Mark 10:17–31
David A. Davis
October 11, 2015
Back in the summer I was standing inside one of the galleries in the Museum of Modern Art in New York City pondering several canvases of Monet’s “Water Lilies.” Two very long canvases hung on opposite walls of the room. The relatively small room was, of course, full of people. Some sitting on benches. Others moving around. Some just standing two or three deep in front of the paintings. I was standing next to Noel Werner, our Director of Music. In something of a stage whisper, with an excitement you would expect from Noel if he were sharing an analysis of a Bach Chorale, Noel shared with me an unsolicited commentary on Monet’s “Water Lilies,” Impressionism, the large number of water lily paintings, and the harsh criticism of Monet in the early years. It was like I rented a set of headphones except they were standing there beside me. I am teasing Noel a bit but I learned quite a lot in those few minutes. Stuff I didn’t know. A few days later I was in a much larger room in the Metropolitan Museum looking at several more “Water Lily” paintings. I picked up a pamphlet that provided background and commentary and smiled a bit since most of what I read Noel had already taught me.
But there was one more tidbit, one takeaway that didn’t come from Noel, one new observation for me about Monet and his “Water Lilies.” In the written material one scholar suggested that Monet transformed how a viewer encounters a painting. The traditional boundaries of canvas and frame and completeness were upended by how the lilies were not always in the center, were redefined by Monet’s focus and perspective. One of his greatest skills was that the paintings didn’t seem to end at the edge. The viewer keeps looking for more. Monet shattered the distinction between observer and canvas. Rather than standing there looking at a framed painting on the wall from a distance, the commentary concluded, one has the sense that the iconic “water lilies” draw you inside the painting, blurring all distinctiveness, until it is just you and the lilies over and over again.
Tradition labels the encounter with Jesus in this morning’s scripture passage as “The Rich Young Ruler.” It is one of those iconic biblical scenes that tags several compelling topics: eternal life, riches, possessions, the poor entering the kingdom of heaven, the eye of the needle, salvation, first and last. This gospel word-painting comes with a kind of ubiquitous familiarity to it. The rich young ruler. For some, from the earliest days of Sunday School. For others, from a college dorm room Bible study. Maybe from a memorable sermon back in the day. Or from your own reading of the gospel. No one ever forgets the rich young ruler. “What must I do to inherit eternal life? I have kept the commandments since my youth. You lack one thing. Sell all that you have and give to the poor. The man went way shocked and sorrowful for he had much. How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! It’s easier for camel to to go through the eye of the needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God. Who can be saved? For mortals it is impossible but not for God; for God all things are possible.” In the gallery halls of the Bible, Jesus and the rich young ruler, the encounter never goes away. It hangs there in a sort of unrelenting way.
And when you stand there and look at it, Jesus and the rich young ruler, preachers and teachers and scholars and armchair Bible experts come up to you in a stage whisper to offer thoughts on how to make it better, how to make it more palatable, how to ease the awkward tension, how to keep the encounter at a nice, safe, museum-like distance. Wealth and riches — it’s a metaphor for all that keeps us away from God. When you look at that iconic image, the meaning is much more spiritual and much less about all your stuff. Or, it’s exactly about your stuff, sell it all and give it away; as if an extreme, almost unreal literalism solves the challenge of the text. Or, the eye of the needle is a reference to a gate in the city walls. It’s not as much about trying to thread a sewing needle; it’s about a life-size camel just ducking a bit to get through the gate. Whew! That’s better. Or, the man went away shocked and grieving because he had much but the Bible never says whether he followed through or not. There is a tradition of an apocryphal ending that he was sad but he still sold and gave and followed. Or, the rich young man is a singular and unique example of Jesus knowing about the one thing for that one man. Sell and give. That was for him. The one thing for others could be any slew of things when it comes to a relationship with God. Don’t worry about the poor so much as discern Jesus’ one thing for you. And the followers of Jesus stand a few paces back tilting their heads and folding their arms, looking upon the portrait of Jesus and the rich young ruler.
