“Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.”
— Mark 10:25
You always hear
“You can’t take it with you,”
and that’s right, you can’t.
But what is it?
Jesus made his statement just after talking to a wealthy young man.
I am not implying that he wasn’t referring to money.
But maybe he also meant something more.
We do not get to hold on to our stuff
if we want to enter the kingdom of God.
Not any of it.
Obviously not our material possessions.
No one is going to make it through the eye of a needle
holding a fat wallet, or a bulky jewelry box,
or sitting in a really nice car.
The eye of a needle is a skimming thing.
It will skim those things right off you.
That part is straightforward.
It is much simpler for me to give away my stuff,
or write a check,
or even hand over my car keys,
than it is for me to give away,
actively hand over to God,
things that lie so deep within me
I can barely discern them as being separate from me.
My sense of entitlement.
I work hard so I am owed.
I have suffered much so I am owed.
I am good so I am owed.
I don’t have that particular bad habit so I am better.
I don’t cheat on my spouse so I am better.
I don’t hit my kids so I am better.
I don’t smoke, I am not addicted to alcohol, so I am better.
My sense of other.
Buried so deep I almost can’t find it to write about it,
my sense of separateness from other people.
My sense of us versus them.
In my own heart I am always the us,
never the them,
and without even knowing I am making a choice at all,
I separate myself from humanity.
As if their suffering were only theirs,
when in truth,
all suffering is ours.
We are all one.
It is not a nice thought.
It is not a Hallmark card.
It is the truth.
There is so much change I cannot effect.
The world is huge.
I am small.
I fail, constantly.
I am ill-equipped to change the world.
But I have an opportunity,
right in the spaces where I live,
to draw the circle a little wider.
To pull back wide
the doors of the church,
letting more light spill out,
offering the invitation more broadly,
welcoming more souls to the party
that was never meant just for me in the first place.
I cannot enter the kingdom of God with these things in my hands,
with these things in my heart.
They will be skimmed off me,
and it might hurt,
and I might miss them.
I have had them for so long.
They are so familiar.
I am apprehensive.
But the light is spilling out over the path,
and I can hear music,
I can feel warmth,
and that is where I want to go.
I want to be there,
in that kingdom,
near that Party-Giver,
and I don’t have to decide who can come in with me.
That is not my decision to make.
Wait for me.
I am coming.
I’ll be right there.
I’ve just got a few things I have to set down first.
Latest posts by Lindy Thompson (see all)
- Kindness Begins with Crayons: A Response to the Serena Williams Cartoon - September 18, 2018
- The Wailing One - February 24, 2018
- God Not Male - January 12, 2018