Yesterday
afternoon I officiated at my 1st wedding. Now I love weddings—the promise of a long and happy shared
life, the opportunity to celebrate with family and friends, and the beauty
surrounding the ceremony. But I do
not envy B and D—nor do I envy any other newlywed couple—because I would not
like to repeat the first year of marriage. I found it to be the hardest year. Every time I signed my name Mari Lyn Jones—instead
of Mari Lyn Whisler—it was as if a pain shot through my heart. Now, I loved Kevin—I still do. I knew he was the one I wanted to spend
my life with, the one I wanted to raise a family with, but in those first few
months, I found I did not want to become Mari Lyn Jones. I wanted to stay Mari Lyn
Whisler. Looking back, I realize
that in this first year of marriage, I was grieving—grieving what I perceived
to be the loss of my identity. At
some primitive fight or flight level, I was resisting the threat of change.
Many
years later, when Kevin and I made the decision I would attend seminary, we
knew we would have to sell our home and move into student housing on
campus. There, we qualified for a
2-bedroom apartment—about 750 sq. feet.
Our house in RR was 1800 sq. ft.
As we began to prepare our house for sale, Kevin and I stood in our 4th
bedroom—the room we had made into a study with 8 full, free-standing
bookshelves lining 3 of the walls—and our hearts ached. Avid readers, we had at least 2 full
shelves of fiction, classic literature, books we had read and re-re-read and
wanted to re-read again. We had a
whole bookshelf of “churchy” books—devotionals, Bible studies, commentaries. We
had 2 – 3 shelves of science and math books . . . and the list goes on. We could not take all these books with
us, nor could we store them all.
We could not take ½ of these books with us! Letting go of some of them
was like parting with dear, old friends.
Oh, we found good homes for our favorite literature. We offered the textbooks, teachers’
editions, and curriculum notes to newly-graduated, soon-to-be teachers. And some books ended up at Half-Price
book-store, which would hopefully find them a good home. But we grieved the loss of those
books—probably more than we grieved the loss of furniture and other household
items we had collected during our 20 years in that house.
“But the man was dismayed at this statement and
went away saddened.”[1] Other translations say the man was
sorrowful, or he had a heavy heart, or he grieved. Grieving—that’s what this man is doing in today’s text. He comes to Jesus seeking eternal life,
and he leaves Jesus grieving.
Jesus tells him to sell all that he owns, give the money to the poor,
and then come join Jesus and his followers. Mark says he went away grieving because he had great
wealth—he had many possessions. If
he does not part with them, if he does not do what Jesus asks, he
feels like he comes away empty-handed—without that eternal life he is
seeking. That’s certainly a reason
for grieving.
Mark
says he went away grieving because he had great wealth. In Greco-Roman society, a man of great
wealth had possessions, power, and prestige. If he does what Jesus is asking, if he gives away his
wealth, he loses his prestige, his place in society—his identity; he loses
his possessions—his physical comforts; and he loses his power—his
financial and political security.
He thinks, if he does what Jesus is asking of him, he loses
everything he knows. And he faces
a great unknown. That is certainly
a reason for grieving!
Now
we don’t know what happens after he leaves Jesus grieving. We don’t know if he returns home and
continues to live as before—keeping the commandments. “Teacher,” he responded, “I’ve kept all of these
[commandments] since I was a boy.”[2] We don’t know if he returns to
prestige, possessions, and power—and from a new frame reference—begins to use
them to help the poor and the powerless.
We don’t know if he sells all he has and returns to Jesus joining his
group of followers—becoming part of the feeding, healing, teaching, and
welcoming that signal the kingdom of God here and now. We don’t know what happens after he
leaves Jesus grieving.
Regardless,
I suspect he was changed by this encounter with Jesus. It began with him approaching Jesus
from a personal, individual perspective.
