October 15, 2006
(Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 23)

Leave It All Behind

by The Rev. Carol Sanford, Curate

Amos 5:6-7,10-15  •  Hebrews 3:1-6  •  Mark 10:17-27(28-31)  •  Psalm 90 or 90:1-8,12
(From The Lectionary Page)

Today’s gospel is perfectly suited to the current moment in the life of our congregation; a time of focus on stewardship and commitment to the cathedral. But first, let’s go to the movies.

There’s a new documentary out with an irresistible title. It’s called “Jesus Camp.” You may have noticed the article about it in the Star yesterday. I saw "Jesus Camp" last week.

The film chronicles several evangelical Christians, including some from our area, as they participate in a summer camp for children called Kids on Fire. There are a number of controversial elements in the movie. The articles I’ve read refer to the highly emotional atmosphere of some of the camp gatherings. Many of the children are seen crying, either in remorse for their sins or in some kind of ecstasy of Spirit, or at times, I suspect, from sheer exhaustion.

There are also scenes, such as those involving an anti-abortion crusade, which have been interpreted as depicting children being grossly manipulated and later used to benefit adult political causes.

As I watched this documentary unfold, I found myself comparing what I saw onscreen with how we approach themes such as sin, repentance, and stewardship of life. I left feeling slightly dazed by both our differences and our similarities. The film, overall, reminded me that we share a number of traits with these, our fellow Christians, as with all human beings.

Like those of us here at the Cathedral, the parents and the Camp Leaders at Kids on Fire were interested in helping their children lead good lives. They wanted them to walk with Christ in the world in a productive and happy way: to be, as our reading from Hebrews puts it, “Partners in a heavenly calling.”

Although the hyper-emotionalism seen in “Jesus Camp” invites criticism, surely many of us can identify with an intense response to music or words or sights that draw us to a sharper awareness of the implications of the presence of God. The cross passes us in procession on Sunday morning, or we see a flag waving in a patch of sunlight during a parade, and something deep within us stirs. We want to stand up for justice and goodness and truth and for the evident Christian values of compassion and service and care for those in need.

We are, after all, created in the image of God, an image which we understand to be overflowing with creative, abundant, inter-relational life and love. We shouldn’t be surprised when we respond on a visceral level to things that bring forth our natural desire to give our lives to something greater than we are. We are hard-wired to be caught up in Divine purpose, because of who we are: children of God.

So how do we go about responding to our longing to be active in the life and work of God? And how do we avoid the sometimes heartbreaking and infuriating errors that so often seem evident in the actions and attitudes we see around us?

Episcopalians begin by showing up and doing the Episcopalian’s basic drill. We attend church on Sunday to rejoice in the resurrection of our Lord. We receive the sacrament. We continue in our life of Common Prayer. We look to our baptismal covenant and to our Holy Scriptures, where we see certain activities spelled out, like feeding the hungry and visiting the sick and caring for the poor. We all know many of the fundamentals of our life together in Christ. Like the man with many possessions in today’s gospel, we follow the outline of our faith.

If we do this, we, like the wealthy man and the disciples, are likely at some point to come face to face with Jesus’ suggestion that we leave everything and follow him. This is not only a frightening idea, it is shocking. Are we not being told that the only way to truly follow Christ is to abandon our families, give up our livelihoods and literally sell everything we own?

Well, yes and no.

In the upside-down and backwards, last-is-first and first-is-last kingdom of God, things are often not quite what they seem. For most of us, for example, giving up our families does not mean abandoning them. Our leaving behind of family for God means, in practice, that we embrace them more fully.

It means that we relate to them in a way that is centered in God’s love: in baptism, confirmation, holy matrimony, holy Eucharist, the fellowship of the Holy Spirit and the Communion of Saints. We serve them and care for them and love them as Christ loves us and so we are brought ever closer into communion with those we love.

Most of us do not literally sell our property, but we leave our attachment to it in favor of our attachment to Christ. We offer our loyalty and trust first to God, giving up everything else, and we are freed share our assets according to our truest desires, which are always of God, rather than being trapped in our possessions by our fears.

Even so, all of this leaving behind can feel threatening and we may feel shocked and grieved, either at our inability to let go as we would wish, or because of the very real loss of comfortable familiarity and security that moving into new life in Christ often entails.

And so we give our lives over to God in slow stages.

The first stage is giving up the bad for the good. We simply stop doing harmful things.

Next, we give up the good for the better: we begin to actively live in ways that align us with God’s life in the world. Finally, it is time to give up the better for the best; releasing even the good in our lives as we turn in all things to God.

This is what Jesus was offering the wealthy man, and what he offers us.

It is likely that each of us is in the midst of every one of these stages in various facets of our lives. For example, the bad we may be ready to give up could be a habit of gossip or criticism of those we don’t like. Or perhaps we are ready to take a courageous move from the good to the better, and begin to pray for a person or condition of life that has harmed us. At some point, in God for whom nothing is impossible, we may be willing to move from the better to the best; we may let go of our grievance altogether, and, in so releasing, be released.

God’s invitation to radical freedom is offered to us as individuals, and corporately in our congregation, as a diocesan Cathedral, and as a city, a state, a nation, and a church.

The move to the best is always a move into God, and always involves letting go of something else. Like the man with many possessions, we are invited into new freedom in God. Begin to notice the invitations.

When our eyes fill unexpectedly with tears in the middle of a hymn or as we hear of the death of a soldier or the birth of a baby, or when we feel outrage at another news story of murder or abuse or poverty, or when we feel remorse over our injuries to others, or grief over loving opportunities lost, or when our interest is awakened by an opportunity for service at the cathedral or in our communities, we are assured that our hearts are tuned to God in a most miraculous way.

