John Mark Hicks

Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus. Jesus wanted to save Zacchaeus. The correlation between these two is hidden in our English translations of the text. Luke uses the same verb to describe their mission—Zacchaeus sought to see Jesus and Jesus came to seek and save the lost (Luke 19:2, 10). This language brackets the theological significance of the Zacchaeus story.

Text: Luke 19:1-10

The component parts of the story, so familiar to Bible students from their childhood, give the seeking language their significance.

• Zacchaeus is not only a tax collector, but he supervises other tax collectors (he is the chief, or “ruling” (archi-), tax collector.
• Zacchaeus is wealthy and probably gained this wealth in questionable ways—he at least gained his wealth through complicity with the pagan Roman oppressors.
• Zacchaeus is regarded by his neighbors as a “sinner” and thus excluded from the community of the righteous (and his name is a shortened form of Zechariah which means “righteous one”).
• Zacchaeus is an outsider to the children of Abraham—politically, religiously, socially.

But he wants (seeks) to see Jesus. He goes to embarrassing lengths to fulfill his desire. He runs ahead of the crowd—he is determined and eager. Imagine a short, wealthy and politically-connected man climbing a tree to see this prophet passing through Jericho. It is a humorous picture and has been the subject of jokes for almost 2000 years. Do you think he tried to hide himself behind the evergreen branches of that small sycamore tree? Perhaps he was spotted—and mocked—by others.

But he wants (seeks) to see Jesus. No doubt he has heard about Jesus, but what he has heard? Perhaps he heard that Jesus was a friend of tax collectors; maybe even that one of his disciples was a former tax collector himself. It seems obvious that Luke wants us to hear this story in the context of Jesus previous ministry. As readers, we know Jesus is Zacchaeus’ friend, but Zacchaeus is uncertain.

Jesus wants (seeks) to see (save) Zacchaeus. Indeed, he must go to his house today. He initiates contact. He offers the invitation—though it is a self-invite to Zacchaeus’ home. Jesus crosses the boundary that shocks everyone else. He will gladly enjoy the hospitality of a sinner because his mission is to “seek and to save the lost.” It is the nature of his ministry to cross boundaries—it is demanded by his identity and his mission. This is who Jesus is.

Others, however, “see” something else. Zacchaeus sees the grace of Jesus. Jesus sees the need of Zacchaeus. But the crowd (not just the leaders) “see” something different. They are scandalized by Jesus’ self-invitation. They want to distance themselves from this act of grace. Zacchaeus is undeserving; he is a “sinner.” The crowd that crowded the streets to “see” Jesus did not know him and what they “saw” appalled them. They were shocked by what they saw when they actually expected something else.

Do we really want to “see” Jesus? To see Jesus is to be transformed, changed. To see Jesus is to repent and act in penitent ways. It means that we regard our wealth as secondary to the experience of eating with Jesus. It means we share our wealth with the poor. It means we make amends to those we have wronged or offended. It means we eat with those whom we would otherwise avoid. It means we become seekers of others—especially outsiders—just as Jesus sought out Zacchaeus. To “see” Jesus is to become Jesus and to act graciously toward those others would reject.

This changed is highlighted in the text, though hidden by the NIV. Indeed, Luke uses a form of the verb “to see” to highlight it. “Behold,” Luke writes, when he introduces Zacchaeus in verse 2, and then “Behold,” Zacchaeus announces, in verse 8 when the penitent sinner declares his commitment to discipleship. “Behold the sinner” and “Behold the change” is the effect of Luke’s language.

Do we really want to “be Jesus” in the world? Do we really want to change and experience the discomfort of discipleship? Perhaps we are too comfortable with who we are and where we are. To follow Jesus and to be Jesus makes radical demands upon us. Some are not willing to follow (“the rich young ruler,” for example). But Zacchaeus is willing because he sees his own faults and hears the grace in the invitation of Jesus.

Do we really want to “see” Jesus? To see him is to see our own failures, but to see him is also to experience his grace. If we truly “see” Jesus, then we hear the gracious invitation to follow him, embrace his mission to outsiders in the world, and embody his identity in our own lives. Our vision of Jesus becomes our vision for meaningful life.

I admit it; actually, I confess it–I find “Sell your possessions and give to the poor” (Luke 12:33) a hard and difficult saying. Probably more than any other saying of Jesus–even “love your enemies”–I’m inclined to throw up my hands and say “I can’t do that.”

