Trust in the postmodern age
Proper 23B  |  Mark 10:17-31

You thought last week’s teaching about marriage and divorce was spicy! Check this one out! Jesus is on fire, friends. And he comes to cleanse.

This is also one of his last teachings before they arrive in Jerusalem and part of what we might call his Passion Prediction Discourse—this collection of teachings about the Kin-dom and how different it is from the disciples’ expectations. So we should bring with us all of this other teaching, just as we have over the last few weeks. About the children and not being stumbling blocks—about commitment and compassion and sharing the love of God with others.

This is what we’re thinking about when a man runs up to Jesus as he’s leaving town, drops to his knees, and begs Jesus to tell him what he must do to inherit eternal life.

We’re going to pick apart this story, because it is full of stuff—assumptions and details, communicating the purpose and mistakes of faith. And we’re going to see why we always seem to see things the way this man does rather than Jesus.

Do, Inherit, Eternal Life

The man’s question is stocked with assumption. And we need to see why his assuming obscures the truth—why he can’t see the way forward because of the way he sees his situation.

First, he frames the question as a matter of action. “What must I do?” he asks, which assumes doing is the matter of the moment. Many of us like to split our lives into a duality of thinking or doing. And we feel the need to be active in a moment. It is why, in Luke’s gospel, we side with Martha in the kitchen “doing something” over Mary who we treat as doing nothing. But this, of course, isn’t true. She is being with Jesus in what we call fellowship.

“What must I do?” is also a way of defining the purpose of the children of God as embodied by a set of actions, governed as rules, which determine two outcomes: what we might refer to as good or bad, saved or unsaved.

Looking at life as a sequence of things done is missing much of what it means to live, distorting our relationship to God and creation. And leads to the second issue: inherit.

We inherit from our parents materials when they die. This isn’t something that we receive now. It is about later. When the time comes. So the man is asking about what he must do now to ensure that, when the time comes, he will be good.

The man knows that he is a good person because he has kept all of the commandments, is respected by the community, he’s probably an Eagle Scout, was a valedictorian of his high school and served as class president. He hasn’t just been a good kid, he has done everything right in his life. So he expects that this should ensure his place with God.

And now he comes to Jesus asking for definitive proof. Tell me how to fix the game so I win. So I can know now that I will win. 

And what is he hoping to win? Eternal life, vibrant living. A present abundance and future endurance. To be protected and celebrated now and forever.

This is what he asks and Jesus messes with him.

Who is Good?

The man makes the request by calling Jesus “Good Teacher” and Jesus responds with a curious distinction. He quibbles with the man’s use of good here. That he calls Jesus good, but Jesus responds 

“Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.”

because doing and being good is not the work. “Good” is a way of categorizing, systematizing, evaluating, and judging what people do. Good is what we name the actions we pre-judge as acceptable and necessary. How we define our being, not around a life of faith, but an objective system for living.

So Jesus jumps into the one system they have: the Ten Commandments, asking if he knows them. And the man says that he has kept all of them like rules that should ensure a “good” outcome.

Then Jesus says he “lacks” one thing. Notice this word here. Notice what Jesus is suggesting: he lacks something. Then notice how that contrasts with our own assumptions of what he says next: that the man must do three things. That he must go and sell his possessions, give his money to the poor, and follow Jesus.

This will help him address his lack. How? What does he lack? Jesus doesn’t say, but I suspect it is something approximating total trust. Trust in God being good, not him. Trust in God, not a system. He must lack of possession, security, and certainty to gain the one thing he presently lacks: faith.

This is where Jesus makes explicit what they should have understood the whole time.

The Disciples are Children.

They are confused by Jesus’s teaching because they are too busy thinking like adults. Adults raised in a system of profit and security and a great lack of faith. But this is what Jesus tells them. That they are children—which we’ve heard over the last few weeks are the inheritors of the Kin-dom. They are obsessed with rules and ways and doing, too! They can’t see what was before them the whole time: that they’re good.

So now there is one last element we have to wrestle with, and it is the most faith-stealing element in our lives and is the most conflicting part of this gospel for us: wealth. Here’s why Jesus suggests that possessing wealth is the greatest obstacle to participating in the Kin-dom—and why this rich man is an exemplar of our problem.

We get the attachment; that giving away our wealth is difficult. But remember, it is trust and faith that the man lacks. Because wealth provides security. It ensures safety. And personal wealth ensures personal safety without regard to the safety of our neighbors. Like voting for our personal interests.

What Jesus addresses with the disciples is that this teaching is hard, yes—for the wealthy. Not for them. Peter is still missing the point. He starts listing all of the things they have done, the sacrifices made. He didn’t notice that Jesus called them children, that children are last in the world and first in the Kin-dom. But he and the other disciples have already done what the rich man hasn’t. They have left everything behind and followed Jesus into the unknown. They gave up safety and security for trust in Jesus.

Trust in the Postmodern Age

So where does that leave us? 

Well, if you’ve been following along over the last few weeks, you might recognize the first mistake we could make is to think of this as an individual teaching for individual people to embody in their individual lives—as if we don’t live together in a society surrounded by other people interconnected by our common environment. 

And let us also not forget the first mistake of the pious man in the passage: that this is a matter of doing so that we can label ourselves good people who do the “right” thing. That posture isn’t faithful. It is trying to hack the system so God is forced to bless you.

So let us throw out the idea that you must run out, sell everything, give the money to people living under the bridge, and follow Jesus in sackcloth and homelessness. But let us also throw out the other literalist extreme of reading it as metaphor disconnected from the wealth we may or may not possess.

Let us instead hear what Jesus speaks of to the pious man: that he lacks something in all of his pursuing of good behavior, safety, and security. How he thinks he can ensure that he will live forever and be loved by all the people. That there shall be no wanting in his life, no sadness or distance, no frustration or fear. That he can ensure greatness for himself and not give a damn about the lives of other people. 

And every one of those ten commandments deals with ensuring we respect (dare we say love?) other people.

The purpose of our lives is to live in faith.

And we are measured by our love. Not by systems or rules. It isn’t about the perfect way to greet a person who comes into church or the donuts we serve at coffee hour. It isn’t about the way we are welcomed, the words we use, or the analysis of what makes a church succeed. 

These aren’t expressions of trust, my friends, or even love. These are systems for doing (or evaluating the doings of others). Our work isn’t perfecting our systems for doing, thereby ensuring we inherit eternal life. 

It is discovering our faith. Realizing we are already children. That our lives, lived in faith and trust, reflect the love of God. That this, yes, is good. But that isn’t what we lack. We are good at being good. At figuring out good. What we need help with is faith.

But we have a Savior who is really good at faith. Who is really good at trusting us. In trusting his disciples when they are confused and conflicted. Even when they can’t heal anybody anymore and they try to stop others from healing. 

It is on the faith of Christ that we hang our faith. That all of this is dependent, not on our ingenuity, and certainly not on our wealth!, but on our faith. And at a time when the world is full of fear and distrust—of refusing to see the light of Christ in our neighbors, immigrants, the poor and marginalized, in our schools and public libraries, we are the ones working on that one thing that can help everyone. We are learning how to keep and grow faith. Not as rules, but a way of life. Of living. Being people of love, today and every day. Everywhere we go, every place we dwell. And with everyone, everywhere. As the children we are.