On the Way

Where are you on “the way”?  Jesus has been explaining what it means to follow him as a disciple, and it’s not so much a syllabus to learn, not a program of steps to follow in sequence, not challenges to achieve, not a title bestowed upon the deserving. 

What Jesus describes are attitudes that inform one’s practices: what it means to be humble, to love others, to be generous, to always look out for the needs of the most vulnerable.  Disciples are not to be power-hungry but power-sharing.  Jesus himself does not issue commands but invitations. 

Jesus himself is on the way, as well—our translation of this Gospel story says “Jesus was setting out on a journey,” but the Greek says Jesus was “on the way,” which we’re supposed to understand is on the way to Jerusalem, where Jesus will die.  He’s not just teaching to tell people what’s good for them while he has no intention of suffering; he’s on the same way as the rest of us. 

Suffering is not a sign that one has lost the way, either—it’s part of the journey.  Suffering is not equivalent to stumbling.  In the previous chapter, Jesus had said “whoever causes one of these little ones to stumble” is better off throwing themselves into the sea…that phrase “cause to stumble” is from the Greek word from which we get “scandalize.”  Mark uses the word “scandalize” to mean a rejection of the message of God’s kin-dom, or a desertion of the way.[1]  To stumble is to reject the way. 

So when a man runs up to Jesus and kneels down in front of him—as people usually do when they’re about to ask Jesus for healing—and asks Jesus about eternal life, Jesus refers back to the man’s practices.  How are you living?  Are you on the way? 

So Jesus rattles off some of the top ten commandments, but did you notice: one of those is not in the ten commandments?  Who caught it?  Which one?  “You shall not defraud.”  How did that get in there?  In the Greek Bible, this verb “defraud” is used to describe the act of “keeping back the wages of a worker.”[2] 

Presumably, if you’re following the Ten Commandments, you wouldn’t need another separate rule like “do not defraud,” but Jesus must have noticed something about this man’s wealth.  But how could Jesus know what’s in this man’s heart or in his bank account?  Well, how do any of us know?  We can make judgments based on a person’s appearance, their demeanor, language and actions. 

How many times did I hear from volunteers who helped with the food drive last weekend: we saw people giving who clearly did not have much to give.  How could they tell who has money and who doesn’t?  We can tell.  And Jesus knows too.  To Jesus, a man whose primary concern is “inheriting eternal life,” what’s actually needed is a healing of his relationship with wealth and accumulation, to re-set his priorities to care for his most vulnerable neighbors. 

There is NOT a level of wealth mentioned here.  Jesus never says, “When you can take care of yourself and your own family, then you should give what’s left over.”  No!  Jesus goes big: sell what you own, give the money to the poor, and then you’ll understand what it means to have treasure in heaven!  Then you’ll understand what it feels like to be entirely vulnerable, entirely dependent on God. 

Generosity is a choice, an attitude, a way of life—not a threshold beyond which giving is allowed to happen. 

The disciples, who have sacrificed plenty of their lives for the sake of following Jesus on the way, I’m sure the disciples would love to see Jesus “stick it to the man.” The disciples would love for Jesus to give us a sermon about the evils of wealth, remind the disciples how they have earned the better part by following Jesus and denying themselves the pleasures of the world.  But Jesus doesn’t do that.  He looks at the man and loves him—this is the only place in Mark’s Gospel where Jesus is described as loving someone. 

What other way toward healing is there that doesn’t require love? 

And that’s the sticky point—we’d love to create a system of winners and losers but Jesus’s way is nonviolence.  The only way to participate is in freedom—to freely respond, to freely give.  

Maybe that’s why Jesus doesn’t give this same directive to everybody[3]: sell everything you own and give the money to the poor!  He doesn’t say this to the crowds.  He doesn’t say this to people who are already poor, to people who already understand their utter dependence upon God. 

He says “sell your things” to the person who is concerned about earning salvation.  Salvation is not an achievement, it’s a way of life.  Do you own your things, or do your things own you?  Do you trust God or not?  The implications are huge.  To say that God blesses only faithful people with material wealth is a heresy we call the prosperity gospel. 

William J. Barber II, educator and preacher and activist, writes this for Sojourners magazine:

“Jesus takes up Isaiah’s scroll to proclaim ‘good news to the poor.’  Any alternative to the religious nationalism that calls itself ‘Christian’ must embody this prophetic proclamation for the 135 million Americans who are poor or low-income today. As the divide between the super-rich and the poor has grown wider in the U.S. over the past half century, poor communities have been offered divisive culture wars and the false hope of an individualistic prosperity gospel.

“…Poor people in the United States today are the largest swing vote in national elections.  If they unite around an agenda, they have the power to reconstruct American democracy.  God has seen fit to ordain those who have been rejected in this world to lead the revival of love, justice, and mercy that we so desperately need.  We embody an alternative to religious nationalism when we join God in this work.”[4]

I really wonder: does it make you uncomfortable to consider poor people having this kind of power? 

Jesus invites this wealthy man to follow him, but the man doesn’t do it.  Jesus looked at this man and loved him, and still loves him as he goes away, grieving for his possessions rather than for the abundant life he could know through generosity.  I wonder if Jesus grieves too. 

“How hard,” Jesus says, “it will be for those who have wealth to enter the dominion of God!”  And to remind us how God likes to disrupt power by giving power to the people without it, Jesus says again: “CHILDREN, how hard it is to enter the dominion of God!” 

Jesus didn’t accidentally call the disciples “children.”  He’s purposeful with his language.  What if he means what he says?  What if he really is rebuilding the social structure in a nonviolent way, shifting our attention away from social-climbing and power-grabbing and returning our focus to the most vulnerable? 

In her book on leadership, Brene Brown quotes Madeleine L’Engle:

“When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable.  But to grow up is to accept vulnerability.”[5]

To trust God, to embrace heavenly treasure, to follow the way directly into the dominion of God—what does Jesus have to say to you today?  Where are you challenged by his words and his invitation and his enduring love?  For God, all things are possible. 

Amen. 

Pastor Cheryl

[1] Ched Myers, Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark’s Story of Jesus, Orbis, New York, 1988, page 262.

[2] Ibid 272. 

[3] https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/twenty-first-week-after-pentecost-lectionary-commentary 

[4] William J. Barber II, “Practicing a Prophetic Faith,” in “How to Counter Christian Nationalism,” Sojourners magazine, September/October 2024, page 22. 

[5] Brene Brown, Dare to Lead: Daring Greatly and Rising Strong at Work, Random House, New York, 2018, page 24.

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