It puts me in the position of the Rich Young Ruler of Luke 18 and that is an very uncomfortable position in which to be. Now, with the Rich Young Ruler I can recontextualize, spiritualize and delegitimize the demand to “sell your possesssions and give to the poor.” That was too specific, too tailored to the heart of that Ruler. Or, was it? Well, I can debate that one with myself.

But I can’t “debate” Luke 12:33 which appears in the heart of Luke’s rehearsal of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount material. It is “don’t worry”–ok, hard but I can handle it. It is “seek his kingdom”–yes, Lord, I will do that. It is “don’t be afraid”–yes, Lord, I’ll trust you. And, then, like a lightning bolt to my heart, it is “Sell your possessions and give to the poor.” And my heart stops and says, “uh, can you repeat that? I’m not sure I heard you right.”

This is where my heart is, brothers and sisters. I don’t want to sell my possessions. In fact, I want better possessions. I’ll give mine away so I can upgrade, but not sell my upgrades so I can give to the poor. That does not make sense–at least not in the culture in which I have been trained, socialized and pampered.

So, what am I to do? Should I obey?

Perhaps I will have to start where this whole discussion started in Luke 12. Someone in the crowd asked Jesus to adjudicate between his brother and himself over inheritance. Jesus refused and pointed to their hearts–only they can act on the nature of their hearts. Life, Jesus said, “does not consist in the abundance of possessions” (Luke 12:15).

Ok, I know that, but what does it mean. Well, it means that we don’t build bigger barns. This is the parable that Jesus told in response to this inquiry about inheritance. What do I do with the blessings God has given me? Do I build bigger barns so I can contain them, hoard them and consume them? Or, and I think this is Jesus real answer, don’t build bigger barns. Instead take your increase and give it to the poor.

Perhaps that is my starting place on my journey to obey “sell your possessions and give to the poor.” Perhaps I just need to start with the simple resolve to never build any more bigger barns. Perhaps I take my increases and give them to the poor. I can at least start there.

So, if you are troubled as I am by this saying to “sell your possessions and give to the poor,” perhaps we start by not building any more “bigger barns.” We start with using our increase to bless the poor, and then perhaps we can begin downsizing (selling our possessions) and increasing our giving to the poor. We start by not obtaining more before we start doing with less. I think God will honor that direction, but he will not honor the other option.

One more post on this to come and then I will be finished for a while….my own heart cannot stomach the challenge. (Do you like my mixed metaphor?)

Practicing the kingdom of God entails fellowship with the poor. Jesus came to announce “good news” (gospel) to the poor and to liberate the poor from their oppression. He came to sustain the needy and supply their needs.

Acts 2:42 characterizes the early church as devoting themselves to “fellowship” (koinonia). This term can have a wide range of meaning, but in this concern I think it has a fairly narrow concern. Acts 2:42 enumerates the kingdom habits of the church in Jerusalem, and Acts 2:43-47 narrates their practice of them. Luke’s language directly connects 2:42 and 2:44—the church engaged in fellowship (koinonia) as they held all things in common (koina). Their commonality (fellowship) exhibited itself when they sold their possessions and gave to everyone who had need (2:45). Their fellowship was sharing their possessions with each other.

Clearly this was a habit of the Jerusalem church. Luke summarizes the fellowship of the church when he writes that there were no needy among them (Acts 4:35) because people, including Barnabas, sold land and possessions in order to meet the needs of the poor in the church. This ministry continued daily in the church as the widows were fed (Acts 6:1).

At this point I can almost hear myself saying, “Well, those where special circumstances and selling our possessions is a rather rare and unique event in the life of the church. We do not find ourselves in their situation any longer. Selling your possessions is a good thing if you are able and want to do so, but it is a higher calling to which we are not all called. After all, the Rich Young Ruler was told to sell his possessions as a test and it is not the call of Jesus to all of us.”

But if we believe that the early church is simply imitating Jesus, and that their “fellowship” was the continuation of the ministry of Jesus, perhaps we ought to think a bit more carefully about this model in Acts 2-6. Indeed, we need to see how it is rooted in the ministry of Jesus himself.

For the moment I will call attention to one salient feature of Jesus’ teaching in Luke and come back to this point in another post.

