October 10, 2021

 At my ordination 17 years ago, my colleague and friend Jana gave a children’s sermon in which she taught that becoming a pastor is the one job where you take a demotion.  When one becomes a pastor, one becomes a servant.  I would say the same for becoming a Christian.  It is a demotion to the position of servant.  But we don’t mind, because many of us have tried being our own boss and found it doesn’t work very well, so we are often happy to become servants of Jesus.

                Jesus teaches us how to take a demotion.  He starts way up at the top, the logos or word ordering the universe from the beginning, bringing all things into being.  Descending through the Holy Spirit to the womb of Mary, born among the animals, helpless, poor, pursued by the authorities, a refugee in Egypt, then a carpenter, a teacher, a man with nowhere to lay his head.  He associated with all kinds of lowly people at the bottom of the ladder—children, lepers, tax collectors, hungry people, people with diseases and ailments, dead people.  He built relationships and trust and community among people at the bottom of the ladder.  And then he descended even further upon his arrest.  He did not defend himself.  He was beaten and mocked and lifted up on the cross.  That was his throne.  Above his head read the inscription, “King of the Jews.”  He even wore a crown—of thorns.  But in that lifting up, he joined so many who have been beaten and mocked and suffered public humiliation.  He joined those who have died by the hand of governments.  He joined all those who have been labeled “criminal,” all who have been executed, murdered.  And then he descended even more, to the dead.  He went to all who had died.  Our reading from Hebrews this morning describes it well, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin.”  Jesus is lifted up high on the cross, our great high priest, but he is lifted in vulnerability and shame.  His highest point is his lowest point.  Although we look up to him, he is among us, looking us in the eye, in the muck with us, in the grave with us, in the suffering with us.

                Easter morning, he began his ascent.  But he didn’t ascend alone.  He brought all those souls with him from the dead, all those lowly people who were good as dead that Jesus met in his human life, all of us who bow at his feet—his servants, and he brought us up with him to new life, to abundant life, to eternal life.  And finally he ascends to heaven to sit at God’s right hand and reign in glory.

                The man in today’s Gospel had spent his life climbing the ladder.  He had an education, he had many possessions, he had wealth.  He was doing the things to gain importance and satisfaction, to build an abundant life, but something wasn’t quite working.  We know that because he came to Jesus.  He had been climbing the ladder of his faith life.  He had kept the commandments.   He had been praying.  But still he knew something was lacking.  When he hears that Jesus has come to town, he approaches him and asks for his advice.  Jesus gives a first answer and the man says he has checked all the boxes, climbed that spiritual ladder.

                And Jesus looked at him and loved him.  This is a precious part of the story, because in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, this is the only time Jesus is described as loving anyone.  I imagine Jesus looked at this man and had compassion for him—his heart went out to him.  Here he was trying and climbing and doing everything he knew to do, and it just wasn’t working.  The word here for love is a self-sacrificing love, agape.  This means that Jesus had given up all his status and possessions and climbed down the ladder for this man, and for all of us who struggle to receive abundant life.

                The man shows his ladder isn’t working because he approached Jesus and he shows it by the way he asks the question.  What must I do to inherit eternal life?  Eternal life is not about “I” but about “we.”  Since this man has refrained from all that he shalt not do in the commandments, Jesus invites him into what he shalt do. 

Jesus invites him to sell all that he has and give the money to the poor and come and follow Jesus.  Let me stop here and say, I don’t think this is this man’s self-actualization prescription, but something that Jesus invites us all to do.  So Jesus is saying this morning, Trinity Lutheran Church, sell all you have, give up your building, your banners, your dishes, your tubs of craft supplies, your books, your furniture, give the money to the poor and follow Jesus, if you want abundant life.  What does Jesus know will happen if this man gives up everything he has, or if we give up everything we have?  We will more reliant on others and we will find ourselves part of something even bigger, a greater community of God.  Giving up everything means more flexibility, to pivot to follow where Jesus is leading.  I have said a couple of times that these bricks of Trinity feel very heavy.  There is a history stretching back that holds us captive in some ways, even as it enables us to form partnerships and hold meetings.  It’s a mixed bag having a big building, having many possessions.  Also giving up all possessions gives us a whole new perspective on what it means to be poor.  No more blaming people for their poverty—it is a whole new experience for those of us who can be self-important at times.

We and the man go away grieved, for we have many possessions.  The prophet Amos helps us understand what our wealth is for.  So often when we have so much, we think it is a sign of God’s favor, that we are special, that we earned it, so we use it to enrich ourselves and other people with a lot of possessions that can invite us to parties and keep us in the enrichment loop.  But Amos points out that our riches are to be used in the cause of justice.  I don’t climb the ladder to keep myself comfortable.  I descend the ladder to all who are suffering and mistreated and use my wealth to lift people up, to spread the life around, like Jesus did.

This rich man, too, he was told to spread the riches around, to sell everything, to descend the ladder.  He was invited into a community that was not about fancy clothes or accumulating trophies, but about really relating to each other and doing justice, speaking up, looking at the root causes of hunger and disease and rooting them out.

Jesus says at the end of this Gospel, “The last will be first and the first will be last.”  What is up is down and what is down is up.  A man high on the social ladder gets to the top and he’s saying what’s next—he things to himself, “I was told this would satisfy me and it hasn’t, plus I’m up here all alone.”  And Jesus invites him to descend and spend time in community, 100 fold mothers and brothers and sisters.  And persecutions—it won’t be easy.  There will be plenty of trouble.  But that’s not a sign of God’s disfavor.  Look at Jesus, persecution until death, and yet still sharing abundant life.

The man goes away grieving, and so do we.  What we don’t know is what this man does with his grief.  He’s not just grieved, he’s disturbed—he’s shaken.  Something is shifting in him.  He found his ladder is shaken, rickety, built on his own good works and keeping of the commandments.  We don’t know what will happen next.  Jesus is pointing out the shakiness of our own ladder—that we can’t depend on our ability to do it all, to keep the commandments, to create a more just world, to earn God’s love or the world’s favor in any lasting way.  To earn your own eternal life, rich or not, is as unlikely as squeezing yourself through the eye of a needle.  It isn’t going to happen.  First of all, being by yourself is not eternal life.  You have to enter community.  Secondly, your possessions keep you apart from other people, they get in the way, they pull your allegiance, they need storage and care and use.  There is no place for them in the Kingdom of God.  We too are grieved and shaken by all that Jesus asks of us.  We are grieved and shaken that he took that upon himself for our sake and yet we also rejoice and give thanks that he was able.  We pray that our encounter with Jesus will change us to climb down from our perch and follow the one that knows the way to abundant life is very different from the way offered by the world.  Jesus doesn’t ask us to take that path alone but goes with us along with a hundredfold mothers, sisters, and brothers.  Jesus has gone ahead of us and goes with us in our descent into abundant life.