Needles and Camels

Like many of you, I found myself caring for my parents in the last years of their lives. Some of that caring was difficult and heartbreaking. Some of it was just annoying, for them and for me. I had to help them navigate changes in technology and communication. They managed, but my dad especially struggled with some of those changes. He did pretty well, but what rankled him the most was that he was no longer in charge--of his schedule, his decisions, his choices, his life. And that didn’t make him happy.

That is understandable. We all want to be king of our own kingdom, at least. Of our own stuff. That’s one of the reasons why stuff appeals. It gives us the illusion of control, of being able to define our own existence, of having the power to shape the world to our design. And if not this latest thing, then the next thing. That gadget, the upgrade, the bells and whistles will make it all happen.

In his book, The Generous Church, Bishop Tom Berlin called that pull of the stuff in our lives gravity. Is it stewardship time in your church? That’s an important and somewhat delicate time. But stewardship is more than just meeting the church budget. It always has been. It’s a spiritual issue. Jesus thought it was important. The two things he talked most about were the kingdom of God and money. That’s funny, given what we spend our time debating. But for Jesus, the effect of money, of riches, of stuff is potentially so dangerous, so destructive, so antithetical to faith that he spent a lot of time warning us. “Pay attention,” he says, “to the gravity of wealth.”

“He went away grieving,” this rich young man who rushed up to Jesus for affirmation and approval. At least that’s what it seems like was going on here. He wanted Jesus to say, “You’re doing great; just keep plugging away.” But instead, he got bad news, a warning. And he went away grieving. The pull of the gravity of his stuff was too great. He couldn’t break away. He was offered a place in the pantheon of heroes we call apostles. “Come and follow me.” He had an invitation to the greatest party on earth. And the burden of what he owned made him walk away. But did you notice a small detail in Mark’s telling of this story, one that we often overlook? Matthew leaves it out of his version of this event. But Mark says, after the young man replies, “I’ve kept these commandments all my life,” that Jesus looks at him and loves him. Then he says there is one thing the man lacks, to go and sell and follow me.

He loves him. That’s why he wants to help him. That’s why the young man’s pain is important to Jesus. Because he loved him. It does, however, make us wonder why Jesus seemed so adversarial at the beginning of the conversation. What was all that “Why do you call me good” stuff about? If there is anyone who we can be certain was good, it had to be Jesus, right? Was he just trying to get the young man on edge? Make him defensive from the beginning? That doesn’t seem to jibe with the statement that Jesus looked at him and loved him. Maybe it wasn’t a test; maybe it was a hint. Maybe Jesus, who elsewhere in Mark seems to want to hide his true identity, wanted this one to know something about the one he came to question. Maybe it was his love for this man who was obviously burdened in ways that most folks would never have seen that brought Jesus to the place of dropping a hint about the closeness of the eternity he was seeking. Maybe it was an invitation into a relationship of love and kin-dom.

What a difference that would make if we approached those who are lost, who are hurting, who are burdened by an unsustainable life with love and not judgment. Or maybe it was that Jesus knew that the only thing that could overcome the gravity of the riches of this life is a force stronger, a greater pull. Love redeems; love rescues; love wins. He knew that. He knows that. He loved him even though it didn’t seem to work. The young man walked away, grieving. The burden on his heart increased, instead of lightened. He had the antidote; he had the prescription. But the medicine was too bitter for him to swallow.

Good thing we know better, right? Good thing we aren’t sucked in the ownership cycle. The wanting of stuff. We’re smarter than that. Aren’t we? How do you feel about your stuff? Especially the “essential stuff, like your phone. I enjoy my phone, and at times panic when I forget it, thinking I can’t live without it. That little clutch in my chest I feel when I drop it is the effect of gravity. The pull of something that shouldn’t matter all that much. But no one can deny that we all feel the effect of the weight of our stuff. I suspect I would have walked away from Jesus grieving if he had said the same thing to me. Luckily, he didn’t.

Or did he? If you keep reading our text for this week, you’ll find the seriousness of the weight of wealth. That’s where we get contortionist camels and impossible entrances. We can explain all this away if we want, but it’s better to leave it as the challenge that it is. And then to go on and hear the blessing of a God who makes the impossible possible. That’s where we get the generosity of the kingdom that clashes against the generosity of this world. Here, we want fair. But there, in God’s kingdom, we get grace enough.

Jesus wants us to have grace enough--enough to float free from all that encumbers us, all that weighs us down. Jesus wants us to leave our kingdoms behind, leave behind the desire to be king of that kingdom and enter into his kingdom, where we will know riches beyond imagining, where we will know grace enough.

Rev. Dr. Derek Weber, Director of Preaching Ministries, served churches in Indiana and Arkansas and the British Methodist Church. His PhD is from University of Edinburgh in preaching and media. He has taught preaching in seminary and conference settings for more than 20 years.