Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Luke 18:18-34
I’ve got a Bible story in one hand and a personal story in the other. I am tempted to let you choose hands, thereby determining the order in which I tell them. But I will not yield to that temptation. Meaning, I’ll pick. You get the Bible story first.
The rich young ruler comes to Jesus. Actually, it is Mark, not Luke, who first calls him “rich.” It is Matthew (and then, only by inference) who calls him “young.” But it is Luke who tacks on the title “ruler.” Ruler of what? More likely Temple than state (making him something of a holy ruler….if you’ll pardon a very bad pun).
“Good teacher,” he says to Jesus, “what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” And following a momentary debate on whether Jesus deserves the term “good”…. “I don’t,” says Jesus (leading me to wonder, “If not you, who?”)….Jesus says: “There are commandments against which to check your fitness for the Kingdom. Let’s run through an abbreviated list.”
No adultery.
Check.
No murder.
Check.
No theft.
Check.
No false testimony.
Check.
Honor parents.
Check
Love neighbors (Matthews’ version).
Check.
So far, this guy is batting a thousand. “I have kept them all,” he says. Then he adds, “From my youth.” Which is doubly impressive. Many of you would measure up pretty well on that list….or any list….if (and this is a mighty big “if”) we were to exempt your youth from scrutiny and allow “your youth” to be whatever you say it was. Indeed, the primary reason most of us worry about today’s youth is not because we trust too little, but because we remember too well.
But this guy is the original “Mr. Clean.” His record is not only spotless, but sparkling. The one thing that puzzles me here….I mean, the only thing that puzzles me….is why he (of all people) should have any uncertainty about eternal life. I mean, even Jesus has to be impressed.
“There is one thing,” Jesus says. “Your stuff. Sell it all, today. Give the proceeds away.” And the young man’s face fell (and great was the “thud” of it). Because, you see, he was very rich.
That’s the Bible story. Now for the personal story. Last winter I went back to school for a while. And one of my classes was an advanced practicum in preaching called “Preaching New Testament Ethics.” This was not a continuing education class. This was a seminary class. Meaning that I was outnumbered by bona fide students, forty to one. Which is why I pretty much sat in the back and kept my mouth shut. After all, they were paying through the nose to be there. I was simply along for the ride.
It was about 3:30 on a Tuesday that she stood up to preach. Which means that she started out with a lot of obstacles to overcome. She was preaching in a classroom….and classrooms do not look like sanctuaries. And she was preaching on a Tuesday….and Tuesdays do not feel like Sundays. What’s more, 3:30 is nap time….especially for students who do not go to bed until 2:00 in the morning. She was a student. Did I mention that? A green-as-grass, wet-behind-the-ears, “I wore a long skirt so you can’t see my knees knocking” student. She was preaching to 39 other students (holding ballpoint pens)….two faculty members (holding red pencils)….and me (who was, at that moment, holding nothing….making me the least intimidating person in the room).
Her sermon was “sweet”….which, as a young female, was probably the last way she would ever want to hear it described. And short. Maybe if she’d lengthened it, some of the syrup would have rolled off it. What she described….ever so sweetly….was poverty. Making reference to several texts (including this one), she talked about the oppressive burdens of wealth and how desirable it would be to unload them. She talked about how guilty she felt because, even as a “humble seminary student” (she really said that), she still had a “few things” in a world where many had “no things.” Then, in her one extended illustration, she talked about her recent return from a two-week trip to Haiti. She described, in some detail, the final worship service she attended, noting that the Christians of Haiti sang and praised for over two hours, with a joy on their faces that struck her as being greater than the joy she was feeling in her heart. Her interpretation being: “It is easier to be happy with nothing than it is with something.”
So upon returning to Duke….which costs about thirty grand a year, making it one of the faster ways of going from something to nothing that I know…..she began to cull her closet, figuring that one immediate way to obey the gospel and gladden her heart was by thinning her wardrobe. Which, at that moment, was as close as she could get to “selling all she had.”