We are holy partners in a heavenly calling. What we leave behind to answer that call brings us into fullness of life.

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What Must I Do?

by The Rev. Bryan England, Deacon

“Good Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Mark tells us that as Jesus set out on a journey, a man ran up, knelt before him, and asked this question. Who was he? Mark just describes him as “a man.” In Luke’s gospel, however, he is described as a “ruler.” And in Matthew, he is described as being “young.” But all three gospels agree that he had a great number of possessions, that he was rich. So most of us have combined all of these attributes, and have come to refer to him as the “rich young man.”

This nameless person was the first century Palestinian equivalent of a young urban professional -- a Yiddish Yuppie. As much as one could in an occupied country, in a backwater district of the Roman Empire, he had everything going for him. He had probably received the best education available. He had such status in the community, he was actually referred to as a “ruler,” so at least he was a member of the Jewish upper class, and possibly was an official of the synagogue. Although we are not told this, he possibly had a lovely wife and several well-behaved kids. And he had many possessions, he was rich, he had a huge house with a three-camel garage. Obviously God’s favor was resting upon this man.

Yet something was missing. Henri Nouwen called the condition “the filled, yet unfulfilled life.” Something was so terribly missing from this man’s life that he was motivated to forget his status in the community and run up and kneel before Jesus, an itinerant rabbi from a working-class family with minimal formal education, and ask him, “Good Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

After chiding him just a little bit for his not too subtle sucking up, Jesus told him, “You know the commandments.” In Matthew’s account he was even more specific, “If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.” Then Jesus listed some of the commandments that govern our relations with others: the prohibitions against murder, adultery, theft, lying, and that “honor your father and mother” one that trips most of us up at one time or another.

But the man was still not satisfied. “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” It was true. Unlike those whom Amos chastised in our Old Testament reading, this young man had not trampled on the poor or afflicted the righteous. He had followed all the strictures the Law of Moses placed upon pious Jews. All that he had, he had attained honestly, and he was endeavoring to lead a righteous life. But something was still missing. Matthew, again, takes the conversation a step farther. “I have kept all these;” he said, “what do I still lack?”

Mark tells us Jesus looked at him, no doubt with eyes that penetrate the superficial and reach to your very soul, and Mark tells us that Jesus loved him. Jesus no doubt saw all that this young man had been, all that he was, all that he could be, and Jesus loved him for it.

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

We are told when he heard this, the anonymous young man was shocked. No doubt we would be to. He was being asked to throw away everything he had spent his life acquiring, everything that had given him his identity, everything he knew, to become a disciple of an itinerant preacher.

The rich young man was being asked to choose between gods. When Jesus looked into his soul, he could see that what lay between the man and his devotion to God was his devotion to his wealth, his status, his identity as a person. In actuality, he had kept all the commandments but the first, “you shall have no other gods before me.”

Echoing today’s reading from Amos, United Methodist Bishop Kenneth Carder in Christian Century magazine, wrote:

The perils of poverty are well documented. Malnutrition and starvation kill 35,000 children every day. Forty million people die every year from poverty’s perils -- the lack of food, shelter, health, education and hope. The poor are vilified and robbed of their dignity and self-esteem. [The Christian Century, Volume 114, p. 831.]

But, he continued, “The Bible contains more warnings about the dangers of wealth than about the pitfalls of poverty.”

Watching the man walk away, Jesus said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God.” In fact, in one of Jesus’ most vivid images, he said, “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.” People have tried to explain away the absurdity of the image, saying it should read cable instead of camel. Another explanation is that the “eye of the needle” was actually a nickname for a gate in the walls of Jerusalem, and that for a camel to fit through the eye, it had to be unloaded first. Others have maintained that what Jesus said was what Jesus meant.

Bishop Carder continued:

The Bible is clear: We cannot know the God of Jesus Christ apart from relationships with the poor and the powerless. God has chosen the poor, the least, the most vulnerable, those whom the world considers “the weak” as special friends . . . God’s friendship with the poor is not a rejection of the rich, but an affirmation that life is not in riches. Life is in God’s grace. It is this grace that gives us identity and worth. [Ibid.]

Is that what Jesus is telling us today, “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me?” Yes, that is exactly what he is telling us. Why do you think we encounter this reading during our stewardship campaign?

Remember, this is the same Jesus who, just a couple of weeks ago said, “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off” and “If your eye causes you to stumble, tear it out” because it is better to enter the kingdom of God with one hand or one eye than to have two eyes and two hands and not enter the kingdom at all. While there’s a touch of Middle Eastern hyperbole there, the metaphor is grounded in pragmatic reality. We have all heard stories of animals, caught in a trap, that gnaw their own limbs off to escape, or people similarly trapped in accidents who amputate their own limbs to save their lives.

But the real meaning of today’s Gospel lesson is that Christ is calling us to ask the same question the young rich man asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Then Christ is asking us to look at ourselves with his eyes, those eyes that see beneath the superficial to the core of our being, and to identify what we have put in the place of God, what is keeping us from living life as children of God, what is preventing us from answering Jesus’ call to “come, follow me.”

Then Christ calls upon us to do something about that revelation. He calls us to remove whatever it is that stands between us and the redemption that God offers to us, whether it be our devotion to our wealth, our devotion to status, our careers, even our devotion to our families, and allow God to once again become the center of our devotion. Only then can we live life to its fullest.

“Good Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Rather than be shocked at the cost of discipleship, and to go away grieving, Christ calls us to take up our cross and follow him.