"Words of Wisdom!" My Roadside Chat with a Cycling Nomad

I had the wildest conversation of my life the other day.

I was walking Reggie down my road, minding my own business, listening to my daily Pimsleur lesson and spouting random Korean phrases (as one does), when a man passed on a bike shouting, "Words of wisdom!" Naturally, I stopped and removed my headphones in time to hear him call out with Russian-tinted gusto, "My dear soul, what is life?"

"Jesus," I answered.

And so it began.

My new friend was a passionate traveller who saw the world in very stark categories, an outlook he insisted was individual to him. I could write a few posts on the contours of that conversation and how God used it to challenge me. My friend asserted strongly that ours was a divine appointment, and I'm inclined to agree, albeit for different reasons. One of the most fascinating aspects of that conversation was his belief in his own purity—that by abstaining from temptations x,y,z, he had actually and utterly fulfilled God's will for human life. He was, to borrow his word, "pure" by his own merit.

Note that I took care to clarify this point: this was not the purity or holiness of a life covered in the blood of Christ (he rejected that idea entirely). Rather, it was a purity bought by human effort—in his case, a life of ascetic self-denial and rigorous adherence to a certain moral standard.

One of my friend's proudest accomplishments was his denial of material possessions. He rejected them on principle, citing Jesus' conversation with the rich man when questioned: "You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven" (Mark 10:21).

Funnily enough, I read that passage this morning as part of my current journey through Mark, and couldn't help but think of my new friend's very literal interpretation of the account. And I know what you're thinking. Wait, Niki, was that anecdote about your nomadic cyclist friend just the lead-up to a contemplation from the book of Mark?

I don't know. Was it?

Here's the thing. Jesus' conversation with the rich young ruler was once a source of great anxiety for me. After all, I hadn't sold everything I owned. I had a Webkinz collection and a rattly piggy bank I couldn't imagine giving up. Did that disqualify me from the kingdom? As I got older, those anxieties transferred to the financial concerns of adulthood. If I had money, was I sinning? If I saved, was I worshipping mammon? What if Jesus knocked on my door one day and demanded of me what he required of the rich young ruler? Would I pass the test, or walk away dejected?

So focused on my fears, I failed to recognize the deeper dynamic occurring in Mark 10:21. Let's take another look, shall we? This time, I'll include the final few words that didn't come up in my conversation the other day:

"And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, 'You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.'"

When we think about sacrificing things for Jesus, we often consider it in terms of reduction. Subtraction. Elimination. Something minus something else equals less than before. Jesus asked the rich young ruler to sell all his possessions; he also asks us to deny ourselves daily and to give up anything that might steer our feet off the narrow path. That means giving things up. Lots of things. Subtraction upon subtraction.

But that's not the end of the story.

Jesus' command to the rich young ruler is not necessarily a commentary on the dangers of materialism, though the Bible has plenty to say about getting too attached to fleeting earthly things. In true Jesus fashion, he peered into that earnest young man's heart and recognized the particular chain binding that particular man most strongly, preventing him from tasting true life. Maybe that chain had grown strong enough that the young ruler couldn't move toward Jesus: he could only walk in circles, following the law day after day but making no real progress toward intimacy with God.

In that sense, the sacrifice Jesus demanded was not a mere subtraction, but a liberation. By letting go of that wealth, the rich young ruler would have found himself with less material power, yes, but more freedom to follow Christ.

See, my cycling friend believed that he had achieved purity by eliminating things from his life. But the fact is, subtraction alone doesn't get us any closer to holiness. We must fill that void with Christ, or rather, let him fill it. Which is why Mark 10:21 doesn't end with, 'sell all that you have.' It ends with, 'Come, follow me.'

The life Christ calls us to is a life of sacrifice, yes, but it's simultaneously a life of radical fullness. Because Christ never asks us to surrender something without also promising to fill that space with something infinitely better—himself. Does that make the surrender any less difficult? Not necessarily. We humans tend to cling too tightly to that which gives us a false sense of security at the expense of true joy. However, one thing is guaranteed: whatever we subtract and set aside to follow Jesus, our God adds infinitely more.