Money and Abundance

Text: Mark 10:17-31

A man approaches Jesus and tells him in so many words that he would like to live a good and Godly life. A noble goal. Since the man was already righteous, meaning he was following the rules of his faith, he no doubt expected a little mild coaching, or a tip of the day. Instead, Jesus tells the man he has to sell all he owns and give the proceeds to the poor. It is hard to follow Jesus. The man, who comes to Jesus eager and confident, leaves distressed, saddened, and uncertain. The story does not tell us what he does. Only that he leaves, not so much shocked as we heard today, but disheartened, downhearted. Having heard Jesus, whether he kept all he had or sold it all, his choices were discouraging.

Money is powerful. It is not even a real thing, but it demands our attention even so. It is a convention based on trust among people that lets us do things in life that are essential or frivolous. Because it is without meaning itself, it can stand for all that we need, hope for, are afraid of. The fear of being without money is closely tied to the fear of death. No food, no shelter, no health care. Hardly anyone thinks that money is unnecessary. Yet “sell all you have and give to the poor,” Jesus said to the man.

Money seems inescapable. A newsletter sent this past week to leaders of Lutheran churches claimed that its topic was stewardship. Stewardship means taking care of things. It does not necessarily have to do with money. But the newsletter was all about money and how to get it and how to keep it. The lead article was titled “practical help in a fluid economy.” It had little to do with Jesus. It could have appeared in USA Today.

When Jesus talks to the man, Jesus looks him in the eye, it says, face to face. And Jesus loved him. Jesus knows, I’m sure, that what he is about to say will be hard words to hear. He knows that the things we hold onto so tightly hold us in turn. That the thing we grasp so tightly grasp us even harder. Anything that we desire to keep, keeps us. All the things we own, our favorite things, demand attention, and love, and loyalty, and protection from us. How much of our lives are devoted to caring for what we own?

We celebrate the 100th anniversary of this building next week. It has been a place that has protected and nurtured people praising God and being fed by God. It is place whose purpose is to gather people who care for and celebrate each other and others in the community. It is place, as our motto says, of spirit, joy, reverence, and service. At the same time, it is a burden. One that we gladly bear, but one nonetheless. It demands time, money, and energetic thought. It is our responsibility, which requires tending.

The man cannot give up his possessions without much grieving, for he loves them so. They have given him much that is good and fine and safe.

But it is not just what we own that owns us. We are connected to many things by little strings of responsibility and affection and common purpose. The man is disheartened when he hears what Jesus says. But the disciples are more than perplexed, as it says. They are astonished and terrified. For when Peter explains that he and the others have given up everything for Jesus, Jesus speaks to them about leaving their “house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields.” That is, everything that has any hold on them. Not only on their stomachs, but on their hearts. Which means not just things and loves and responsibilities, but also plans and schemes and dreams.

What Jesus promises is freedom. He offers a light-traveling nomadic life that has a spiritual clarity. A kind of life in which a person is transparent, the same inside oneself as outside. Both unencumbered and therefore undisguised. Without guile, as Jesus once said of Nathanael. Without any need to dissemble or to worry about what face is forward. And with this freedom we are able to hear God more clearly and we are able to act for God’s world nimbly and with more courage.

I used to think, and preached, that this passage told us what we should do. That Jesus was telling us what to do. After all, the man says to Jesus, “what must I do?” If we wanted Christian freedom then we had to let things go. And that was that. Just let go of all that you hold dear, and everything will work out fine. So, go ahead. Go on. Let me know how things work out. As if it were easy. As if it were possible.

But now I see in the eyes of Jesus nothing but compassion. As Jesus looks, eye to eye, loving the man, Jesus knows what is happening inside this person. It is no doubt true that all that we grasp onto diminishes us. And that our tight grip harms the world. Jesus’ analysis of the problem is correct. But we can hardly do otherwise. We hold onto what we have for dear life.

The man goes away gloomy. What Jesus asks for is impossible. He says so himself. Mortals cannot do it. So where does that leave those—the man, us—who wish to be disciples of Jesus? Is it OK if we hedge our bets? Do things work out if we cling to our possessions, or is it all or nothing, a binary theology? Can we keep a little? How much is too much? Or is it like exercise: any little thing we can let go of helps? Can the man be a disciple of Jesus—follow me, Jesus says—if he does not do exactly what Jesus tells him to?

With God, all things are possible, Jesus tells his disciples. Do we believe that to be so? Do we believe what Jesus says here? Not believe in Jesus, but believe him. Is God trustworthy? If we give up all we possess—and those things that therefore possess us—will God take care of us? Do we trust God to do that?

Trust is not something that just arrives, like a package in the mail. It is a result of many encounters and experiences. Many tentative proposals, most with favorable responses. Many little experiments. Even for people who are vouched for by another (your best friend tells you: “she’s a great person”), trust is built gradually. Even when you fall head over heels in love with someone, trust comes over time. So it seems it is with us and God. Even if God is vouched for by scripture and teachings and by the testimony of other’s experiences. Even if you fall in love with God. Trust takes take and trials.

One reason we follow Jesus is because the promise he makes of a good and abundant life strikes us as real. And his analysis of the power of money and other possessions, material or otherwise, to interfere with that life strikes us as correct. We know he is right about this.

This does not mean to go hungry or become destitute. (Give to the poor, Jesus says; it is not good to be poor.) Or to sever ties with each other, or to deny our interdependency, or to spurn the love of others, or hesitate to ask for help. But it does mean we do not rely on our stuff for healing, protection, and guidance, or for the good life.

The story of the man ends in uncertainty, as do ours. We do not know how he interpreted the words of Jesus, how he acted, what decisions he made. Do we want to spend the hours of our short lives tending our possession and under their power?

Jesus looks into our lives—and to the heart of the world—with compassion and love. There is a better way.