“Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” 

Wait a minute. That’s not what I just read in today’s Gospel. That was last week’s Gospel passage. For those of you who thought you had escaped the “camel through the eye of the needle” sermon, no such luck, friends—we just moved last week’s Gospel to this week in honor of the kickoff of our Annual Renewal Campaign.

So, to refresh your memory: Jesus is approached by a man who asks what he needs to do to inherit eternal life, noting that he has obeyed all of the commandments since he was a child. Jesus tells him that he must do one thing more: 

“…go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

The man is shocked and goes away grieving, “…for he had many possessions.” Jesus then makes the singularly uncomfortable observation that it is difficult for the wealthy to enter the Kingdom of God, as a matter of fact easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.

Of course the disciples are dumfounded; they tell Jesus that they have given up everything to follow him, and that according to these standards salvation is impossible. His response is that for God, nothing is impossible. And then his conclusion encapsulates the upside-down nature of the Dream of God: “But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

Traditionally the first response to this passage is to manage it; to soften it into digestibility so we feel more comfortable with our desire, if we have the privilege, to maintain our economic status quo. We try to turn the image of a camel and a needle into something, anything, besides what it is, which is Jesus’ humorous but absolutely serious metaphor for impossibility. And more often we manage the text by seeing Jesus’ declaration, “for God, nothing is impossible,” as a get out of jail free card; “Oh, okay, I’ll just leave it up to God and go shopping.”

But that doesn’t make sense. Jesus would not make a statement about the importance of giving up wealth and then say in the next breath that he doesn’t mean it. We’re not off the hook. When we say in our Baptismal Covenant, “…with God’s help,” we still take responsibility for doing the work of the Dream of God. 

So, any managing that we do of this story needs to retain its honesty as well as its tension. We’re called to wrestle with this story and its challenges, but we do so “with God’s help.” Otherwise it remains just words on the page.

“How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!”

Why do these words cut so deeply? At the time, and presently among proponents of the (heretical) Prosperity Gospel, the conventional wisdom was that wealth was a sign of God’s favor. When Jesus asked the young man to sell what he had and give everything to the poor, this went against everything he and society understood about wealth. If God favors you, why is God asking you to put yourself at the bottom of the preferential ladder? 

Further, and this is simple, he liked his stuff. Right? We like our stuff! You’ve heard that when John D. Rockefeller was asked what was enough money, he replied, “Just a little bit more.” The young man was grieving, either because he wouldn’t give away his possessions, or, some scholars say, he was grieving because he would.

We like our comforts. Our security. Our memory-filled heirlooms. 

We like having our things. 

Or do they have us?

I know of someone who is in the process of getting rid of most of what they own—selling, giving away, throwing out everything that is no longer of use, shedding possessions like an old skin–and coming away lighter, happier, and freer. They said it was “liberating,” and as significant as a religious conversion. 

This may be hard to imagine. Or is it? 

Do you know why the windows to the Great Hall are covered? Because we are preparing for a huge Estate Sale. Masses and masses of things that people don’t want anymore—just given away. Yay! 

So that somebody else can come and buy them. Um… 

So that St. Martin’s can make money (Yay…?) to support our ministries. (Yay!)

And there you have it, the tension.  

What should our relationship to wealth be when we live in a world where wealth is seen as both spiritually draining and as a practical necessity?

It’s time to take another look at the story of the rich young man.

The author of Mark’s Gospel is known for the deliberate way in which they structure the narrative; events are often arranged in such a way as to add meaning to the overall story. So, especially with Mark, it’s important to look, not just at a passage, but at what precedes and follows it.

The verse right before the story of the rich young man is:

“Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”

And right after this, Jesus tells the young man to sell everything he owns and give the money to the poor. Given that we know that Mark likes to draw connections, what might be the connection here? What is it about children?

They are completely dependent upon others for food, shelter, and love. Without which they cannot flourish.

Pause.

Now, look at today’s Gospel passage.  

Jesus tells the disciples that whoever wishes to become great must be a servant; that whoever wishes to be first must be slave to all:

“For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

Pause.

What did we hear at the end of the story of the rich young man?

“But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

The consistent overarching message of these three passages together is one of vulnerability and servanthood. The upside-down Dream of God.

Think about it: Do we not grieve like the rich young man at the prospect losing everything; losing the control and influence that our money, possessions, and privilege give us? Might we grieve at the thought that we, like children, are ultimately dependent—upon others? Upon God? Do we grieve that we might not have enough trust within us to let go of that which is holding us back from trusting?

This might simply be a way of “managing” a difficult story, but it doesn’t let us off the hook of seriously evaluating our relationship with what we have, and the tension between the call to radical generosity, which invites us into solidarity with the poor and marginalized, and our very human desire for comfort and security. 

It is not an easy thing to let go, and to embrace our dependence upon God and one another.

But don’t forget that, before responding to the young man, Jesus looked at him, and loved him.

The call to radical generosity and radical trust comes from One who loves us—who came not to be served, but to serve, and who gave everything as a free and costly gift for us as he completely trusted in the Source of abundant life for all of Creation.

So, what does this say to us as we begin our Annual Renewal Campaign?

We’re sending out our stewardship letter in the coming week, outlining our financial situation and inviting you to support the work of St. Martin’s in 2025. Our theme is “Eyes on the Future”, and we hope you will be part of our journey of faith, love, and service.

Listening to what I just said, I realize how easy it is in any pledge season to see a relationship of “we” and “you”—wherein “the members” pledge “their” support to “the church.” As if “church” and “members” are separate from one another. The fact is—and this is important—that there is no “we” and “you”, or “church” and “members”; it’s all us! It may seem like a tiny grammatical point, but words do matter, and if we erase the linguistic boundary in our heads between those who ask and those who pledge we truly become the church as community. We make our pledge to us—to our interdependent relationship with one another, journeying in faith and trust together as we serve our neighbors through holy listening and mutual vulnerability. It’s a perfect example of the Bantu African concept of interconnectedness described as Ubuntu: “I am, because we are.” 

Jesus looked at the young man and loved him, and then challenged him to let go of what kept him apart from the work and the joy of the Kingdom; the joy of building beloved interdependent community with all of the children of God. We—together—and with God’s help, are called to take up that loving challenge.