The Disturbing Interaction with the Rich Young Ruler

Jesus’ interaction with the rich young ruler found in Mark 10 has forever fascinated me—primarily because it disturbs me. It should. It’s a warning. Jesus looked at his disciples and said, “How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” (Mark 10:23). The disciples were amazed at his words. Money was a sign of God’s blessing. How could this man’s money be his problem?

I live in a wealthy city in a wealthy country surrounded by wealthy people. Maybe his problem is our problem too.

But lest we take this as some rejection of the wealthy, Jesus expands his comment. “Children [Notice the assuring address], how difficult it is to enter the kingdom of God! [Notice: no wealth mentioned] It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” And they were exceedingly astonished. They asked, “Then who can be saved?”

Now maybe you’ve heard that Jesus is referring to a narrow entry gate into Jerusalem called the Eye of the Needle. A camel could get through it, but it had to bend down and squeeze through. It was difficult, but it was possible. That’s not what Jesus meant. A camel was the biggest animal in Israel. The eye of a needle was the smallest opening. Jesus is saying, “You know what’s absolutely impossible? That big camel fitting through that tiny hole. You know what’s even more impossible? Someone getting into heaven.”

What?

What is Jesus doing? He’s telling us that salvation is not something man can accomplish. No matter how much we do, we can never gain heaven. We’re a big, smelly camel trying to fit through the narrow holiness God requires. And we just can’t do it. We’re too fat with sin, too lumpy with unrighteousness. It’s impossible to squeeze ourselves into heaven.

Our best and brightest, our most valuable gifts, our most righteous works amount next to God’s holiness as nothing, even less than nothing. Our bigness doesn’t buy heaven. It’s not for sale.

So sell it all. Downsize. Minimize. Simplify. Make our life as small and laser-focused as a thread. Then perhaps we can make it through that needle’s eye. But our smallness doesn’t let us slip through heaven’s doors either.

Our hearts are hard, and our sin runs deeper than our actions; it lives in our blood. It’s hereditary. As Paul realized after his conversion, outward obedience to the law is nothing compared to inward disobedience (Phil. 3:6). There is no earthly cure; only a heavenly one. “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.” What things?

Things like making fishermen fishers of men. Things like casting out an unclean spirit to make a man clean. Things like healing all who are sick and demon-possessed in one night of miraculous power. Things like touching an untouchable and making him clean. Things like telling a paralytic to rise and walk. Things like collecting a tax collector into the kingdom of God. Things like restoring a withered hand. Things like calming a storm at sea. Things like healing a man with a demon. Things like drying a discharge of blood that no one could stop for twelve years. Things like raising a little girl to silence those who doubt. Things like taking a few loaves and fishes and making a feast in the desert for thousands. Things like walking on water. Things like restoring hearing to the deaf and sight to the blind and a right mind to a boy with an unclean spirit. Things like upholding God’s law, teaching with authority, and calling sinners to repentance.

Things like that, which we have seen so far in Mark’s gospel and show that for all our impossibility Jesus has storehouses of possibility. Jesus came to make a way. With man it is impossible, but not with God. Not with Jesus.

“Then who can be saved?” You can.

But before you can be saved, Jesus must deal with you—the real you, not the dressed-up you. He’ll strip you down first. C.S. Lewis illustrates in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

Eustace is in love with his treasures. One night, he falls asleep with a gold bracelet on his arm and transforms into a dragon, becoming an outward manifestation of his inward self. The bracelet gets tighter and tighter, and he can’t get it off. He’s driven from humanity and in a moment of loneliness begins to cry. Aslan, the lion, the Jesus figure, arrives and asks Eustace to follow him.

They go down to a well. The water clear and inviting. Eustace senses the well can heal him. But before getting in, Aslan tells him to undress. Of course, dragons don’t wear clothes. But dragons are kind of like snakes. He realizes Aslan meant he must shed his skin first. So he starts scratching and scratching. He says, “And then I scratched a little deeper and, instead of just scales coming off here and there, my whole skin started peeling off beautifully, like it does after an illness, or as if I was a banana. In a minute or two I just stepped out of it. I could see it lying there beside me, looking rather nasty. It was a most lovely feeling. So I started to go down into the well for my bath.”

But his scales grew back. So he goes through the exercise again. But it grows back again and again. Aslan says, “You will have to let me undress you.” Eustace was afraid, but he saw the task was impossible in his own hands.

“I was afraid of his claws,” Eustace said, “but I was pretty nearly desperate now. So I just lay flat down on my back to let him do it.

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off...

“Well, he peeled the beastly stuff right off — just as I thought I’d done it myself the other three times, only they hadn’t hurt — and there it was lying on the grass: only ever so much thicker, and darker, and more knobbly-looking than the others had been. And there was I as smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me — I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on — and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as soon as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone from my arm. And then I saw why. I’d turned into a boy again...

“After a bit the lion took me out and dressed me...in new clothes.”

The rich young man was Eustace of his day. He needed to be de-dragoned. We all do. Jesus has to strip us to save us. He has to remove to redeem. He saves the us underneath the stuff we put on top to protect. He saves as we really are, not as who we want to be. He removes our false savior—our false Holy Grail—and replaces it with himself. Jesus is our only hope of heaven.

That was the offer Jesus made to this young man. But he didn’t trust Jesus enough to lay down and let him tear deep. But you can.

With you it is impossible. But not with God. Not with Jesus. Why not lay down all we have built up—all our monuments of righteousness, all our grand obedience and good deeds, our wealth and possessions, and let Jesus tear deep. It might feel like you’ve entered hell, but he’s giving you heaven.