There is a line that is practically forgotten in Luke’s account of Jesus “don’t worry” sermon in Luke 12—part of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6. We all recognize that we should not worry about our food and clothing just like the lilies of the field and the birds of the air don’t worry. That is difficult enough to obey, but Jesus says more. We also recognize that we should seek the kingdom of God and that just as God has given us the kingdom, he will give us all that we need. That is difficult enough to practice, but Jesus says more…in Luke.

Indeed, the Gospel of Luke contains a sentence that is not in the Sermon on the Mount. It is a sentence that I wish were not there. I want to relativize it, manipulate it, contextualize it, minimize it….I want to do everything I can with it except obey it.

Jesus says—not to the Rich Young Ruler, but to the same disciples (all his disciples) to whom he says “don’t worry,”—he says….”sell your possession and give to the poor (Luke 12:32).

When I read that the early church in Jerusalem was selling their possessions and sharing with the poor (fellowship), and that this was habit (they were devoted to it) of early Christians, I am challenged to think that just perhaps Jesus was serious about “selling our possessions and giving to the poor.”

In our materialistic American culture, it is a hard saying and it may the place where we fail to follow Jesus more than any other.

More on this theme later….

I like to call it “practicing the kingdom of God.” With deference to Brother Lawrence, I like this language in addition to “practicing the presence of God.” But there is overlapping meaning, I think.

What I call “practicing the kingdom of God” is what James A. Harding called the “means of grace,” that is, the communal/individual habits of piety we find in Acts 2:42. They are: listening to God (the apostle’s teaching), sharing with the poor (fellowship), gathering in the presence of God (breaking bread), and prayers. Indeed, these were daily habits in the early church–the apostles taught daily in the temple, the church ministered daily to the widows, the church met in their homes to break bread daily, and they went to the daily prayers in the temple.

But I call them “practicing the kingdom of God” because I don’t think these habits have independent or autonomous status. They are not “new laws” from the mountaintop of Pentecost. Rather, they are the continuation of the ministry of Jesus. Jesus himself taught daily in the temple, fellowshiped with the poor, broke bread and ate at tables with people, and prayed habitually. The early church, as a group and as individuals, is imitating Jesus–following Jesus and doing the ministry of Jesus.

Jesus heralded the “good news of the kingdom” and practiced the kingdom. The church continues the same–we hearld the good news and practice the kingdom habits through which God breaks into the world to transform it and us.

More on these habits to come.

As one reads through Luke, a person cannot help but be impressed by the constant reference to prayer in the life of Jesus and then in the lives of his disciples in Acts. I won’t take the time to list all the places where prayer functions in the Gospel of Luke–there are many resources for that (or just use a concordance). However, I do want to point out what I think are three levels of “prayer” or forms of prayer–whatever label we might give them.

1. Jesus prayed alone. There were moments when he spent all night in prayer. For example, his wilderness time was alone–forty days (Luke 4). During his ministry Luke says “he often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16). And this might be particularly true on special occasions or moments of momentous decision as when he prayed all night before selecting the twelve (Luke 6:12). Solitude was something Jesus valued at time (Luke 4:42) but he also did not let the need for solitude hinder his ministry with people (Luke 4:42).

2. Jesus prayed with a few. I don’t mean here the twelve, though we could think of them as few. Rather, I mean he had an inner circle within the twelve with whom he regularly prayed it seems. For example, ascending the Mount of Transfiguration to pray, he took Peter, James and John with him (Luke 9:28). Though Luke does not point out in his account, Jesus took those same three with him deeper into the Garden of Gethsemane to pray. Jesus had an inner circle with whom he prayed, and I think everyone does. We each need those two or three or four people with whom we pray, who hold us accountable, to whom we confess our sins, etc. We need the habit of regularly praying with the same few who know us and we know them–a circle of trust, intimacy and caring.

3. Jesus prayed with the many. We could say the tweleve are many, but also in the temple with the many. He prayed in public groups. He engaged in public prayer and rituals of prayer (as in the temple). He taught his disciples to pray at their request. We all need the experience of corporate prayer where the community offers a litany for the world, for the church, for marriages, for peace, for justice. We all need to participate in that public witness before the world.

Perhaps the Garden of Gethsemane illustrates these three levels/habits. He goes to the Garden to pray with the twelve (many), then takes three with him a bit deeper into the Garden (the few), but ultimately goes alone to a place to pray (solitude). I seek to imitate those three habits in my own life–praying with the many, the few, and alone. I encourage you to find a regular habit of prayer in your own life, and the model of Jesus is not a bad one to follow.

