Spiritual direction: Pray for the grace to see disordered attachments.
The story of the questions of the wealthy ruler is a sad story (also known as “the rich young ruler,” Mark 10: 17- 27 ). An earnest and devoted seeker of truth and lover of God sees Jesus walking along the way and runs to him and kneels before him and calls him both “good” and “teacher.” This bears witness to his sense of respect for Jesus and also his own humility. Jesus' initial response is odd; it is almost a rebuke: Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone?
Jesus then recounts the commandments in answer to the man’s question about what he must do to inherit eternal life: don’t murder; don’t commit adultery; don’t steal; don’t lie; don’t cheat; honor your father and your mother.
He (the inquiring man) testified that he had lived according to these commandments since his childhood. But, we come to see, living by such commandments is not enough to gain eternal life. Jesus indicates that, despite this fellow’s holy and dutiful living, his efforts fall short. He must completely disenfranchise himself before he will be suited to be received into God’s eternal kingdom. For this man, it means selling his possessions and giving the funds to empower the poor.
What a letdown! This man, though he had lived in a way that honored God, came to see despairingly that his efforts were in vain. He went away saddened. I’m guessing this sadness arose not so much because he would have to give up his many possessions to take hold of the elusive eternal assurance, but because his life’s work of obedience to the commands that God himself laid out for his people, was not the path. What’s the point, then, of living obedient to God’s very command?
As Jesus proffered this disappointing news, he “looked at him and loved him.” After the man departed in sorrow, Jesus’ followers remained shocked: It is difficult to enter God‘s kingdom! They wondered, Who could be saved? If this holy man, who lived his whole life in devotion to God, cannot reach eternal blessedness, how can anyone reach it?
Jesus (in his confusing way) consoles them by assuring them that entrance is not dependent nor contingent upon the efforts of man – no matter how holy – but upon the mysterious movements of God. God himself will do what man is unable to do.
The story is a mix of contradictions: hard news and hope. A devout, dutiful, and earnest man, who recognized the authority and beatitude of Christ himself and who had organized his entire life around obedience to God‘s commands, could not reach the eternal kingdom.
Yet conferring this hard news, Jesus (in his loving way) seems to invite him to a place of hope. It’s as if he was trying to communicate to him: You’re close, but you lack one thing: you have yet to give up your place of worldly power. In other words, it is easy to love God and obey the rules from a place of security and self-defined station. Anyone can do that. True devotion to God is shown in asserting the same constancy but from a place of weakness and vulnerability.
Even the slightest willingness to follow God in this way, is met by God to ignite the spark that enables the religious seeker to let go of all that keeps him on the edges and bring him front and center into the blessed Kingdom. (“With God, all things are possible.”) The point for Jesus isn’t “money,” though that was the issue for the inquiring man. The point is unconditional stripping of one’s self-definitions and coming to Jesus’ side, as if like a newborn baby, naked and helpless. I trip over this time and again, not so much in cleaving to my own station and sense of power (all of that was stripped from me long ago) but in my resistance to accept that stripping with the praise and glory due him. Yet, on I go, following Jesus in my hobbled way. Why?
Because of his exchange later in the same chapter (vv 46-51), with the begging and blind Bartimeaus, a man without power or station. This moment stands in stark contrast to his encounter with the rich ruler. Bartimeaus cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” and Jesus responded— What do you want me to do?
So, for all the confusion about the terms, it comes down to this: there is an odd and holy intersection in the Christian life, feeling at times that the way is too hard (like the rich man) while at the same time crying out helplessly to the only One who can save (like Bartimeaus). At once we cry out against the struggle of it and cry out in helpless supplication.
Or, as one early contemplative said it: From Thee I fly to Thee.