternal life?” Now cut to a
doctor's examining room.
A woman sits on the examining table in her skimpy little hospital
gown. She looks worried as she waits for the doctor to appear, hugging her
purse nervously on her lap. The woman is actress Jackie O'Ryan from the soap
opera All My Children, but here she’s
starring in a little soap opera drama called Lives of Our Days, complete with all of that suspenseful soap-opera
music and stuff. As she sits on the table fiddling with her huge gold earrings
and necklace, in walks the doctor with very grave news: "I'm afraid there
is nothing physically wrong with you." "Then why do I feel so awful.
So bloated and sluggish?" she asks. "Nothing gives me joy anymore –
not the clothes, the house, the raise. Doctor, I'm scared. Can't you give me a
pill?" "There’s no pill for what you have. I'm afraid you're
suffering from Affluenza. "Oh, my God," she reacts. "Why me? Is
it fatal?" “It's the new epidemic," the doctor replies.
So begins John de Graaf's documentary film "Affluenza." It’s
humorous, but hard-hitting. Scott Simon narrates a look at our culture, at our
insatiable appetite for more which the producers define as truly an epidemic
that is making us and our world sick. It’s a combination of
"affluence" and "influenza." In their 2002 book, Affluenza:
The All-Consuming Epidemic, the authors define Affluenza as: "A
painful, contagious, socially transmitted condition of overload, debt, anxiety,
and waste, resulting from the dogged pursuit of more." It’s even been used
as a legal defense. Remember Ethan Couch?
Unlike the woman on the examining table, however, the rich man in
our text doesn’t even know he’s sick. It doesn't list his symptoms, but you
don’t have to. Clearly, he’s got an advanced case of Affluenza. Having maybe inherited
the family fortune, perhaps an enormous landholding, he now wants more: he
wants to inherit eternal life. So he kneels before Jesus with his request and Jesus
gives him the standard prescription: "You must not murder. You must not
commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. You must not
defraud anyone. Honor your father and mother."
Wait. Did you read that last commandment before the mom and dad
part? That's not on the list that I learned. But Jesus had replaced the more
familiar Old Testament commandment against "coveting" with the word
"defraud." Was Jesus implying that if this guy was so rich it may
well have been the result of having defrauded poor people in his own community?
Who knows, but the rich man doesn’t seem to notice the shift, or perhaps he
just doesn’t care. He confidently assures Jesus that he’s the paragon of health
as far as God's laws are concerned. "All these commandments I have kept
from my youth." So, he sits on the table expecting now to receive a clean
bill of health.
Curiously, Jesus doesn’t talk to him about his beliefs. He doesn’t
say, “You know what your problem is? You’ve got to go to church more.” No. Instead,
Jesus points to the Torah, the Jewish law, the commandments. Don’t murder. Be
faithful to your wife or husband. Don’t steal. Tell the truth. Take care of
your parents and family. It seems that Jesus is concerned with love and
relationships above all. And the man thinks he’s done pretty well here. “I’ve
kept all the commandments since I was a boy,” he says. Jesus gazes at him for a
minute and just loves him. Jesus can see the sickness in this self-righteous
man, yet Jesus still loves him; loves him as he loves each of us: with a
wonderful, unexpected love that gazes deep into our souls and loves us and our
world unconditionally. It is that love that heals him. Heals us.
What do you say to someone who’s perfect and keeps all the
commandments flawlessly? So, Jesus pulls a grenade out of his pocket and drops
it in the dirt: “Sell everything you own, give the money to the poor, and you
will have wealth in heaven. Then come and follow me.” Boom! The man’s face likely
turns white as a sheet. Maybe he feels the eyes of everyone looking at him. He
stands up and walks away – dazed. He never imagined the price of eternal life would
be so high. The sadness of this story is that the rich man can’t do it. He
can’t take the cure. Even though Jesus has looked at him and loved him, the man
leaves grief-stricken, alone, apparently to resume his illness. He is so
addicted to his possessions, to his great wealth and inheritance, so sick with
Affluenza, that he misses out on being an heir to eternal life, and to the
community of the gospel.
