I
don’t know about you, but I have always been haunted by this
scripture passage. It’s on the short list of texts where I hope
Jesus didn’t mean exactly what he said, but I’m never quite sure.
I do know that the story of the Rich Young Ruler is impossible to
dismiss: It appears in all three synoptic Gospels and it ranks among
the most famous of biblical stories. 

The
words “rich young ruler” don’t actually appear in the text. I
don’t know when this story acquired that name, but it does us a
disservice in some ways. We hear “rich young ruler” and we think,
“that’s not me.” We might think, “I’m not rich,” or “I’m
not that rich.” Many of us think, “I’m not young” (I know my
knees think I’m not young and that I should act my age and stop
climbing mountains already). And probably none of us here identify as
a “ruler” – though if you changed that to “manager” a few
of us, myself included, would identify with it. 
  
But
those words, rich young ruler, aren’t in the text, and if we put
that familiar label aside and listen to the man’s story, and
imagine who he might be in our own time, he starts to sound a lot
more like many of us. 
  
Allow
me to update the story for you. 

Imagine
the scene: The teacher is leaving. His lecture is done, the Q&A
is over, he’s in the parking lot packing up his car, getting ready
to head home. And a man comes running up to him, out of breath. He
has a burning question on his mind and he didn’t get called on
during the discussion but he just knows he must catch the teacher
before he leaves town. 

He
kneels down – he’s a huge fan, he has tremendous respect for the
teacher, he’s read all of his books – and he asks: “Good
teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 

He’s
a good man, and it’s an earnest question. 

Now,
we need to step back for a moment from our 21^st-century
parking lot to 1^st-century
Palestine to understand the words in this question. When we hear the
words “eternal life” many of us think of an afterlife, going to
heaven after we die, something separate from this life. But that is
not at all what it meant in Jesus’s time. Rather than being a
temporal idea, something about some future time, eternal life as
Jesus spoke about it was about a quality
of life – about knowing God, a life lived connected to God, a
richer life of purpose. It isn’t separate from this life. 

The
phrase “eternal life” is used interchangeably with “kingdom of
God” and “kingdom of heaven” throughout the synoptic Gospels.
It is about living into, establishing the kingdom – the reign –
the dominion – of God and doing it now.
In
that way, it is about living into and working for God’s vision for
the world. This is most explicit in the Lord’s prayer: “Thy
kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” 

So
the man’s question, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
is a question about what it takes to be part of the kingdom, what it
takes to do the work of the kingdom, to have that richer, purposeful
life, to work for God’s vision in the world. 

He’s
a good man, and it’s an earnest question. 

  

And
Jesus says to him, “you know the commandments: ‘you shall not
murder.’”

  
And
the man thinks, “OK, I’ve got that one. Check.” 

“You
shall not commit adultery.” 

“Well,
I’m no Donald Trump. So, check.” 
“You
shall not steal.” 

“There
was that time I really wanted to steal my little brother’s baseball
mitt. 
But I didn’t. Check.” 

“You
shall not bear false witness.” 

“Not
always easy, but at the end of the day it’s just not right
denigrate anyone else’s reputation, no matter what you think of
them. Yeah, check.” 

“You
shall not defraud.” 

“I’ve
always been an honest businessman. Main Street, not Wall Street. I’ve paid my employees fairly, never cheated my customers or sold those
cheaper widgets that break too quickly. Check.”

“Honor
your father and mother.” 

“Always.
When Dad got sick, I was in the hospital every day, and when he
passed away, we had Mom move in with us, even though we didn’t have
a lot of extra room. Yes, check.” 
  
And
then he thinks, “phew!” and says to Jesus, “I have kept all
these since my youth.” 
  
It’s
not a cocky response. He’s not saying, “Hey, look how great I
am.” After all, the very fact that he’s there in the parking lot
with that question, “what must I do…” indicates that he has
doubts that he’s doing enough. 
  
But
he’s good man. He’s lived an upright life; he’s done right by
his family, his neighbors, friends, his employees, his customers. He
coaches Little League, he organizes the annual charity dinner for the
local hospital, he goes to church every Sunday. 

  
He’s
serious about his faith. That’s why he’s there with that
question. It’s an earnest question. 
  
