Mark 10:17-31, from Proper 23(28)
Sarah Hinlicky Wilson says that all we can do with a passage like this week’s is “manage it,” by which she means figure out a way to make it say something other than what it plainly says.
Jesus surly can’t have meant that we should sell everything, give the money to the poor, and follow him. I mean, where’s the sense it that? The real point of the passage must be (pick one):
- The rich, young ruler mistakenly thought he had kept the law. Jesus needed to disabuse him of that error.
- Nobody can keep the law. The story traps us into admitting as much.
- This particular rich, young ruler’s redemption involved his abandoning his wealth. Our redemption may involve something else.
- The “give up your riches” command applies only to the wealthy … wealthier than I am, that is.
- The “give up your riches” command applies to everyone, because everyone is richer than someone. But Jesus says God can handle our inability to do it. So all’s well.
- Like Peter, we have, in fact, given it all up.
But what if these are all just dodges? What if the awful, impractical truth is that Jesus really meant what he said, here – both to the rich, young ruler and to us?
Mark, of course, is no help at all. He just drops this story in our laps and moves on. As Wilson says, “Mark’s is a relentless Gospel, which seems not so much to invite to faith as to prove again and again the impossibility of faith.”
So with that happy though on the screen, what am I supposed to do with this passage? Frankly, I don’t know. And maybe I’m not supposed to know. Maybe I’m just supposed to react like the rich, young ruler did. Maybe my face is supposed to fall like his did, and maybe I am to walk sadly away without the answer I had hoped to receive. But maybe I also am supposed to notice that Jesus loved the rich, young ruler, and that he loves me, too. And maybe I’m supposed to cling to that hope in my bewilderment – and also to what the rich, young ruler didn’t hear: that, with God, all things are possible. And maybe, instead of continuing to walk away, as the rich, young ruler apparently did, I am to turn around, come back, lay this ambiguity at Jesus’ feet along with everything else I am able to lay there, and ask him to help me do all that he requires.
At least the rich, young ruler lacked only one thing. I’m afraid I lack many things. This week, at least for a while, I lacked forgiveness. Someone treated me badly, and not in a small way. I was angry, then I calmed down. Then, in a flash, I was angry again. I don’t know about you, but anger is like that for me. It comes in waves. One crashes over me. Then, in the trough after it passes, I think maybe, maybe, it’s over. Then I see another wave rising.
But in the middle of the turmoil, the person who had wronged me came around to try to patch things up. There was no apology per se. This person doesn’t do much apologizing. But the person at least confessed to having acted upon a few misperceptions. In the end, I think the person realized the harm that had been done and felt empathy and maybe remorse, if not all that much responsibility. But somehow, that half-baked outreach was enough for me. My anger vanished, as did my hunger for revenge. I didn’t trust this person before, and I think it would be unwise to begin trusting this person now. We are not, and probably never will be, friends. But at least I no longer … hate this person.
Had you told me back in one of those troughs between waves of anger that eternal life would be mine if only I would forgive this person, my face would have fallen, and I would have gone away sad, because in terms of the right to hate, I had great wealth. But Jesus saw me and loved me. And somehow, with God, all things are possible.
Next week: Proper 24(29)
