Doing My Part
When the rich young man approached Jesus to ask the teacher what he must do to inherit eternal life, what answer do you think the man expected from Jesus? Over time, my perspective on the young man’s intentions have changed. Partly, that is due to the differing versions presented in the synoptic gospel accounts. Mark describes him as a young man, while Matthew presents him without mentioning his age. Luke, on the other hand, introduces him as a “ruler,” implying a respected and authoritative status within the community, which may also imply the identity of an elder.
Although I effectively blur the distinctions into a pseudo-scriptural composite in my muddled recollection, Mark’s version of the man seems to be the most pitiable. Jesus, Mark tells us, before delivering the hard truth, looked at the man and loved him. Matthew is more or less indifferent to the man’s spiritual and financial conundrum, but Luke’s take on the encounter has a sharper edge, presenting a Jesus who seems eager to respond with a tough but clarifying word.
On one detail, however, the gospel tradition speaks with one voice: all three synoptics let us know that the man was rich. In each instance, when Jesus tells the man that he lacks one thing—that he needs to sell all that he owned and give the money to the poor in order to have treasure in heaven—the man goes away grieving because he had many possessions. For me, what has changed over time, is my attitude toward the man’s wealth.
Jesus and his followers were, for the most part, poor. They were not as desperate as widows, orphans, and other beggars, but these working-class travelers depended upon the generosity of friends, family, and like-minded Jews to support them and their work. They did not own property back home that would produce a reliable source of income to fuel their itinerant preaching hobby. Jesus told his followers not to take any money with them when they went out to share the good news of God’s reign, and we see that, after the resurrection of Jesus and before their post-Easter mission was clear, Peter and his colleagues return to their familiar trade as fishermen.
In the New Testament, any indication of wealth—and the social status it brings—is usually a sign of someone’s opposition to or exclusion from the reign of God. The exceptions prove the rule. For example, Cornelius, a powerful and wealthy Roman Centurion, becomes the one through who God does the unthinkable: extending the invitation to the covenant family of God to the Gentiles. In a very real sense, the last person we would expect to be a channel for God’s grace is, indeed, the very vessel through whom that message of grace is carried to the nations of the world.
Not every New Testament Christian accepts a life of poverty in order to follow Jesus. In the Letter of James, rich Christians are called out for failing to attend to the physical needs of other believers, implying that their inordinate attachment to wealth is preventing their full participation in the religious community. The author does not tell them to sell all that they own and give the money to the poor, but he does chastise them for identifying socially with the rich and powerful rather than the poor and lowly. If we want to hang out with Jesus, we may not need to become poor, but we will need to spend our time in the company of the impoverished.
Years ago, when I was first ordained, I probably would have assumed that the rich young man who asked Jesus what he needed to do to inherit eternal life was starting from a position of impenetrable hubris. Either he was so confident in his faithfulness in keeping the commandments that he expected Jesus to pat him on the back and say, “You’ve done enough,” or, to be only slightly more charitable, he assumed his list of outstanding spiritual chores was so short that he assumed Jesus would only have one or two additional requirements to name. Keeping with the dominant voice of scripture, I would have felt it was safe to hold this rich man in contempt. With this mindset, I would have heard Jesus’ correction as a startling “gotcha!” designed to humble the arrogant man and teach him where God’s reign was truly to be found.
More recently, though, I hear this encounter with a stronger sense of the sort of love and compassion drawn out particularly, but not exclusively, in Mark’s account. What if the man wasn’t at all confident in his spiritual status? What if he stayed up at night terrified that he hadn’t done enough to secure for himself a place in the resurrection? What if his question of Jesus was an honest, earnest plea, uttered in the hope that Jesus could finally put his worries to rest?
Given that the story ends with the man’s grief over the thought of giving up his numerous possessions, I do not think it is safe to assume the best of this man, but I do think there’s more spiritual promise for us when we hear his question asked honestly rather than arrogantly. Whatever his intention, what if Jesus delivered exactly the answer that the man needed to hear, regardless of whether he wanted to hear it?
I have heard stories of clergy who fling pledge cards across their offices in disgust at the relative pittance promised by particularly wealthy yet particularly miserly parishioners. And I have heard stories of clergy being asked by members of their parish what their fair share would be. I have never thrown a giving card in frustration, nor have ever had a parishioner ask me how much they are supposed to give, but I think my answer would be that each of us should give the amount that teaches us to trust more in God’s gifts than our own accomplishments. And, for some of us, that’s a whole lot of money.
Stewardship is not about raising money for the church. It is about providing a way for us to grow in our faith. Like going to church, reading the Bible, and saying your prayers, devoting your financial resources to God’s work in the world is one way to help us nurture our relationship with God by realigning our priorities with the priorities of God’s reign. How much should you give? As much as it takes to no longer be grieved when Jesus says, “Sell everything that you own and give the money to the poor.” Only when we have learned the spiritual state of not being attached to our earthly possessions can we know what it means to have treasure in heaven.
For some of us, that actually means giving everything away. The life of radical poverty pursued by Franciscans, Dominicans, Jesuits, and Benedictines is one way to be free of one’s attachment to wealth and worldly power. Individuals like Francis and Benedict found that they were unable to be faithful to Jesus as long as they had any material goods, so they gave it all away. More likely, we are called to give up a significant but not crippling amount—enough to teach us that financial security and the mindset that it brings are actually impediments to the kingdom of God—that only by identifying with the poor and vulnerable can we find Jesus.
In the church, we invite people to start with the tithe—a gift of one tenth of your income to the church and to any other organizations that help you be a part of God’s work in the world. The Bible suggests that ten percent is enough to make a spiritual difference in your life and in the life of your faith community without imposing the burden of poverty. If you can give away that much without experiencing a shift in your mindset away from earthly occupations toward heavenly concerns, you may need to give more. If you have already experienced freedom from attachment and preoccupation with financial matters, then maybe you only need to give less, though I have always found that less affluent people are more eager to be generous than their wealthier counterparts.
Returning to the example of the rich young man, what do you need Jesus to say to you? What spiritual insight does he have when he looks into your soul? What relief from confusion, arrogance, fear, or resentment does he invite you to receive in the answer he gives to your heart’s deepest longing? Jesus teaches us that it is God’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom. Even if the remedy he names for us is hard for us to hear, his yoke is easy, and his burden is light because the life into which he invites us is enabled by his love. Doing our part means allowing his love to grow in us until that love is all we have.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