And
Jesus sees all of that. Mark says “Jesus, looking at him, loved
him.” Jesus doesn’t discount any of what the man has done when he
says this next thing to him: 

“You
lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor
and you will have treasure in heaven; then, come, follow me.” 

It’s
not that what the man has done is bad, it’s just that Jesus is
saying there’s more. If you truly want to experience eternal life,
if you want to be part of the kingdom, to build the kingdom, to do
God’s work in the world, there is more; and this is what it is. 

Our
good man is shocked. He’s devastated. And he goes away, the story
says, “grieving, for he had many possessions.” 

Can
you imagine? 

Give
up everything?
I could increase my pledge, he thinks, maybe even tithe. But
everything?
And if I give everything away, how will I live? What about my family? 

And
what does it mean, “follow me?” I thought that’s what I was
doing. 
This
story is about many things, including the undisputable bias against
economic wealth that runs throughout the Bible. 

But
it’s about other things, too. 

Now
I don’t know if we are all supposed to literally sell everything.

I
do know how the Rich Young Ruler feels when he hears that, though.
Because I have many possessions, too, and as much as I want to follow
Jesus, I know right now I am not giving away everything I own. I
can’t bring myself to do it. Or at least not yet, I won’t say
never. 

But
I want to sidestep the question this morning of how literally to take
this directive and focus instead on another dimension of the message
in the story. 
This
scripture is about reflection and self-assessment, and then about
encountering judgment from a higher power that leads to deeper
reflection and self-assessment. 

The
man asks how he’s doing spiritually. He takes stock as he reviews
how he’s lived up to the commandments Jesus lists. And then he is
issued a deeper challenge; and through that he comes to recognize how
much more he has than he realized, how much more he could give, and
how very hard it would be to do it. 

At
its heart, this is a story about recognizing privilege in our lives. 

And
in this Trumpian moment, when the oppressors pretend that they are
the oppressed, when the vulnerable are scapegoated, I cannot think of
a more relevant lesson for our times. 

I
want to suggest to you that the most useful way to understand and
apply this story in our lives today is not to focus only on literal
economic wealth, but to think about currencies of power and privilege
throughout our lives – whether that be economic privilege we have
because of our income or family background, institutional power or
status that we have through a position we hold at work or in the
community, or social privilege that we have because of our race or
sex, religion or immigration status, our ethnicity or sexuality. 
What
Jesus is calling us to do in this story is to look deeper at
everything we have, at how exactly we fit into the many social
structures we each are a part of, to recognize where we have
privilege and power in our lives—and to understand that following
him means putting all of it into play. 

Being
a part of the kingdom of God, doing the work of the kingdom means
holding nothing back. If it is God’s intent and desire that no one
be excluded; that no one is inside or outside or better than or worse
than; that the poor, the marginalized and the oppressed of this world
are to be welcomed and defended, then we cannot be a part of that if
we insist on holding onto our own privilege and power. We must be
willing to risk our privilege if we are serious about seeking eternal
life and working in the service of God’s vision for the world. 

To
say that this is difficult is an understatement. And the Rich Young
Ruler, our good man, has plenty of company among those who are
unwilling or unable to give up what they have, to use their privilege
or risk their privilege, in the service of God’s kingdom. 

The
white person who remains silent when her neighbors are talking about
“those illegals” at the block party, and how glad they are that
we’re going to build that wall – even though she knows her
silence means they will think she agrees. 

The
up-and-coming manager who crosses the picket line because the CEO
sent a memo saying all non-union workers were to report to duty as
normal – even though he knows that crossing that line means the
strike will be broken and the workers won’t get the healthcare
their families so desperately need. 
The
senators who say they are opposed to Trump’s bigotry, his nominees,
his unconstitutional executive orders, but enable business as usual
to proceed – even though that business puts in harm’s way
millions of  undocumented immigrants, Muslims, LGBTQI people, and
people covered by the Affordable Care Act. 

Clergy
people, and especially bishops and other high-ranking clergy people,
who do not use their status as moral authority figures to denounce
the rising tide of white nationalism because they are afraid of
backlash from some in their congregations or from other church
officials. Silence, as the gay community reminded the world during
the early AIDS crisis, IS complicity. 