If we are disciples of Jesus, then we will follow him in his prayer life, his prayer habits. Those habits say something important about him and our habits will say something important about us. To follow Jesus–to be his disciple–is to be a praying person.

I have been teaching for several years—and it is illustrated in my book Come to the Table—that the ministry of Jesus is the model for practicing the kingdom of God in the context of the church. The ministry of Jesus is the ministry of the church.

Historically that has been questioned in the Stone-Campbell Movement. Our dispensational hermeneutic drew a sharp line that created an insuperable gulf that no one can cross between Acts 1 and Acts 2. Our ecclesiology was severed from the ministry of Jesus. The “patterns” of the church are regulated by Acts and the Epistles. And this had the tendency to reduce ecclesiology to discussions of forms and a constriction of purposes to “spiritual” values rather than to social, economic and other values.

But there is something quite odd about saying that the ministry of Jesus cannot be the pattern or model for the ministry of the church. This disconnect between Jesus and the church is the very thing to which many would object. After all we don’t want a disjunction between Jesus and the church. Indeed, Jesus and the church have a shared identity; the church derives it’s identity from Jesus himself. We are the body of Christ.

But if we take seriously this connection between the ministry of Jesus and the ministry of the church – between the mission of Jesus and the mission of the church—then we will have to expand our traditional understanding of the ministry of the church. It will have to include economic, social, peace and justice issues. We can no longer hide the church in the bastion of “salvation” (that is, the forgiveness of sins and our escape from hell to heaven), but rather must understand salvation as the reversal of the curse, the renewal of heaven and hearth in terms of cosmic and social liberation.

The ministry of Jesus was not only a word about forgiveness, but also the deeds and acts of social and cosmic redemption. The ministry of the church must model the “good news and good works” (to use Ron Sider’s title for his book on the “whole gospel”) trajectory of Jesus’ own ministry.

Hermeneutically, then, we need to recover how the Gospels shape the ministry and mission of the church so that we embody Jesus in our world today. Acts and the Epistles are examples and guides for the implementation of the Gospels through the life of the church. We need both and both should guide us.

I can’t seem to get it out of my mind, and I’ve tried. After working through Luke as preacher, Bible class teacher and small group leader for eleven months, I have found myself profoundly convicted. Over the next few posts (however long that takes me, and my track record on posting is not laudatory), I will reflect on some of these convictions that have disturbed me and my relationship to “church”.

Students of Luke recognize how programmatic Luke 4:18-19 is for his gospel. The announcement of Jubilee—the in-breaking kingdom reversing the curse of fallenness, healing the brokenness—colors almost every word in Luke. It is the broad context of the story of Jesus. Indeed, it is his mission.

The mission is quickly embodied in the story. Luke’s summary in Luke 4:40-44 is particularly helpful. Jesus heals varies diseases and casts our demons. As he begins to move on to new villages, the people seek to dissuade him. But Jesus announces his mission—the reason he was sent. “I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent.”

What is the “good news of the kingdom”? What was the content of Jesus’ preaching at this early stage? It was not his death and resurrection since he will not begin to speak of that until chapter 9. What is the good news?

The good news is concrete, and it is for the poor (economic, social, relational—the poor in the widest possible sense of people oppressed by the powers). The good news is that the “kingdom is near” and this is good news because it means God is at work to heal the brokenness in the world. He heals the sick, raises the dead, cast out demons, includes the outsiders, breaks down the walls, releases the oppressed, frees the captive, and reintroduces shalom into God’s creation.

The church has too often focused its message on the soteriological implications of the death and resurrection of Jesus and has not proclaimed the “good news of the kingdom”. This has turned the gospel into an individual application of the atonement of Christ rather than the social and corporate introduction of the kingdom that transforms the world. It ignores the “good news” of the gospel in the Gospels for the individualist, perhaps even modernistic, (mis)interpretation of Paul’s gospel. It exalts the individual over the social, the spiritual (defined in some quasi-Platonic way) over the material and evangelism (defined in the narrow sense of “soul-saving”) over good works.

The good news of the kingdom is that the people of God, as the body of Christ, go about “doing good” as Jesus did. They are a people dedicated to good works. But the church tends to think that good works only serve the end of evangelism (narrowly conceived), but actually good works serve the kingdom of God. They are moments of redemptive in-breaking that bear witness to the kingdom. Good works are an end in themselves and not simply the means of evangelism.

