Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost
“Inheritance”
Rev. Brent Gundlah
First Reading (Job 23:1-9, 16-17 / NRSVUE)
Gospel Reading (Mark 10:17-31 / NRSVUE)
I remember standing there in the middle of the track behind my middle school during gym class waiting to take my turn at the high jump. I wasn’t the most athletic kid, so this was pretty stressful for me; as I toed the line, my legs felt like jello, it was hard to breathe and I could feel my racing heart beating in my neck. I managed to clear the bar at it’s initial height (which wasn’t very high), but I didn’t make it over the second one, and my early exit from the competition left me feeling conflicted.
My performance was lousy but I didn’t need to jump any more, and that was great. I found some comfort in the belief that my inability to excel at this particular event would have no detrimental impact on me later in life, and so far it hasn’t. Besides, even the person who won would eventually fail; I mean, at some point, that bar simply would be raised so high that no one would be able to clear it.
I bet that guy who runs up to Jesus and asks him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” would have be a serious contender in the middle school gym class high jump (that is if they’d actually had middle school or gym class or the high jump back then); he just seems like the type, you know?
I don’t doubt for a second that he asked his question in earnest — he really did want to know what he needed to do to ensure his entrance into heaven; and, being a bit of an overachiever, he was confident that he could pull it off, whatever it was.
Jesus doesn’t appear to be all that interested in having this conversation (I can’t imagine why), and so gives him kind of dismissive answer: “Obey God’s commandments. Don’t murder; don’t commit adultery; don’t steal; don’t bear false witness; don’t defraud; and honor your father and mother.” Jesus probably hoped that this would be the end of it, yet it wasn’t: “But I have obeyed God’s commandments, Teacher,” the man quickly responds.
Once again, as was the case with Job in last week’s story, we should be a little suspicious because nobody’s that good. Now, just for fun, let’s imagine how this interaction might have unfolded in light of some of Jesus’s other teachings — and if Jesus had been more inclined to participate in it…
“Ok, but that list of commandments I just rattled off was meant to be illustrative, not exhaustive; you don’t just need to obey those laws, you need to obey all of them — all six hundred and thirteen of them.”
“Yeah, I have.”
“Really? Even number three hundred and sixty seven?”
“Wait, which one is that again?”
“Don’t wear garments made of wool and linen mixed together.”
“I think I’m good on that one.”
“You think you’re good or you are good? Because thinking you’re good isn’t good enough. And, as I’m sure you know, if you’re lying about being good, that’s even worse.”
“Ok, I’m not really sure.”
“Fine, let’s move on. Have you tithed any cattle? That’s number four hundred and ten.”
“But I don’t own any cattle.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Have you ever eaten an insect? That’s number one hundred eighty three.”
“Not on purpose.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Now, let’s go back to the top ten. You may not have actually committed murder, but anyone who hates or even insults a brother or a sister will be liable to judgement. Do you have any siblings? If so, how do you feel about them? Also, I use the terms “brother” and “sister” in the broadest possible sense, so have you ever hated or even insulted another person?
“I’ll have to think about that for a minute.”
On the matter of adultery, let me also clarify what that really means: “Anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”
“Uh Oh.”
The bar just keeps getting higher — kind of like the one in my gym class.
But Jesus, who doesn’t seem to have much patience for small talk, doesn’t bother with any of this; he simply cuts right to the chase. To continue my high jump metaphor, Jesus doesn’t raise the bar from four feet to four feet one inch and so on, he raises it from four feet to forty feet. Knowing that he’s speaking to someone of considerable means, Jesus goes after him where it matters to him.
“Ok, you who claims to have kept all of the commandments since youth, you want to know what you must do to inherit eternal life? Well, here it is: ‘Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’”
The man has many possessions (which apparently matter to him a whole lot) and so he simply walks away shocked and grieving. Giving up all that he has is simply a bridge too far; the eye of the needle he’s been called to step through is way too narrow; the bar that he’s been challenged to jump over falls to the ground with an awful thud because it was way too high. Let this one sink in for a moment: Jesus invites this man to be a disciple and he actually turns Jesus down.
