As Jesus was setting out on a journey, a man ran up, knelt down before him, and asked him, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said to him, “You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” At that statement his face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.” (Mark 10.17, 21-22)
In 1858, twelve years before Detroit became the state capitol of Michigan, St. Peter’s Episcopal Church was founded, an edifice built on a downtown street called Trumbull Avenue. St. Peter’s is still there today, an old and large Gothic-style church built in the last century, a sign on the front lawn in front of the church reads , “All are welcome,” making the facade less fearsome, maybe even more familiar.
Inside the church on a Sunday morning one indeed sees that all are welcome, the church’s mission statement expressing its belief that people should show up as they are, realizing that no community is pretty or perfect–their words–so practicing a genuine hospitality to all who walk through the door, offering help even to those outside the doors.
Looking around the interior, a person finds an old-stained glass window that presents a story from the Christian scriptures, as most all the windows in the church do, but this one identifiable by the words that the young man portrayed in the window speaks in the scriptures, a question addressed to Rabbi Jesus as the Galilean makes his way to Jerusalem to die, “What must I do to be saved?”
Today, that young man comes to life, introduced to us by the evangelist Mark, who simply begins his story with the statement, “As Jesus was setting out on a journey, a man ran up, knelt down before him, and asked him, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Mark’s literary companion Luke presents him as a ruler. Matthew, like Mark, simply says he was a man.
Mark also is the only evangelist to say that Rabbi Jesus, “looking at him, loved him,” a sentiment reserved to a special few in the gospels, including Lazarus and his sisters, Mary and Martha, the unnamed beloved disciple in John’s gospel, and, in the non-canonical gospel of Peter, Mary Magdalene. While Mark offers no explanation, most commentators believe that Rabbi Jesus feels a bond with the man that rabbis of the period typically had with their students, the Galilean perhaps seeing the man as a potential follower.
In answer to the man’s question, Rabbi Jesus directs him to the commandments, specifically the commandments that dictate behavior towards other people. Acknowledging that he has observed these commandments since his youth, the man waits to hear if there is more that is expected of him. Reading the man’s heart, the Rabbi from Galilee tells him, “You are lacking in one thing.”
Expectantly, the man awaits the Rabbi’s explanation of how he falls short, so carefully has he abided by the commandments that he cannot conceive of his having failed in some way. “Go,” the Rabbi says, “sell everything you hold dear and give it to the poor. Then,” said the Rabbi, “come follow me.” Hearing those words, the man’s face fell, the word in Greek meaning he became gloomy, like an overcast sky, or somber, like the weight of his choice now clear.
With the fewest of words, the evangelist ends the story telling the listener that the man “went away sad, for he had many possessions, again the word sad not fully encompassing the sentiment, a better word perhaps being in sorrow or in pain. The explanation for his sadness follows–for he had many possessions. Seeing the choice before him, the man walks away from the Rabbi, unable and unwilling to dispossess himself of his wealth.
Doing the opposite, the American writer Ernest Hemingway would give away some of his most prized possessions on New Year’s Day each year. When asked why he did it, Hemingway answered, “If I can give these things away, then I own them. But if I can’t give them away because they have somehow become so important to me, then they own me.”
Returning to the story, we see that Rabbi Jesus is left watching the man turn his back on him, prompting the Rabbi to turn to his other disciples, sharing with them his now famous statement, often quoted, more often ignored, “It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” Grasping at straws, commentators over the years have tried to soften the words of the Rabbi, substituting other meanings, such as the needle referring to a gateway into the city, but they fall flat. The Rabbi meant what he said just as he said it.
Less often noted in the story, the irony that stares us in the face is that Rabbi Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, where he will be dispossessed of everything he owns, even the tunic he wears, while the young man goes the opposite way, holding tightly to everything he owns, even the small change in his pocket. There is no greater juxtaposition of opposites than in this sad story.
In later years, expressing beautifully the sacrifice of everything Rabbi Jesus held in his possession when he was nailed to the cross, the apostle Paul described it in this way in his Letter to the Phillipians (2.7), “Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave.” As we can see, we find here the same juxtaposition–emptying versus grasping.
And that is always the critical choice that determines whether one is or is not a follower of Rabbi Jesus, the decision to empty oneself for others or the decision to hold onto everything for oneself, self-sacrifice or self-aggrandizement. The measure of our discipleship is determined in that critical exchange, to do for others or to do for oneself. The young man found it impossible to empty himself of his wealth so that the poor might have and, in that decision, failed to follow the Galilean, a failure that puts the fear of the Lord in every subsequent would-be follower.
