Moving the Goalposts
28th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Mark 20:17-30
I’m just going to come out and say it. The rich man isn’t the only one who has a tough time with Jesus’ teaching in this Sunday’s gospel. I’ve got a few issues with it, myself.
Let’s set the stage, here. Jesus is getting ready to go on the road with his disciples, and a man runs up to him and asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds with a list of commandments, and let’s be honest, this has to be welcome reassurance for the guy. He’s been following this teaching and doing a good job of it since he was a kid. But then Jesus pulls the prayer rug out from under him.
“Oh. And give up everything you have.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
As the man leaves, shocked and despondent, Jesus turns to his disciples and doubles down, saying it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it will be for us with our riches to get into the kingdom.
Now, hang on a second here. I don’t recall anything about fine print on those stone tablets Moses marched down the mountain. And apparently neither did the disciples. There’s a vague sense of distress (that’s about to give way to mild panic) as they turn to each other and ask, “Then who can be saved?”
And then Jesus gets all cryptic and says, “With God all things are possible.”
Now, maybe it’s just me, but that doesn’t strike me as all that helpful. First of all, Jesus says it’s “possible” with God. Not guaranteed. My clearly insufficient faith and I prefer sure bets, thanks. And secondly, if I’ve been busting my backside and it’s still not enough, then what is the point of everything I’ve sacrificed for my vocation up to now?
Peter’s not having it. He says “Look, we have left everything behind and followed you.” (Which is the NRSV translation of “Are you kidding me?” And probably edited for sensitive audiences.) I can’t help but feel the same. I’ve done all the right things, Jesus. And I’ve already given up tons. I’ve taken a job that serves you. (A job that pays considerably less than what I could have earned with the brains you gave me, I might add.) I’ve given up countless evenings and weekends and days off to do that work. I’ve given up time with my family. I’ve given up sleep. I’ve even given up my own reputation as I speak and work for you, only to get blasted by people on all sides of any one of a thousand matters. And you’re telling me that’s still insufficient? No wonder the man walked away sad and frustrated. I’m tempted to do the same. It feels like Jesus moved the goalposts.
In self-possessed moments when I’m less triggered by this gospel, and I’m more inclined to reflection than reaction, I start to wonder what I’m not getting about this. If I can keep my feet on the ground long enough, sometimes insight will emerge. Or at least a coherent thought.
Now, this is my own interpretation, but knowing that Jesus was a fan of hyperbole (that whole “if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out” thing comes to mind), I can’t help but think (read: hope) that perhaps he was employing this same thing here. Let’s be honest. Giving up everything I have is pretty unrealistic. For starters, I have a family to support. But more to the point, it would orient my life in a different direction. I wouldn’t be doing the work that I am doing right now, where I’m doing it, and with whom I am doing it. My vocation would shift significantly, if not entirely.
So maybe, just maybe, it means giving up other riches I’m accustomed to. Giving up the expectation that my work should be easy. Giving up the notion that I’m indispensable. Giving up the belief that doing my job well means I’ll be well-liked by everyone. Giving up the need to be right. Giving up the idea that I should have won that argument back in 2019.
Perhaps, by asking me to give up my riches, Jesus is asking me to lean into my vocation. Dig deeper. Sacrifice. Expect less. Give more. That’s almost as hard as giving up the other kind of riches. It’s hard work and sometimes it feels like I don’t have what it takes to do it, like I don’t have what it takes to make it to heaven. But I keep working. Because in my better moments, I remember that Jesus promised me this:
“With God, all things are possible.”
By Darcie Lich