Now we, from our comfortable vantage point outside of this story, might shake our heads in disdain and disbelief at the rich man’s behavior but, let’s be honest: would we really have done any better? If Jesus showed up at your house tomorrow and said the same to you, would you empty your bank account and your 401(k) and write a big ol’ check to the charity of your choice? Would you throw your keys on the kitchen counter, tell Jesus to give all of your stuff to someone who needs it, and follow Jesus wherever he might lead you?
Would Jesus be happy if you did this? Sure. Does Jesus really believe you would do this? Probably not. And even if you were to do this, would your ticket to heaven be secured? No — because that’s not how this works; we can’t earn or act our way into eternal life; and, thankfully, we don’t have to.
The law that God gave to Moses to share with the people is often described as a gift, and while that’s true, it’s a complicated gift — it asks a lot of us. Now, some of what God’s commandments call us to do is fairly straightforward, perfectly reasonable, makes life more livable for everyone, and fosters our existence in community; you know, things like don’t murder, don’t steal, don’t bear false witness against your neighbor. These are obviously good ideas, and they’re also pretty low bars to jump over.
But there are some commandments that are a little more obscure — for example, my obligation to give half a shekel to the sanctuary of God on annual basis ever since I turned twenty; this wouldn’t have been too hard for me to do had I known, but I didn’t know (though ignorance of the law isn’t ever said to be a valid excuse for breaking it).
There are some commandments that speak to things I probably won’t ever need to worry about — I mean, I have no plans to remove the poles from the Ark of the Covenant and I doubt I ever will.
And there are ones that I’ve broken with some frequency and without much thought about the consequences — we’re not supposed to engage in astrology, but I’ve read my horoscope in the newspaper a few times.
And if perfection on all of these counts is the way in which we gain admittance to heaven, I’m definitely not getting in — though, I’m pretty sure no one else is either. But let’s just say, for argument’s sake, that someone actually read and obeyed all six hundred and thirteen commandments to the letter? Would doing this enable them to inherit eternal life? I doubt it.
I say this because Jesus tells us elsewhere in the Gospels that there’s more to it than letter-of-the-law obedience. As I mentioned earlier, it’s not enough to refrain from murdering anyone; we can’t even wish ill upon or insult anyone because those things are also sins in God’s eyes — heck, we can’t even think about doing such things. What we do (or don’t do) definitely matters to God, but our thoughts and intentions apparently matter to God too and, if that’s the case, there ain’t one of us who’s getting into heaven on the merits.
The law that God gave us and Jesus interprets for us is an absurdly, impossibly high bar for us to clear. Should we do what the law calls us to do? Yes. Can we do it? Highly unlikely. If we could do it, could we ever possibly achieve the perfection of heart and mind that Jesus speaks of? Not a chance. As he reminds us in today’s story: “No one is good but God alone.” And that’s the whole point.
After the rich man walks away, having decided that his possessions are more precious to him than discipleship, Jesus mentions the difficulty that the wealthy will have entering the kingdom of God. His frustrated disciples then throw up their hands, asking “Then who can be saved.” And Jesus’s reply says it all: “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”
What he means is that we simply cannot earn our way into heaven — only our God who actually art in heaven (and Jesus) meet the standard of goodness required to get there, but that’s beside the point. We can’t win a gold medal in eternal life because it’s not a competition; we don’t get a pass into God’s kingdom by getting a high score on the commandments test because we’re not being graded. We can’t do anything to make it happen, and we don’t have to do anything to make it happen.
We are “saved,” that is to say brought into perfect relationship with God and one another forever, because God — acting out of love or grace or mercy or compassion or whatever else you want to call it — chooses to give us the gift of eternal life. That’s all there is to it.
Did we earn it? No. Could we ever possibly earn it? No. Does it make sense? No. Is it fair? No. If we jump higher than the next person do we get it? No. These are the ways in which we tend to see things, but they’re not how God sees things.
And maybe we should just be grateful that this is true. Thanks be to God.