Bulletin Articles
“What Do I Lack?”
Categories: Iron sharpens ironIn writing these articles each week, as well as writing sermons and other programming, the hardest part for me is always selecting a topic. It’s not for any shortage of material, but because there’s so much to cover, and so choosing one tiny aspect of God’s will and our efforts to please him is a daunting task, each and every time the decision must be made.
On those occasions when nothing in particular jumps out at me as uniquely pertinent and urgent, I find myself looking over what has been covered lately, and asking the question, “what is missing?” Phrased another way, it sounds like a question someone once asked Jesus: “what do I still lack?”
When Jesus was posed this question, it was a by a rich young man who led not with this open invitation to hit him where he was most vulnerable, but with a more detached, “what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” (Mt 19.16) Jesus passes by the man’s profound misunderstanding of the kind of covenant he is inaugurating, and instead addresses the question from an Old Testament perspective, telling him to keep the commandments, “You shall not murder, You shall not commit adultery, You shall not steal, You shall not bear false witness, Honor your father and mother, and, You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (vv18-19).
Now comes the question that got our attention in the first place—he responds in v20: “All these I have kept. What do I still lack?” This question is frustrating as we attempt to follow the story and, in a sense, attempt to experience this interaction ourselves through our reading of it. The words alone do not tell us the man’s thoughts, and his thoughts are what would seem to hold the greatest insight for us. But we’re left with ambiguity—is the man sincere? Much has been made of Mark’s note, that “Jesus, looking at him, loved him” (Mk 10.21), but that doesn’t mean he’s sincere. After all, Jesus loved a bunch of horrible sinners enough to die for us (Ro 5.8), so there’s not an easy answer to the question. Is he asking in good faith? If so, that would leave us with one lesson to take from this interaction, and especially Jesus’ response to the man. But if he’s insincere, it would be a different lesson, although the two would have much in common. As so often happens in the Bible, the ambiguity is deliberate—God uses the record of this one interaction to speak to people coming from different directions, and to thereby focus the lessons they need to learn better.
Perhaps the man is just fishing for a compliment—he’s kept these commandments, or so he thinks, and so he hopes this famous Rabbi will give him a pat on the back and validate his membership card for the holier-than-thou club. He expects Jesus to respond by saying something like, “you lack nothing; well done.” That, I’m sure makes it quite an unpleasant surprise when Jesus smacks down his ego by poking exactly at his most vulnerable spot—his love of wealth. It teaches us not only a lesson about greed, but also about about arrogance, about self-righteousness, and about the massive shortcomings hidden by those who appear outwardly to be perfect specimens of piety. All the details about him running to meet Jesus, kneeling before him (again, Mark supplies these), addressing him tones of great respect, and even the questions he asks, are now tainted by the man’s selfish hypocrisy, and we’re left passing judgment on the man before we even realize it.
But while that lesson would be valid, it’s not necessarily the case for this man. Perhaps he really is sincere. Perhaps his display of humility before Jesus is just that; perhaps he really regards him as the Good Teacher; perhaps he really has kept the Law of Moses without any obvious failures. In that case, when he asks the question we’ve been considering, it’s suddenly very meaningful that he hasn’t asked, “do I still lack anything,” but “what do I still lack?” He takes for granted that he does fall short, even though he’s not sure why. This innate conviction of his own shortcoming now speaks well of him—as if he’s actually a great guy, but hasn’t gotten a big head, and never looks down on others, because he’s too busy trying his best to be what God wants him to be. Now, the end of the interaction becomes all the more poignant: “Jesus said to him, ‘If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.’ When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions” (Mt 19.21-22). He was convinced he wasn’t good enough; and he was right.
Of course, in both cases the greater lesson is that we must be willing to give everything for Christ, and when push comes to shove, must follow through on that willingness and truly devote our lives to following Christ, rather than pleasing ourselves; but because of the way this story is related, there’s much more depth, and a more personal, exposing, motivating punchline, since it applies to all of us, no matter how different we are from one another.
In the end, it may seem better for the man not to ask the question—since he has, in the one scenario he’s an arrogant blowhard, in the other a self-flagellating no account—but I don’t think the exchange is intended to teach us that. Rather, its very ambiguity prompts us to realize that we’re all asking that question, constantly, whether sincerely or not; and while it’s better to be the honest and humble one, the truth is that, regardless of whether we ask out of pride or humility, the answer to the question “what do I still lack?” Is always the same: plenty.
Jesus gave an answer to the rich young man; have you done what he said? Have you given your all to the pursuit of discipleship? I’m sure that even Peter, John, James, and Paul were looking at themselves regularly, routinely finding something more they could’ve given. In fact, Paul tells us as much in Philippians 3.12-14:
Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.
This is not a part-time job, or a passing phase. It’s about our entire lives, and whether we truly surrender everything to Christ and his will. That doesn’t mean we should leave the world—the world is where Jesus wants his work to be done! But it does mean that we should be sojourners here, making it the goal of our every thought, action, and moment to get home to him.
Jeremy Nettles
