Choosing earth over heaven

^“One day one of the local officials asked him, 'Good Teacher, what must I do to deserve eternal life?'

Jesus said, 'Why are you calling me good? No one is good—only God. You know the commandments, don’t you? No illicit sex, no killing, no stealing, no lying, honor your father and mother.'

He said, 'I’ve kept them all for as long as I can remember.'

When Jesus heard that, he said, 'Then there’s only one thing left to do: Sell everything you own and give it away to the poor. You will have riches in heaven. Then come, follow me.'

This was the last thing the official expected to hear. He was very rich and became terribly sad. He was holding on tight to a lot of things and not about to let them go.” Luke 18:18-25, The Message

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“Few biblical figures are as tragic as this young rich man as he walks away from Jesus' invitation. But other factors, such as achievement, pride, and family, can also reside in the place that should be reserved for God. Anything that excessively anchors us to the earth rather than freeing us as commissioned representatives from God indicates a breakdown in the discipleship process. What is really frightening is how easy it is for all of us to choose earth over heaven.” Darrell Bock, Luke: The NIV Application Commentary, p. 470

The man's got a lot of dough

Every time I read his story, I think of this young man (well, only Matthew tells us that he was young – see Matthew 19:16-30) and ask, “Who is he?” Does he represent the “rich and famous”? The Donald Trumps of that world? A guy whose yearly income towers over the GNP of some small country in Africa? Or, is he someone closer to home? In Luke's account, all that we are told is that he was “a man of great wealth” (v. 23). But that's a relative statement. Compared to what? Donald Trump certainly is a man of “great wealth” but in comparison to say, Bill Gates, what he has is merely pocket change. I would guess that my annual income would put me slightly above the poverty line for this neck of the woods but in comparison to many of my friends in Africa, I live high on the hog. So depending on your point of view you are either swimming in it or just scraping by (although even at a net worth of 3.1 billion dollars, Donald Trump is enjoying himself regally in his luxurious wealth pool.) Matthew's and Mark's account of the same incident are almost identical – in every case, the young man goes away downhearted because the price of what Jesus has quoted for the kingdom of heaven is, from his perspective, way too steep.

I live in a modest home, drive used (and, thankfully, paid for) vehicles, and wear Wal-Mart variety clothes. The most expensive shoes I own are the ones I currently wear for running. My closet is chock full of clothing. I have footwear for all kinds of seasons (a must for living in northern Wisconsin.) By Barron County standards people would say I do “okay” for the kind of profession I am in. And I would agree. I'm not living in the tall cotton but I'm not on skid row either. Still, this encounter bothers me because I think it's meant to. It forces me to ask myself what I am holding on to and how I would respond if the Lord asked me to do the same. To me, the question is not “could I do it?” but “would I?” Would I turn my back on my comfortable lifestyle here in the Midwest in response to the Lord's invitation to move into a far more impoverished neighborhood for the sake of the gospel? I really can't say because the question, after all, is at this moment hypothetical.

This fall, for our family reading time before school each day, we have been reading Kisses from Katie, the autobiographical account of Katie Davis' move from a wealthy suburb of Nashville to a poor neighborhood in Uganda. A young woman from money, she turned her back on it all for the sake of God's call on her life to serve and love children in this impoverished country in Africa. She was 18 when she arrived and now at 23 she is still there and the foster mother of 13 Ugandan children. Her story is fairly remarkable made more so to me by my opportunity to meet her this past March when I was in Uganda. The other night at the dinner table, our 17-year old daughter asked me, “Do you ever find yourself getting mad at yourself for all the things you own?” Lately, Emma has been looking at her bursting closet and the assorted jewelry that has accumulated on her desk and finding herself getting angry. “Why should I have so much while so many others have little or nothing at all?” It is a contradiction that any person who has ever traveled outside the U.S. and frequented economically deprived areas faces. Why was I born in suburban America insulated from the pain and suffering that much of the world experiences on a daily basis? And why does a kid named Ronald have to drop out of secondary (high) school because his family cannot afford his tuition? It's all very disconcerting.

I told Emma that I don't get mad at myself. I find that having been to places like Uganda, the Philippines, and Mexico that I am much more grateful for the simple conveniences of indoor plumbing and clean drinking water that I have access to whenever I have the need. But I also tell her the accumulating affect of having been to those places has been to force me to rethink what are my lifestyle priorities here. Do I really need to purchase another book for my library? While a certain piece of equipment for my hunting forays would be nice, is it necessary? Admittedly, these are very small steps but meeting people like Katie and Ronald and many others living in comparatively spartan conditions has motivated me to hesitate before I just buy things because I can.

Says Katie:

She really is remarkable

“...I quit my life...and for good this time. I quit college; I quit cute designer clothes and my little yellow convertible; I quit my boyfriend. I no longer have all the things the world says are important. I do not have a retirement fund; I do not even have electricity some days. But I have everything I know is important. I have a joy and a peace that are unimaginable and can come only from a place better than this earth. I cannot fathom being happier. Jesus wrecked my life, shattered it to pieces, and put it back together more beautifully. (from the Introduction)

Honestly, I'm not there yet. I still dream of a patch of woods in Douglas County to retire to. I find myself thinking about a deck out back and a porch out front – and some landscaping to boot. Were these projects somehow to be completed, I know they would be replaced with other yet unconceived ideas. It is the way things are. I pray to hold such dreams loosely and not sell out to them so that when an opportunity arises – and it will arise – to invest in kingdom matters in Uganda or elsewhere I will be able to do something instead of being so strapped that I can do nothing. Jesus reminds me in this story that the unnamed “poor” are real people some of whom I've already met.