Good works can stand on their own and the church should not delimit them because they cannot explicitly produce “baptisms” or assured evangelistic results. Jesus went about “doing good” but ended up with only a few disciples. Doing good is a kingdom end in itself because it glorifies the God who seeks to heal the brokenness in the world. It bears witness to God’s love and compassion. God heals brokenness toward the end of reconciliation such that “doing good” is a reconciling act in the world. “Do-gooders” are ministers of reconciliation.

My wedding day. Sheila Pettit was my bride. We married in Ellijay, Georgia.

I was 19 years old, though I had just graduated a few weeks before from Freed-Hardeman College. I was nervous, but excited.

We had dreams…and plans. First we would housesit for various people as I served as a summer Youth Minister for the Springfield Church of Christ in Springfield, VA just outside of Washington, D.C. Then in late August we would move to Philadelphia, PA where I would attend Westminster Theological Seminary.

We moved to Philly with no money. All our savings had paid tuition for the first semester. We had no jobs, but we had paid the first month’s rent on our apartment. We were going faith or perhaps naivete. Nevertheless, the Lord blessed us. We both found jobs within two weeks–including a preaching opportunity at the NE Philadelphia Church of Christ.

We had dreams. We planned to serve God in Germany, perhaps behind the Iron Curtain.

That first year was exhiliarting, and as with all first years of marriage a learning experience…learning to adjust to each other in our love.

We experienced tragedy that first year. Sheila had a miscarriage. But we were surrounded with a healing community in our small church.

It began on May 22, 1977…29 years ago today. It ended on April 30, 1980 when she died.

May 21 and May 22 come right after each other. I sort of wish they were spread out a bit. Those two days bring a mixture of sadness and joy to my heart. They are part of the stuff of my life and give meaning to my life.

And they (Joshua and Sheila) have shaped my life and enable me to be the person I am–whatever that is worth. But it is worth something because God has given me love once again and the joy of relationship and intimacy with Jennifer.

God be praised. He gives and he takes away, but he keeps on giving…and one day his gift will be without end.

Joshua,

I miss you. You died five years ago today.

There are times when I look around for you and expect you to be there. There are times when I remember your laugh, your smile and your hyperactive joy. They bring a smile to my face. You created laughter in our family even when we knew you would not always be with us.

There are times when I remember your suffering. I remember your aching joints, your deteriorating mind and capabilities, and your loss of activity. I remember your last years confined to a wheelchair or a bed.

Laughter and suffering–you experienced both, and your led us through both. We laughed with you and because of you. We suffered with you and watched you suffer. And both had their value, though I often wonder what exactly the value of your suffering was, if any.

Joshua, you gave us laughter and we also wept with you as you suffered. Life has not been the same without you. Life changes. Lives go on. But there is a hole in my heart that belongs to you. One day that hole will be filled as we see each other again.

I guess what I miss most is to hear you say “I love you.” Though you died at 16, I have not heard those words since you were 10. I long to hear them again. But though you could not say it, your cooing, your snuggling, your eyes conveyed it. Those are the memories that linger, and they are the hopes that will be fulfilled.

Joshua, I long to hold you again, speak to you and love on you. And I know one day I will.

Until then, my son, I will hold you dear in my memory….but there is a at least one joy that is not memory. My son, I enjoy my weekly time with you at the table of the Lord which we share with all the saints, past and present, every Sunday. There we meet in sweet communion with our common Savior and God.

Joshua, I miss you….but I’ll “see” you again next Sunday, my son. Rest in the peace of God’s arms and may God give my heart a share in that peace with you.

Love,

Dad

Text: Luke 18-19

This is the story of two men who make two very different choices. I admit upfront that I am not sure which man I am or which choice I would make. I know which one I would want to make, but I’m not sure which one I would actually make. Or perhaps I have already made it and don’t want to admit it.

One tale is the story of a respected and accepted leader in a devout religious community. He was apparently well known for his piety. Indeed, he was an obedient and dedicated servant of God through submission to the law. He could claim to have never committed adultery or stolen or lied. He would have probably been singled out as one of the most devout, dedicated and religious people in his synagogue. He was respected and loved. He recognized Jesus as a good man who could offer guidance for his life. He sought out Jesus to ask him a sincere question.