Her story was moving. And touching. Leading to a critique from her classmates that was uncommonly supporting. They, too, viewed themselves as numbered with the poor. And they perceived that, within the span of a year or two, they would be preaching to congregations who are numbered with the rich. They further assumed that people in those congregations….the people to whom they would be preaching….were equally unhappy in their material prosperity. Meaning that it would become their job, upon occupying those pulpits, to diagnose the problem and offer appropriate antidotes….which could range all the way from “sell all you have” to “start culling your closets.”
This led to a more generalized discussion, with each seminarian trying to out-humble the next. It also led me (as the pastor of a well-heeled church in the second wealthiest county in America) to feel moderately guilty about the antique table that was, even at that moment, sitting in my van.
But all of this changed, quite dramatically, when a student who had heretofore remained silent, timidly entered the discussion:
I hear what you all are saying. And I know, because I read the same gospel you do, that there is corrupting power in wealth. But, as a child of Eastern Carolina, I grew up poor. As a student here on a combination of loans and work study, I am poor. As the pastor of a church that can barely keep its doors open (let alone pay my salary), I serve the poor. And I am here to tell you that, for all the wonderful lessons it may occasionally teach, poverty sucks.
You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Because he, too, had preached a sermon that was moving….touching….and incredibly short, though far from sweet. Suddenly we were forced to pit the truth that the gospel was telling against the truth that he (and the sum total of his life experience) was telling. “Sell all you have” versus “Poverty sucks.”
I have got to interrupt myself for a moment, just long enough to tell you that I really wanted to soften the language he used, the better to avoid offending you. But had I done so, you would have never felt the moment as I felt the moment. Or as everybody else in the room felt the moment.
Needless to say, the seminarians heard his sermon….and suddenly it became the focus of the hour. One thing was clear to me. In terms of raw dollars available (in his childhood….in his church….in his checkbook), he had an insider’s knowledge of poverty. It was less clear that anyone else did. Including yours truly. Most of us find it easy to romanticize about poverty when we have a few shekels in our pockets. But honesty compels me to agree with the person who first said: “I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor. Trust me, rich is better.” That’s because honesty also compels me to tell you that I am rich. Hopefully, not filthy rich….as in unclean before God, shady in the eyes of the law, or dirty in the eyes of the neighbor. But how do I know? How does anybody know?
Everything is relative, of course. Compared to many of you, I am a man of extremely modest means. Compared, however, to the citizens of most third world nations (and all but a handful of my clergy colleagues), I have done rather well. Nothing in my early upbringing….or in my vocational preparing….ever prepared me for the life I am presently leading. Which explains why I can be happy in it, without taking it terribly seriously. I never expected any of this. And things that come by surprise (even if you work darn hard for them) tend to be seen as gifts rather than entitlements. Meaning that the hands in which I hold my treasures tend to be loose rather than clutching….grateful rather than condescending.
Do I ever feel guilty? Sometimes. But not often. When Josef Cervenak was here from the Czech Republic, I felt a little guilty. Briefly. Not when I drove him around Birmingham. There are beautiful sections of the Czech Republic. Not when I took him to stay in Gary and Margaret Valade’s gatehouse. There are lovely homes….even castles….in the Czech Republic. Not when I showed him around our church. There are churches in Prague (alas, mostly serving as concert halls) that would render ours “plain and nondescript” by comparison. The only time I felt guilty was when I took Josef home for Sunday dinner. For he and I are both Methodist preachers. As the General Superintendent of Methodist work for two entire nations (Czech and Slovakia), his authority exceeds mine and his title outranks mine. Yet I knew that walking through my front door would be akin, for him, to entering a different world. Not a better world. Not necessarily a happier world. Certainly not a God-kissed or heaven-blessed world. Just a different world. But, still, I felt guilty.
But back to my two stories. First, the gospel story. Focus on a pair of questions.
Are the poor happier?
Sometimes, I suppose. Certainly monks (and others who take the vow of poverty) would suggest there is a certain happiness that follows renunciation. It is important to note, however, that such vows are taken voluntarily….meaning that neither circumstances nor oppressors force poverty on such persons. I also find it interesting to note that Kathleen Norris, who spends part of each year living among the Benedictines, reveals that things like jealousy and possessiveness exist, even in monasteries.