Jesus
is speaking to all of these people, and to all of us, in this story.
Speaking up, using your privilege, disrupting the harm, risking your
security to protect the vulnerable – that is the work of the
kingdom.   

In
Luke’s story, after the man goes away grieving, Jesus piles on with
one of the Bible’s most famous one-liners: “It is easier for a
camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich
to enter the kingdom of God.” As if we weren’t already feeling
like what Jesus is asking is impossible. Indeed, the disciples had
the same reaction. “Then who can be saved?” they ask one another. 

If
the story ended here, it would be a bitter tale about our inability
to give up power and privilege for the pursuit of justice. And most
of human history confirms this dark narrative. 

But
it’s not
the end of the story. 

Jesus
says to his disciples, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for
God; for God all things are possible.” 

Do
you believe that? Do you believe that God can inspire mortals to
great acts of daring and personal sacrifice for human freedom?

I
do. 

Because
that dark narrative of history is interrupted time and again, in big
ways and small, by another narrative, one about the irrepressible
struggle for truth, for justice, for freedom. 

Martin
Luther: “Here I stand. I can do no other.” All things are
possible for God. 

Harriet
Tubman: She risked her own life over and over to free others from
slavery. All things are possible for God. 

The
Freedom Riders:  Black and white women and men together defying
segregation laws in the face of violence, jail, and constant danger.
Yes, all things are possible for God. 

The
U.S. Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 60s is, to me, the finest
chapter of our nation’s history precisely because it is such
eloquent testimony to how God moves in the world inspiring people to
majestic heights of courage and sacrifice and love. 

God
is there, too, making all things possible, with every conscientious
objector, with every whistleblower who risks her job to expose unsafe
work conditions or government crimes. 

And
God is here, now, in the incredible stand indigenous people have
taken to protect native lands and water against the Dakota Access
Pipeline, in which they have faced down attack dogs, concussion
grenades, water cannons in sub-freezing weather, and arrests, among
other things, and yet remain standing at Standing Rock, in prayer and
witness for the earth itself.

God
is here in the thousands of federal employees who have gone rogue,
risking their jobs by copying data to make sure it’s not destroyed,
filing dissent memos, leaking information to the media and sharing
information directly with the public.

God
is here in the resistance to the Muslim ban and the deportation
orders, in the activists who laid their bodies down in front of an
ICE van last week to prevent the deportation of Guadalupe García and
in the rabbis who were arrested blockading a Manhattan street in
defense of their Muslim sisters and brothers and siblings. In the
thousands upon thousands of protesters who have taken to the streets
every day of the Trump presidency, shoulder to shoulder with people
they had heretofore avoided, chanting “no prisons, no pipelines, no
ban, no wall.” 

Yes,
all things are possible for God. 

The
question for all of us is, What
things will we let God make possible in our lives? Where
are the places we are called to recognize and risk the power and
privilege we have to do the work of God’s kingdom? 

The
answers to these questions are as unique as each of us and our
relationship with God. But if we want to inherit eternal life and do
the work of God’s kingdom, we cannot stay silent and safe on the
sidelines while civil rights are rolled back, Muslims are
scapegoated, immigrants are deported, queer and trans people are
bullied, and dissidents are silenced. We cannot. 

What
will you risk? How can you use your privilege? If you’re a U.S.
citizen, will you risk arrest when others cannot? If you’re white,
will you be part of a buffer zone at demonstrations between police
and people of color in order to minimize the danger of police
violence against black and brown bodies? If you’re a Christian,
will you speak up every time you hear an islamophobic remark, whether
it’s your brother-in-law or your boss who makes it? 

Imagine
you are at a protest like the one outside the ICE office where
Guadalupe García was held last week. She came to this country when
she was 14, 21 years ago. She’s married and has two kids, 14 and
16, and has worked hard her whole life. Imagine someone like
Guadalupe is about to be deported. She is in the van. Then comes word
that there is a safe house that will offer her sanctuary, they just
need 20 minutes to get someone there to pick her up. The van is about
to leave. 

Would
you lay down in front of that van? Would you tie yourself to the
tires? Would you slash those tires, to buy that 20 minutes? 

“Go,
sell what you own, and give the money to the poor and you will have
treasure in heaven; then, come, follow me.” 

“For
God all things are possible.”

Amen. 
 February 12, 2017