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| "Jesus and the Rich Young Man" Heinrich Hofmann, 19th Cent. |
“How hard it will be for those who have
wealth to enter the Kingdom of God.” (Mark
10:23)
That’s a pretty intimidating scriptural
passage I just quoted above, don’t you think? Fortunately, it’s not one I
personally need to be intimidated by since I don’t think I possess anything
that could really be described as wealth
by the standards of our society. Of course, as I stop and think about it, I’m
really living in unimaginable wealth and luxury compared to just about anyone
living in the developing world. My modest little two-bedroom twin home (made
affordable on my pastor’s salary thanks to my state’s Fair and Affordable
Housing Act) is a freakin’ palace
next to a mud hut in Uganda[i] or some place like that.
But still, the Gospel appointed for
Pentecost 21 Year B in the Revised Common Lectionary (Mark 10:17-31) doesn’t
sound like anything I can preach to my congregation. I mean, the danger of
excessive wealth isn’t really a problem we face here in Northeast Philly. Most
of my folks are living paycheck-to-paycheck, and the church is too. We’re just
barely hanging on here, cutting corners, downsizing, and watching while other
Lutheran parishes are going down like Custer at the Big Horn. Do we really need
to be warned about being wealthy..?
I should be so lucky to be pastor of some
suburban congregation with a million dollar endowment fund and a bunch of hedge
fund managers and dermatologists in the pews! I bet I could really guilt that
bunch into following Jesus by making hefty donations to Lutheran Disaster
Response and stuff like that.
Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I resent the rich. At least not much.
No. I’m just sickened by what excessive
wealth seems to be doing to my country. I turn on the news and I hear this philosophy
of selfishness. The President goes before the UN and whines that America is the
world’s biggest giver, but we get nothing in return (Shouldn’t somebody tell
him that if we get something back it’s not really giving but trade?).
Congress cuts taxes for billionaires, but will probably cut services for the
indigent and the elderly as a result. TV preachers in gilded sets preach that
God wants to bless us with riches. When I hear this crap I can feel myself
spitting up slightly in my mouth.
And that’s the thing I don’t want to give
up—my sense of superior indignation. I think I’m like everybody else—like you, probably—I have tried to keep all
the commandments from my youth. I’m a nice guy. Really, I am. But just like the
wealthy man in the Gospel lesson, I hang onto stuff I should really get rid of
if I want to be a citizen of the Kingdom of God.
No. I really, really don’t want to part with my self-righteousness. The trouble
is, it’s so hard for me to advocate for the marginalized and ask my
congregation to do the same without blaming someone. I drive to work every day
listening to the news on NPR and end up swearing at the radio about remarks
made by people who, according to orthodox Christian theology, are no greater
sinners and no less redeemed than I am.
Fortunately, I get to come to my little
urban, cinder-block, sometimes-roach-infested church. I get to park in the lot
where someone has left an abandoned shopping cart and discarded garbage from
the fast food joint. I get to clean up the spilled coffee the AA group has left
in the Fellowship Room. And, later, I get to teach a beautiful group of eight
middle school students about the Ten Commandments and the concept of God’s
grace.
“They were greatly astonished and said to
one another, ‘Then who can be saved?’ Jesus looked at them and said, ‘For
mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.’” (Mark 10:26-27)
That just about says it all, doesn’t it?
And thank God it does!
Thanks for stopping by this week.
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