Must everybody give up everything to inherit eternal life?
I don’t think so. Although I don’t want to let myself off the hook too quickly, given what Jesus says next about “rich men entering the Kingdom about as often as camels are threaded through needles’ eyes.” I don’t rightly know if riches will hurt your chances. I doubt that riches will help your chances. And riches won’t count for a hill of beans, once you get to that throne (symbolically speaking) where judgment is rendered, though nothing is totaled….meaning that nobody is going to add up your T-bills or your transgressions (praise the Lord).
You’ve heard, of course, about the man who approached heaven with a brick of gold bullion in each hand and demanded he be allowed to carry them in. Three times his request was denied. Four times he restated his case. “I’ve lived a moral life….a spiritual life….a disciplined, discipled and dedicated life. If an exception ought to be made for anyone, it ought to be made for me.” Finally, his case was carried to Peter who agreed it had merit. So the man met Peter at the gate, bricks of gold in each hand. Whereupon Peter looked at the gold….looked at the man…. threw his arms around him and said: “Welcome to heaven. How thoughtful of you to bring us pavement.”
What, then, is the story of the rich young ruler about? You know the answer as well as I do. It’s not about money as a possession. It’s about money as a disease. Jesus is a healer, don’t you see. And, as a healer, you have to let the disease shape the cure. Healers have to ask disease-related questions.
How long has it been?
How deep has it gone?
How much damage has it already done?
Only then will the healer know how radical an intervention needs to be made.
We don’t have the whole story here. But if we did, I think we would see what Jesus saw. We would see that this man was pretty diseased. We would see that he’d gone from rich…..way beyond “filthy rich”….all the way to “sickeningly rich.” But Jesus said, in effect: “You’re lucky. There’s still time. We can do some cutting. More to the point, you can do some cutting.” Whereupon the man said (to no one in particular): “I think this is one of those cases where the cure is worse than the disease.” Whereupon he left. People do that, you know. They walk away from treatment. And no doctor can stop them. Not even a doctor of divinity.
But back to my other story. I mean the one about the preaching class and the girl who figured that if she just sold it all….surrendered it all….got rid of it all….and told all the “fat cat pew sitters” within earshot to do the same….everybody would be as joyous and happy as the hand-clapping friends of Jesus she had witnessed (and envied) in Haiti.
I went up to her after class. I thanked her for her sermon. I specifically thanked her for her sincerity and her passion. Concerning sincerity and passion, I said: “You know, you can’t teach those things. You have ‘em. So keep preaching ‘em. You’re gonna do fine.”
Then I told her who I was. More importantly, I told her who you were. I described your nature. “Wonderful,” I said. I also described your assets. “Considerable,” I said. Then I added:
I could fly you to Michigan and let you preach to my people some Sunday. You could preach the same sermon you preached today. And because you are so sincere….so warm….so full of promise….my people would receive you gladly. Some might even suggest that I double your honorarium. And a few would actually say, “My, wasn’t she sweet,” which (all things considered) might be the cruelest cut of all.
Then I continued:
If, and when, you write a sermon telling my people that, if they truly want to follow Jesus, there are other things they can do with their assets than simply box them up and set them out by the curb, let me know. I’ll invite you to come and preach it.
Unfortunately, I haven’t heard from her. Nor do I expect to.
* * * * *
P.S. After 35 years, I no longer feel any need to defend the legitimacy of my call to ministry. I am where I am supposed to be. But, from time to time, I have felt a secondary call to do something else….related, but different. I have felt called to be a philanthropist. I am serious. I’d be a wonderful addition at the Kresge Foundation. I could do the work. I would perform it seriously….compassionately….but most professionally. Giving away money, I mean.
In reality, I have never had all that much….although I think Kris and I have done honorably and ethically with whatever we’ve had.
But it never occurred to me until that night in Durham….after telling that young seminarian about the “money sermon” I wished she’d preached….that maybe I had discovered the reason why God (in His infinite wisdom) had placed me here. Not just to give away my money. But to help you give away yours….thus saving both our souls.