As a point of interest, no doubt coincidence, the Comanche tribes have preserved an ancient story that stresses the same subject. According to this story, there was once a great drought that was killing the land and the people. Nothing the people did could stop the drought, not their prayers, not their rain dances, not their tears. Desperate and nowhere left to turn, the elders made their way to the top of their holy mountain, there to plead face to face with the Great Spirit.
Listening to the pleas of the elders, the Great Spirit answered, “For many generations you have taken from the earth whatever you wanted or needed, but you have given nothing back to the earth. Now the earth is in distress, so you must make a sacrifice. Bring to the fire of sacrifice your most treasured possessions. Then scatter the ashes to the four winds as a sign of your respect and repentance. The rains will follow and the earth will become alive again.
When the elders returned to the village and informed the people of what the Great Spirit had said, one after another found reasons not to sacrifice their most treasured possessions. The archer said, “Surely the Great Spirit does not want my bow that provides food for the village, while the medicine man said, “I know the Great Spirit could not be asking for my herbs that heal the sick.” Everyone grasped onto their most treasured possessions, refusing to let go.
But one girl did as the Great Spirit had asked. Called “She-Who-Sits-Alone” because she was an orphan, her only companion a beloved doll that her deceased mother had made for her, the girl heard the words of the Great Spirit and she made a decision. Never without her doll, the only remembrance of her mother, the girl looked at the doll and she said to it these words, “You are my greatest treasure. So, I know what I must do.”
Late that night, while everyone slept, the girl crept out of the village and climbed the holy mountain. “Great Spirit,” she prayed, “Here is my doll, the gift of my parents before they died. It is my most treasured possession. Please accept it.” Making a small fire, tears in her eyes, she put her doll into the fire. When nothing remained but the ashes of the doll, the girl tossed them into the air, where the four winds carried them to the dwelling place of the Great Spirit.
Exhausted and truly alone now, the little girl fell asleep. When she awoke in the early hours of the morning, she found the feather of a bluejay. Picking it up, she felt rain falling on her face. When her people learned of what she had done, they gave her a new name, “She-Who-Loved-Her-People.” As we can see, that small girl was faced with the same decision that the young man faced, to grasp onto her prized possession or to give it away. She, unlike that man, emptied herself so that others might have.
No one ever said it is an easy thing to do. We see proof of its difficulty everyday in our own and other people’s failure to look out for others, the haves refusing to give to the have-nots, those with possessions choosing to grasp them tightly in their hands rather than opening their hands and emptying them for those without or with little.
It is an open question as to where the refusal comes from, but selfishness seems far more natural to us than unselfishness. Put to the test, we inevitably fail, tempted to follow our worst inclinations just as the primordial couple in paradise did, turning their back on the God whose constant outpouring of love provided them with everything. Choosing not to be like him, but following their own selfish desires, they set humanity on a course that is difficult to correct.
Now, we are left to do daily battle with our selfish tendencies, forcing our focus from ourselves and towards others, selling what we have so that we can give to the poor, as Rabbi Jesus urged the young man to do. The decision is not made once or once in a while, but made many times on most days, when we must decide to empty ourselves for others or to fill up ourselves with more.
Perhaps it is not too late for us to learn the right way. The Iroquois tribe taught the ways of goodness and generosity to their children in a clear way. When a child was old enough to understand, the tribe gathered in a circle. The child was placed in the center of the circle and given sweet and cool liquids to drink. After the child had his or her fill, a voice came from outside the circle, crying, “I’m thirsty, I’m thirsty.” The child was encouraged to take the drink to the thirsty person.
The same with food. The child was placed in the circle and served delicious food. After the child ate, a voice outside the circle was heard saying, “I’m hungry. I’m hungry.” Again, the child was told to leave the circle to feed the hungry person. A third time the child was brought to the circle, where it was given beautiful and warm clothing to wear. As before, a voice from outside called out, “I’m cold, I’m cold,” and the child was told to gather up nearby clothes and blankets to give to the freezing person.
In this way, the child learned to think of others, not just of oneself. Today, there are still voices that call to us from outside our circle, “I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. I’m cold.” Do we respond to those voices, giving to the poor, or do we walk away, somber, holding tightly in our grasp all that we have, unwilling to let go. As is clear enough by now, the story of the young man who walked away from Rabbi Jesus, choosing to keep what he had rather than give away what he had, is a story that we need to hear, reminding us to walk outside the circle.
–Jeremy Myers
Sunday Brunch 