The other tale is the story of a well-known figure but infamously so. He was part of a dishonored and ostracized community. He was classed among the “sinners,” consorted with prostitutes, pursued the seedy side of life, and identified with Roman oppressors. No doubt he had exploited people and abused his position. He had cheated (stolen) people out of their money. His sexual lifestyle was no doubt adulterous. He exploited people. He was feared rather than respected; hated rather than loved.

Both men in these two tales are rulers. One rules, presumably, a synagogue—he’s probably one of the elders. The other rules the equivalent of a district office of the IRS—he is the ruling (chief) tax collector. They were societal leaders—public people, well-known in the community. They were both powerful people.

Both men are wealthy. Presumably the one was wealthy through hard work and/or inheritance, but the other was wealthy through exploitation and theft. But they were both known for their wealth. They both lived at the upper end of the economic scale and enjoyed the luxuries of wealth and power.

And both encountered Jesus, but with two very different results. As modern readers we expect the results as they are given in the stories, but Jesus’ contemporaries were scandalized by how these tales turned out.

The background of these stories, of course, is the whole course of the Gospel of Luke to this point. The kingdom of God is breaking into the world and it reverses all expectations, social standards and cultural norms. The last become first and the first become last. The king of the Jews eats with sinners and touches lepers. The kingdom call is to prioritize the kingdom (seek it first) and eliminate our worry about “stuff.” Indeed, the kingdom call is to sell our possessions and give it to the poor (Luke 12:32-33) so as to lay up treasure in the kingdom of God rather than in the kingdoms of this world.

The kingdom journey anticipates the twists and turns of these two stories, but they are still troublesome, challenging and shocking.

The rich, devout synagogue ruler refuses to sell his possessions and give them to the poor. The sinful and exploitative tax-collector volunteers to give half of what he owns to the poor and restore four-fold what he has stolen (twice what the law prescribes as a principle of restorative justice).

This is a reversal of the most dramatic kind. The disciples are scandalized by Jesus’ demand and his assumption that wealth is a barrier or hindrance to salvation (e.g., experiencing the fullness of life in the kingdom of God). “Who, then, can be saved?,” they ask.

The crowd, no doubt including his own disciples, are scandalized by Jesus’ insistence (he “must” go to the tax collector’s house) on the hospitality of a tax collector. “Why does Jesus go to the house of a ‘sinner’?,” they ask.

The world is turned upside down. The rich are lost and the tax collectors are saved. The devout synagogue ruler loves his wealth and the tax collector is willing to let it go for the sake of the kingdom. The devout ruler of the synagogue refuses to divest himself of his wealth and a sinful tax collector impoverishes himself for the sake of the poor, for the sake of the kingdom of God.

This tale is not, however, about them. Oh, yes, these are “their stories.” But they are told for our sakes.

In particular, who am I? Am I the rich young ruler –the respected leader within a religious community who has sought to follow God all his life but who lives in luxury with hardly a thought about the poor (or perhaps a nod on occasion through a small gift)? Or am I the sinner who is willing to give half of my possessions to the poor because I’ve caught the kingdom vision and embrace the mission of Jesus to the poor?

I fear that I look too much like the former rather than latter. I fear that my wealth betrays me and I am too tied to it, too dependent upon it, to even think about giving half of my possessions to the poor.

We too easily domesticate the story of the rich young ruler. We spiritualize it, allegorize it and recontextualize it so that Jesus does not really mean for us to sell our possessions and give them to the poor. But the kingdom demand is not just made of this particular person. Rather, it is the mode of kingdom living itself. Don’ worry, Jesus says, and sell your possessions and give to the poor. It is a discipleship demand; it is for all disciples (Luke 12:32-33).

I know who I should be; I know the tale I should tell. But my own sadness (along with my self-justifications) reveals that I am too much like the rich young ruler than I would care to admit. I enjoy my status in the religious community. I enjoy my wealth. I want to keep it. But I also want to follow Jesus. I’m caught in the mix, and I struggle with how to live faithfully with this wealth (or without it) and how I might and whether I can divest myself of the wealth for the sake of the kingdom.

I’m afraid. I struggle. I agonize. It is good to struggle. The struggle means that I’m still alive, still trying to live under the kingdom demand. We don’t have a set of prescriptions to follow (e.g., only 20% of your income on housing). Rather, we have a story that we embrace and seek to life out. We follow Jesus. It is no easy task. Indeed, it cost us our lives.

Jesus, I want to follow you. Give me the courage, boldness and strength to love you more than my money.

Jesus, lover of souls, be merciful to me, a sinner.