By Ernesto Hernandez, Washington Conference media director
There’s this story in the Gospels that kept me up last night, the good kind of up, where you can’t stop thinking about something because it’s true. A man gets so close to the Kingdom that you can almost see the hinge of heaven swinging open for him. And then… silence. No miracle. No transformation. He slowly walks away, full of sadness.
A man runs up to Jesus, literally sprints, and he’s not trying to trap Him or catch Him in some theological gotcha.
He asks a question that matters. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus looks at him with love and says, “You know the commandments.”
And the man eagerly answers, “I’ve done them all. Since I was a kid.” He’s the young adult who actually showed up. The Pathfinder who earned all the honors. The faithful tithe returner. The respectable, moral, always on time for the board meeting kind of guy. The kind of believer every church would love to showcase. By all appearances, he’s in. He’s checked every box. He’s done everything right. You can feel the weight of that accomplishment as he waits for the highest approval known to mankind.
But then Jesus says, “One thing you lack. Sell it all. Give to the poor. Come follow Me.”
The man doesn’t argue. He doesn’t get defensive or angry. He doesn’t even doubt Jesus’ authority. He just walks away, not because he hated God, but because he loved his stuff just a little more. Because he didn’t own his things. His things owned him.
We can do everything right. We can show up, dress up, and quote all the red letters. You can obey all the commandments and still miss the one thing Jesus asked for. Your whole heart. Not your image. Not your things. Not your credentials. But your full, undivided, completely detached from this world heart.
The rich man’s problem wasn’t that he had things. It’s that his things had him. And when Jesus offered freedom, he chose the cage, because it was made of gold.
Some of us are clinging to what’s killing us because it feels comfortable. We’d rather look free than actually be free with Christ.
Some of us are clinging to what’s killing us because it feels comfortable. We’d rather look free than actually be free with Christ.
I know this because I’ve tried it. I’ve stood on the dock with one foot in the boat, trying to do both things at once. You know what happens? Spoiler alert: You end up in the water. Every single time. Following Jesus isn’t about being flawless. It’s about being all there.
This new year, I will keep asking myself every night. “What’s the one thing you won’t let go of? What’s the idol you’ve disguised as a blessing?”
Because only empty hands can carry a cross.
Don’t walk away sad. Walk away free.