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S. Pentecost 21.24 Mark 17-22

So, there I was, looking like a total schmuck. Hero to zero. Yeah, it’s me—the rich young ruler, though you know me by another name but we’ll save the big reveal for the end. If you missed church last week (and what did you have going on that was more important, exactly? You know, Queen Elizabeth II used to quip, when someone meeting her had their cell phone go off in their pocket, ‘Oh, you should get that! It might be someone important!’ and, uh, think about the the importance of the royal audience you’re offered, here! next time you feel like skipping. Trust me: you can go every week and it will still be special 😉

Anyway, last week I was telling you how I happened upon the scene from Mark’s Gospel, Pentecost 20—the Pharisees arguing with Jesus, trying to trap him on dumb divorce questions, and that slick ambulance chasing lawyer on his 3rd wife doing the snarky interrogation, and how much I hate those guys.

I’d come a long way from Jerusalem to find Jesus, but he ducks out of sight right after the argument, and I catch sight of him again that afternoon, blessing the little children his disciples are shooing away. I’m trying to press through the crowd to get closer to him, because he’s hitting the road—that’s what the Greek says BTW, what Mark actually wrote, clearly echoing Jack Kerouac, not “as he was setting out on his journey” like some English lord with a stick up his, uhm… tail coat, but “hitting the road” like Neal and Jack, with Pharisees hot on his heels.

I was a little brash, a little impulsive back then, and I panicked a little, seeing him get away, so I run up, shoving the ambulance chasing lawyer aside, blocking the way, kneeling before him to make him stop, blurting out: “Good Teacher! What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

I knew better. You don’t address royalty. You talk when you’re spoken to, answer if asked. But that question was burning inside me, white hot, and it just came out sounding all stupid and wrong.

The little twinkle in his sea-green eyes (exactly the eyes, the face, of the Christos Pantocrator of the Deesis Mosaic in Hagia Sophia BTW), the wry little smile turning up one corner of his mouth that he’d had for the ambulance chasing lawyer’s dumb divorce question he did not have for mine! He looked… annoyed. Irritated at being stopped, brushing aside the flattery, glaring at me like he later did at the lawyer, he snaps back:

“Why do you call me ‘Good’? No one is good but God alone! You know the commandments: no murder, no adultery, no stealing, no lying, no defrauding, honor your father and mother!”

I blurted out, thoughtlessly, as I do when I’m agitated, “Teacher, all these things I’ve kept from my youth.” I didn’t mean that I’d never sinned! I meant I’d kept all those commandments as the way that leads to life, even when they break me, shambling down the road after the mad ones who interest me—“mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue center–light pop and everybody goes ‘Awww’!“

I heard snickers in the crowd when I said I’d kept those commandments from my youth, knew it sounded positively Pharisaical, but he knew what I meant! All of a sudden, his face softens, the sea-green eyes twinkle, he almost laughs (at me, not with me) and he looks at me, looks me right in the eye, like he actually loves me, despite all my shtuff and issues, a look that’d break your heart into a million pieces.

And he goes to me, sad-like, as with the lawyer, but kindly, like he really feels sorry for me, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.”

And that did break my heart into the million little pieces I mentioned.

But I didn’t walk away sad for the reasons you probably think! I’ve heard like… a million sermons on this fine Gospel text and nearly all of them get it wrong. Preachers seem to think I went away sad because I did not believe, could not divest of my great wealth and follow Jesus…

But, read the text! What, exactly does Jesus tell me to do? Drop everything and hit the road right then? NO! He told me 1) Go! As in go away. Like that girl you liked, asked on a date, and she tells you she’s engaged and friend-zones you. When Jesus says “Go!” he does not mean “stay”! 😉

2) he told me to sell all that I have and give to the poor. Like I told you last week, my dad had just died and, as oldest son, I’d inherited everything. But instead of managing all the lawyers and paperwork and supporting mom, I’d lit out for the territories like Huck Fin, shirking responsibility.

I’d thought all dad’s huge estate was mine. Suddenly, I realized: I don’t own anything, really. I’m just that beggar the king has given 5 cities to oversee. I don’t HAVE anything but obligations to my family and neighbors, really.

So, I went, as Jesus said. When I got home, realized I HAVE nothing to sell! But in supporting mom, my brothers and sisters, assorted kinfolk, managing the estate like a steward not a Master, helping out the poor, I am following, just like Jesus said… 😉

Here’s my point: you can’t go to Jesus’ house, invite yourself in, like you own the place. Nah; you have to wait for Jesus to come to your house, to address you, and take the place in his house that he assigns you…

A year or so later, two of Jesus’ apostles show up at our house in Jerusalem, Passover Night, 30 AD, saying, “The Master has need of your upper room for One Last Supper.” I hang around, observe the proceedings, chase after, to the Garden, flee, when’s he’s arrested, as the soldier grabs me, as my linen shift tears off in his hand, as I run away, again, naked and ashamed.

Yeah. Pleased to meet you. Hope you guessed my name. Mark. John Mark. On His Majesty’s Secret Service… 😉

My story’s your story. And only when, hearing it, you become the ambulance chasing lawyer, the publican, the Sadducee, Peter, Paul, or me, do you get IT. That’s why it’s recorded: to become yours.You don’t go find Jesus. Nah; he comes to your house, asks the questions, gives the answers. You have a nice place here BTW; small, but cool. But see! Only as HIS house can it ever yours. 😉

Only by his word of forgiveness going in your ear, his water of life going over your head, his body and blood going in your mouth, does he put your feet on his path. Only as beggars after all do we become kings and queens in the House where Peace, surpassing all understanding, guards our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.