Here we have two encounters that offer a

piercing contrast.

Part one. Jesus has been teaching a growing

crowd of devoted followers and intrigued listeners.

Just one chapter ago, in response to a selfinterested question from his disciples about who

will be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, who

will get a front row seat in God’s kingdom, Jesus

called a child forward. You must change. You must

become like children or you will never enter the

kingdom of heaven. To underscore the message,

he gives them this memorable line: “Whoever

welcomes one child in my name welcomes me.”

At least, that line should have been memorable.

But here we are, barely a chapter later, and those

same disciples—the ones who have just heard him

say those words—completely forget. And intent on

protecting Jesus from unacceptable disruption and

distraction, they order the parents to get those noisy,

sticky, chaotic, unruly children out of his way. I don’t

know about you, but I can sense Jesus’ frustration

(what did I just say?) as he reiterates the earlier

point. Hey guys, the kingdom of God belongs to

these kids!

Part two. A man approaches Jesus with a question

about eternal life. His query is practical. What must

I do to earn it? Initially, Jesus points him toward the

commandments found in their tradition, but the man

senses the need for more; he knows that something is

missing. Literally, what do I still lack?

Jesus takes him seriously. In fact, in an earlier

version of this same story from the Gospel of Mark,

the writer records, “Jesus looked at the man and

loved him.” Tenderly, he offers a simple invitation.

Sell your possessions. Give the money to the poor.

Come and follow me.

It does not end well. This earnest young man is

overcome with sadness. He catalogues the vastness

of his resources, and then he walks away—not from

his possessions, but from Jesus.

Perhaps similarly grieved that the man missed the

moment, Jesus offers a sad summary statement. It will

be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven.

The kingdom of God belongs to children.

It will be difficult for anyone with vast resources to

find it.

How are we to take this distinction Jesus draws for

his disciples?

Start with this: it is a mistake to conclude that Jesus

is condemning his conversation partner. His words

are not directive; they are descriptive. Not harsh

judgment, but distressing reality.

The man approaches Jesus seeking salvation, and

Jesus takes his question to heart. He loves the man.

Jesus does intend to save him. From what? From the

ideology that dominated his life. From that unceasing

whisper in his ear, “More, more, more. Always more.

Never enough.” We—you and I—we know that

whisper. That man, like us, needed to be saved. So,

Jesus invites the man into relationship. Let it go. Come

and follow me. Jesus offers salvation, the freedom to

experience joy, deeper faith, and generous living.

Part one. Part two. The distinction here is between

those who run to Jesus to receive the blessing he

offers and one who walks away grieving the prison of

his wealth. I know the illustration lingered in the minds

of his disciples because still shocked by his words,

they ask another question, another question of their

own. “Then who can be saved?” they ask. Jesus again

has a simple answer. For mortals it is impossible, but

for God all things are possible.

Listen. If our faith is going to mean anything at all,

it will make us uncomfortable. As a great preacher

said, “The truth will set you free, but first it will make

you mad.” It will expose the lies by which we live

and compel us to do something differently. Over and

over again in the gospels, Jesus gently reframes the

perspective of those who would follow him. Opening

their eyes and their hearts, he urges them to see their

lack that may lead to life.

What must we do to earn eternal life?

How can we live abundantly and find deep fulfillment?

Aren’t these the questions we all want answered?

All of us who sense there is something more. All of

us who long for deeper purpose. The good news in

this morning’s scripture is that the answer isn’t all

that complex. Now, don’t misunderstand me—I didn’t

say easy. The man who walks away from Jesus is our

stand-in. He represents all of us too encumbered to

accept the invitation to life that is life.

Here’s the thing we need to know on Commitment

Sunday. Jesus is talking about more than writing

checks or filling out pledge cards. The kind of

commitment Jesus demands begins with a radical

change in our hearts that transforms our perspective.

What Jesus has in mind here is not charity, not

in the anemic way we use the word. His purpose

is salvation. His vision is the kingdom of God—a

dramatic shift away from a world in which some

people survive only because the wealthy and

powerful choose to act morally from time to time.

This is no way to embody the kingdom of God. What

Jesus preaches, what he lives, is a fundamental

tension with the status quo. He destroys categories.

He disrupts comfort. He invites us to a walk of

discipleship. Come. Follow me. What Jesus demands

is a new way of seeing everything.

