The Word of God is alive and active; it cuts like any two-edged sword (Hb 4:12)
The story of the Rich Young Man we heard in today’s Gospel is such a divine word. We receive it as ever alive and active; not to be judged by us, but precisely to judge us; to scrutinise our secret thoughts and intentions (Hb 4:12). This is the passage that prompted the youthful Antony, father of all monks, to abandon all things in order to follow Christ, round about the year 269. It’s the passage taken by Pope St. John Paul II for his profound reflection on the Christian moral life in the 1993 Encyclical Veritatis splendor. These words that once pierced Antony’s heart retain their power to pierce ours too; not just once but time and again; to challenge us, to stir our conscience, to lead us ever and anew to conversion, and to Jesus.
St. Mark’s version of this story is typically full of small details omitted in the parallel passages of Matthew and Luke. The sheer energy of the young man is one such detail. He does not walk, he runs. He does not politely address Jesus at some convenient moment. He hurls himself at him, then crashes to the ground at his feet. Clearly, he has no doubt about the greatness and authority of Jesus. He’s not ashamed to show ardent devotion in public. If he’s a bit over-full of self confidence, he also shows definite signs of humility, and genuine religious commitment.
Good master, what must I do to inherit eternal life? This comes from someone who has recently inherited a great deal of money. He did nothing whatever to earn it; he simply got it on coming of age; and he finds it’s not enough for him. Admirably, he understands that what he lacks is not just more money, but something much better than that: actually what we all most deeply want. The young man here calls it eternal life. We could add other synonyms: God’s Kingdom; freedom from sin; moral uprightness; communion with God; consummated holiness; perfect personal fulfilment; uncompromised happiness; radical escape from the bonds of this fallen world; freedom at last from all sorrow and pain, and even from mortality itself. That’s asking a lot. Our young man realises it’s not so easily obtained, but senses that Jesus somehow has it all in his gift.
But instead of congratulating him, Jesus slaps him down. It’s a startling contrast to the way he welcomed the little children a few moments before. Why call me good? You think I’m good because I cast out demons, and heal the sick; because I preach beautiful doctrine; because I rebuke the Pharisees, and obviously walk with God. But you can’t really know the meaning or extent of my goodness until you have both confessed my divinity, and seen me nailed, for your sake, to the Cross. Then Jesus goes on, not answering the question. He does not tell the man what to do, but only what not to do. Omitting the first commandments, which are concerned with the worship and love of God, Jesus lists five of the ten commandments. Uniquely in St. Mark’s account, an extra commandment is inserted: Do not defraud (cf. Dt 24:14). Surely we have a little hint here about the source of this inherited wealth. In the Palestine of the time, pretty well everyone was poor, except for compromised people like Herod’s courtiers, or collaborators with the Romans, like the tax collectors. But our young man boldly stands his ground. His father may have done some bad things, but he personally has never exploited his own people.
Jesus looked steadily at him and loved him. This is the only place in this Gospel where we are told directly about the love of Jesus. It’s a moment of revelation, and also of high drama; not just for the rich young man, but for each one of us without exception. Jesus looks at each of us with eyes of love; he yearns for us; he offers us unimaginable riches, beyond our wildest dreams: and by and large we pay very little attention. Quite often don’t even notice, because we’re too busy focussing on other, infinitely lesser things. And that is deeply sad.
The young man in the story does not refuse the offer of Jesus out of wickedness, like Judas or Caiaphas or Herod. He is good, and wants good things. He turns away simply because of his worldly attachments; because of a last-minute failure of generosity, and of courage; because he chooses what has no lasting value, in preference to what is supremely valuable. He may well have kept the moral commandments of the law, but here he is shown to have failed at the first and greatest commandment: to love God above all things, because God has first loved him.
Any of us can fail like this at any time, including monks who officially have vows of dispossession. In little, often hidden ways, we can turn away from Jesus. We can feel he is asking too much from us, and instead of saying with our Lady Fiat voluntas tua, we say with the devil Non serviam (cf. Jer 2:20). Thank God anyway that while life lasts, there remains space for repentance! We aren’t told what became eventually of our rich young man. Perhaps by divine Providence he landed up losing all his wealth anyway? Perhaps after Pentecost he came to lay it all at the feet of Peter? Perhaps he died at last a martyr for Christ? According to one story, his name was Dysmas, and he landed up a crucified thief; promised, moments before his death, a place in paradise with Jesus (Lk 23:41). What we do know for certain is that we ourselves can be selfish, grasping, ungenerous, fearful, earthly-minded. But then, by God’s grace, we can realise our folly, and change our ways for the better. Then in prayer we deliberately place ourselves before the loving gaze of Jesus. We open ourselves to that, and respond to it in kind. And then our joy returns, and all things become easy for us.
What shall I do to inherit eternal life? Love God by loving Jesus. Believe in him; be baptised; live according to his commandments; serve His little ones; eat his Body; drink his Blood.
Then Peter responded: what about us? You who have chosen to follow me: you are already rich indeed! You are Christians! You are God’s adopted children! You walk permanently in my love, my friendship, my fellowship! What is worldly wealth compared to that? Tinsel trash, mere encumbrance, sordid lucre. Instead of that, you have found the treasure hidden in the field, the pearl of great price, worth more, says Wisdom, than sceptres and thrones. Compared to this, all gold is a pinch of sand, and beside this silver ranks as mud (Wisdom 7:8-9).