What must I do to
secure my eternal life? Jesus
reframes the perspective from the self-centered I and my to interpersonal—us and we. First, Jesus names the 6
person-to-person relational commandments of the 10 commandments—(It’s verse 19,
if you want to follow along with me.) to respect others’ lives, respect others’
marital relationships, respect others’ property, respect others’ character,
respect others’ honor, and respect your parents. Then, Jesus invites him into
the topsy-turvy of the kingdom of God. Instead of spending his wealth on his
own desires and comfort, put it to work in meeting the basic needs of those
without power, without prestige, and without possessions. Lastly, Jesus invites the man into his
own circle of followers—offering him an alternative family, a greater purpose,
and a different home. Jesus
encourages the man to move from self-interest, self-importance, and
self-serving to others-centered living.
And Jesus offers this in a progression of steps.
I
suspect the disciples, too, are changed by their observation of this
encounter. For Jesus clearly
refutes the “common wisdom” of his day—that those with material possessions and
wealth are the ones the ones who are blessed by God and therefore the ones who
are righteous,. Jesus implies that
they carry a heavy burden—a burden of temptation. Tempted to spend their wealth on themselves,tempted to
parlay their prestige into fame, tempted to use their power for their own benefit
and security. “It will be
very hard for the wealthy to enter God’s kingdom!” . . . It’s
easier for a camel to squeeze through the eye of a needle than for a rich
person to enter God’s kingdom.”[3] It’s hard to let go of
prestige, power, and possession—to move from self-interest to other-serving
living, and that is entering the kingdom of God.
I suspect the
disciples, are changed by their observation of this encounter. Jesus affirms Peter’s realization that the
disciples have already done what Jesus is asking the rich man to do. Leaving home, work, and family, they
have given up their possessions, their place in society, and whatever power
they previously wielded in order to follow Jesus. Trusting Jesus, they have walked away from the familiar and
have embraced the unknown. He
promises them what he offered the rich man—family, work, and home—in abundance
both now and in the time to
come. Jesus is realistic; being an
agent in bringing about the kingdom of God—healing, feeding, welcoming—is not
all fun and games. But it is work
filled with hope, for with God, all things are possible.
This
church’s identity, possessions, and power—have changed over the years. We are not the congregation we were
when this church was chartered 145 years ago—with an emphasis on evangelism in
a western town. Nor are we the
congregation that all the “power people in Paola” joined as in the 1960s. We are more than the original 16 charter
members but less than the 450 recorded in the 1950s. While we continue to
worship, study, and fellowship together in this historic building, the number
of programs and activities has changed.
Our voice—the voice of the church in general and the voice of this
particular expression of the church—is not attended to as it once was in American
culture or in Paola. Like the man
in today’s text, we grieve. We
grieve the perceived loss of identity, power, and prestige.
And
Jesus offers us the same hopeful words he offers his disciples in today’s
text. “All
things are possible for God.” [4] He recasts our vision of the future of
this church just as he recasts the man’s request for eternal life. First, Jesus invites us to change our
inward focus and to turn outward—let go of me and my, what I want,
and begin to consider what others need.
Next Jesus calls us to use our resources for the well-being of
others. Look for the
disenfranchised and speak up for them; meet the hungry with food, the poor with
jobs, and the sick with healing; notice the invisible; and welcome the
outsider. In other words, Jesus
invites us into the work of the kingdom
of God. Finally, Jesus
encourages us to live and worship, to work and study, to play and fellowship
with one another—to be family
with each other. Jesus invites us
to move from grieving for who we once were into celebrating and embracing who
God now calls us to be.
“All things are possible for God.”[5]
May
we move forward, as one body, into the hopeful future where God is calling—the
hopeful future in which we, as a welcoming community of faith, invite all
people to discover God’s transforming love; the hopeful future in which we,
working as agents of God’s good purposes, proclaim God’s good news with voice
and with action. With God’s help,
the best days, weeks, months, and years of this church are yet to come! Amen.
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