So what do we do with this scripture? You know, those of us who
have mortgages, or bills to pay, or college to fund, or retirement accounts –
if we’re lucky. Sell everything we have? Are we all supposed to become St
Francis of Assisi, living under the open sky and having dinner with a flock of birds?
I’ll admit that I don’t really know. This story has always made me
uncomfortable. And if Jesus’ words here don’t make all of us a little uneasy,
then we’re not listening closely. Maybe this will help.
The story comes from Philip Yancey. He was doing research for a
book called Disappointment
with God, and was looking at ways pain and suffering can make
people feel as if God has let them down, or even abandoned them. So, he scheduled
an interview with Douglas. Douglas’ wife had cancer, which started in her
breast and then moved to her lungs. Her illness put a great strain on her, and on
Douglas and their whole family. But that wasn’t all. In the middle of this
crisis, Douglas’ car was hit by a drunk driver. Douglas suffered severe head
trauma in the accident and was never right afterward. He could no longer work
full days. He got disoriented and forgetful. His vision was permanently
damaged. The two men met for breakfast at a restaurant. Philip watched as
Douglas struggled just to guide the fork to his mouth with each bite. Philip
felt like he was talking to a modern-day Job, and he described his book on Disappointment with God to Douglas. Then
Philip asked him, “Tell me about your disappointment. What have you learned
that might help someone else?”
Douglas was silent for a long time. He stroked his beard and
thought. Finally he said, “I don’t feel any disappointment with God at all.” He
explained, “The reason is this. I learned, first through my wife’s illness, and
then through my accident, not to confuse God with life. I’m upset about all
that’s happened, and I vent my grief and anger. But I believe God feels the
same way – grieved and angry. I’ve learned to see beyond the physical reality
in this world to the spiritual reality. We tend to think that life should be
fair because God is fair. But God is not life. If I confuse God with life (by
always expecting good health, for example), then I set myself up for a great
disappointment.” Douglas concluded, “God’s existence — even his love for me — doesn’t
depend on my good health or good fortune. Frankly, I’ve had more time and
opportunity to work on my relationship with God during my impairment than
before.”
So how does Mark’s Gospel story end? Well, the rich man goes away,
unable to take the cure. Maybe his grief and weeping were the first steps
toward healing. Weeping can do that. But what does all this have to do with a seeker,
like the rich man, and Jesus? Well, I think Jesus wanted him to do the same
thing that Douglas learned to do. Look beyond the physical reality to the
spiritual reality behind. All the physical stuff in our lives, i.e., bodies, possessions, and all the
money we spend on them, none of it lasts forever. It’s important and all, but
it won’t last. And any of it can disappear in a day. The physical passes away –
as we all know too well in these Coronavirus days. Only the spiritual remains.
In other words, Jesus wanted him to travel light, to carry less
for his own sake if nothing else. Put less stock in stuff and things, and more
in love and relationships. Love of friends, neighbors and family. Love of
strangers. Love of God. Love of creation. Love takes up no space in a suitcase
or a garage. Love is the only currency that counts for eternal life. Frankly, in
the end, love is all that matters.
There was a tribe of Indians who lived a long time ago near the Delaware
River. During certain times of the year, they camped next to this very swift and
swollen river. In fact, the current was so strong that if someone happened to
fall in or stumble into it, they could be swept way down stream. One day the
tribe was attacked by a hostile group of settlers. They found themselves with
their backs against the river. They were significantly outnumbered, and their only
chance for escape was to somehow cross the rushing river. So, they huddled
together and those who were physically strong picked up the weak and wounded
and put them on their shoulders. The little children, the sick, the old and
infirmed, those who were ill or wounded, were carried on the backs of those who
were strongest. And, by faith, they waded out into the river. Much to their
surprise, they discovered that the weight on their shoulders actually helped
them to keep their footing and to make it safely across the river.
You see, by using our money and wealth to help those who are weak
and needy allows us to keep our proper footing as well. As Job noted, we come
into the world naked, and we leave it the same way. (Job 1:21) The only thing
we can take with us is the depth and quality of our loves. So let love be your
focus, and keep a light touch on the rest – and don’t forget to wash your
hands.
Grace,
Randy
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