A couple months ago, my friend Mike Mather led a

wonderful seminar for our Lake Fellows. For many

years, Mike served as pastor of Broadway United

Methodist Church here in Indianapolis before moving

in 2020 to become pastor of a Methodist Church in

Boulder, Colorado. That morning with our residents,

he told a story that has lived in my heart ever since.

The church he now serves is in downtown Boulder,

and several folks who are homeless often sleep on the

steps outside their building. Early in his time as pastor,

a group of members, seeking to initiate and get some

help from the new pastor, came to Mike with a request

that he do something about this issue. Namely, that

he remove these folks from the steps of the church.

You can imagine the words that were used. Eyesore.

Unsanitary. Uncomfortable. Dangerous. Mike told the

members that they would need to deliver this news,

but he agreed to set up the meeting. So, one evening,

in the church fellowship hall, Mike brewed a pot of

coffee and gathered members of the congregation

and those who were sleeping on the steps. He began

by asking each person to gather in a circle and briefly

introduce themselves, one by one, to the rest of the

group. Each one shared their name and a little bit of

their story. Then Mike turned to the members of his

congregation. “Was there something you wanted to

tell our neighbors?” Silence.

Abundant life begins when we see the world through

the lens of the Gospel. When we see every person as

God’s beloved child, created in love and redeemed

by grace. It is a powerful shift. And we can start

right now. We can release our stranglehold on our

possessions and our obsession with more, more,

more. We can live generously for others. The invitation

is open, and so much will depend on how we respond.

On November 19, 1838—185 years ago today—fifteen

members of the First Presbyterian Church in the

frontier city of Indianapolis gathered in an unfinished

lecture hall of the Marion County Seminary. They

were there to charter a new congregation in the

New School Presbytery of Indiana. As one of our

worshipers in early worship this morning said,

“Those must have been some tough old birds.” A

year later, after three invitations were declined, this

fledgling congregation called its first pastor. A 26

year old, he was the son of a well-known preacher

and seminary president, and the first full time pastor

of this new congregation. And so, in the fall of 1839,

Henry Ward Beecher arrived in Indianapolis, and

this bold group of new school Presbyterians charted

a new course in the new city. From its very start,

the Second Presbyterian Church of Indianapolis

sought to make an impact on the city in which God

had placed it, to be a community of service and

leadership. And over the decades, this congregation

has done just that, establishing outreach centers

and mission chapels, educating and caring for the

poor in our city, working with others to form the first

boy scout troops, schools, medical clinics, the city’s

first public library system. And here in this space,

disciples of Jesus and servants of God have been

inspired, charged, and sent to serve in every part of

our city, our nation, and our world. New ministries

have been birthed in these pews, in the hearts and

minds of worshipers. New possibilities imagined.

New ventures launched.

And now, 185 years later, it is in our hands.

Prognostication about the Church’s future is a

hobby for many in our culture. Decline is the

narrative of choice.

But what if we built?

What if we built a culture of civility, respect, and

constructive dialogue, where every topic was fair

game, and every voice could be heard?

What if we built?

What if we built networks of opportunity and

dignity for neighbors with material need? What if

we heard their voices and listened to their stories?

What if we built?

What if we built initiatives to invest in early

childhood education and mentoring for students?

What if we built?

What if we built space for experiences of

transcendence that lift the vision beyond our limits

and toward the promise that with God all things

are possible?

What if we built?

There are many gifts that come with advanced age.

Or so I’m told. Second Church has demonstrated

staying power. Think of what this institution, this

congregation, this church has seen. Violence and

global pandemics. The wonder and horror of human

ingenuity and technology. Dramatic eras of social

change and progress. Times of deep division and

even civil war. It was on the 25th anniversary of

Second Church that President Lincoln delivered

the Gettysburg Address, the nation torn in two, and

this congregation continuing to gather. Second has

sought a faithful way forward in every age. Sometimes

we have succeeded, and sometimes we have failed.

Sometimes we’ve been mixed with faith and doubt,

courage and fear. I feel the weight of that strength

and tradition and the responsibility of the moment we

are now in. I feel that call to build. More than anything

else, the work of our church is a declaration of hope in

what the world can become. It always has been.

That wealthy young man tragically missed out. He

slinks away in self-doubt. He retreats in fear, listening,

“more, more.”

Second Church, we do not have to follow him. There is

another guide. There is another path. It is the one that

begins this morning’s story. Children running to Jesus,

eager to receive his blessing and to follow him.

What would it take for us to run toward Jesus in the year

ahead? What must we release? What must be built?

Second Church, it’s in our hands. Amen.