Early this week I was with the peer group of Presbyterian pastors that gets together a few times a year. We were in Denver and on Tuesday we went up into the mountains to the Highlands Presbyterian Camp where we had lunch and spent the afternoon. A young camp staffer gave us a brief orientation and explained some options for the afternoon: a low ropes course, a labyrinth, a nature walk, a few different hikes. She described each hike and labeled one as very difficult, only about an hour, but pretty much straight up from where we were at 8,300 feet to just shy of 9,000. But the view, she said, was unbelievable and worth it. Soon after lunch, seven of us, confident in our hiking shape and ready to enjoy the sunshine and pretty sure she was overstating the difficulty due to our age, set off together to find the that trail. Within a few minutes, someone commented on the difference the altitude makes. After a while, someone, lamenting the lack of switchbacks, said, “Wow, she wasn’t kidding about ‘straight up.’” Then it started to rain. The clouds moved in. As we reached the top exactly an hour later with no view at all due to the weather, and we were drenched in rain and sweat and huffing and puffing. Before anyone exclaimed, “We did it!” or, “Would you look at that,” someone said, “Well, I guess she was right.” She may have been right about the view but we couldn’t see a thing. The reference was to how she was right about it being difficult.
When you find yourself standing there in the Bible’s hallowed halls pondering the rich young ruler and Jesus, someone ought to saddle up alongside of you, nudge you with an elbow, and with eyes all focused on the gospel scene, just say, “You know, it’s really difficult.” That’s all that needs to be said. Instead of offering an explanation, or softening the gospel’s discipleship blow, or trying to alleviate the lingering tension, can we just affirm how hard this is? Jesus and his instruction to the rich young man, his teaching about wealth, and helping the poor, and God’s impossible salvation, and the promise of a kingdom family, and the threat of persecution, and the promise of eternal life, and the first last, and the last first. Jesus on “Go, come, and follow.” Can someone just say, “It’s really difficult”?
If we were really looking at a painting together this morning instead of a text, can you imagine what it might look like, Mark’s version of the painting? Mark is the only one of the three who tells the reader that Jesus loved the man. I wonder what that love looks like on the face of Jesus. After the man tells Jesus that he has kept all these commandments since his youth, Mark writes, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, ‘You lack one thing.’” Jesus loved him. Here in Mark, Jesus loved him. In the Greek it is an “agape” love. It’s not a condescending, have-pity-on-him, “oh, you, young, young man, who thinks you kept the commandments,” a patting-him-on-the-head kind of love. He loved him. It’s not an admiration of his faithfulness in commandment-keeping. Therefore you have earned my respect and my love. It is an agape kind of love. He loved him. As our own Professor Clifton Black puts it, “Jesus looks the man in the eye with love.” He loved him and said, “You lack one thing.”
It’s really difficult. Can somebody just say it? This life of discipleship, figuring out how to live faithfully in the day to day. Trying to live as God intends and as Jesus teaches. Attempting to balance the demands of a life in Christ with the world’s pushback. Yearning to be a doer of the word and not just a hearer only. It’s really difficult. It ought to be difficult. Or to put another way, if there isn’t a growing edge to your faith, a place where the gospel is rubbing against your life, rubbing it raw, maybe you ought to look again. No one ever forgets Jesus and the rich young ruler. “What must I do to inherit eternal life? I have kept the commandments since my youth. You lack one thing. Sell all that you have and give to the poor. The man went way shocked and sorrowful for he had much. How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! It’s easier for camel to go through the eye of the needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God. Who can be saved? For mortals it is impossible but not for God; for God all things are possible. The first last and the last first.” Can I get a “My, my, my! That’s really hard!”
Jesus and the rich young ruler. In the mercy and mystery of God, it’s not only difficult, it’s transformative. In all the power of the scripture as a living word, the Living Word of God, there is not only challenge but there is promise. In the mighty movement of God’s grace, the gospel convicts and the gospel saves. In the wonder of the Holy Spirit, God works to erase the distance. The traditional boundaries of text and scripture and the old, old world of the Bible are upended. You just can’t keep standing back and looking. With a divine artistry, the Word draws you in and blurs all the distinctiveness until it is just you and Jesus over and over again. Until it’s Jesus looking you in the eye with love.
There comes a time for all of us in this life of faith to which we have been called, this “Go, come, and follow” life with Jesus, there will come a time when all of us, every single one of us, huffing and puffing and sweating and sighing and clinching and shaking, when you are going to have to say, “Well, I guess he was right.” And his love will never be more powerful, more transformative, more saving, than right then. Exactly then. When you and I know, really know, how difficult this really is.
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