And lo, one coming up said to him, Teacher, what good thing shall I do that I may have life eternal?
This man arrives immediately after Jesus has blessed the little children, and the contrast is the whole point of the scene: one comes running with a serious question about eternal life, yet asks it in a way that assumes the answer lies in his own hands. Everything turns on two small words in his question — "good" and "do."
The placement of this incident is deliberate. The kingdom had just been given to those who receive it like children; now a very different kind of person steps forward.
Verse 16 speaks of one who comes to the Lord, but not as a little child. He is in earnest, no doubt, but his words show confidence in his own ability to do something to earn eternal life. This is not the simplicity of a little child. The Lord asks him why he brings up good at all, for only one is good, that is, God. Since the man is not good in himself, how can he expect to do a good thing?
Notice what he leaves out. He asks about having life; he never asks about being saved.
The young man in Matthew 19:16 did not say, "What shall I do to be saved?" but "to have eternal life." The Lord's answer does not deal with being saved but with living: "Do this and live." The young man said, "This I have done. What do I still lack?" The Lord answered, "Sell all, and come follow me." This tested him, for his heart was set on his possessions, and he went away from grace.
Jesus does not begin by correcting him. He starts where the man already stands.
The young man neither knew himself, nor the state in which man really was before God. He was under the law; and Jesus sets forth the law first as the rule of life, given by God as the measure of righteousness for the sons of Adam. The Lord does not speak of eternal life, but takes up the young man at the point where he places himself; the law said, "Do these things, and you shall live."
He feels a lack, but he has no sense of guilt. He simply wants the right task pointed out to him — and he is confident he can perform it.
It is "what good thing": he does not doubt at all that some good thing is what is needed. Too many are on that road to allow him to doubt its being the right one. At the same time he feels a lack. He is not self-satisfied, and yet, as we shall soon see, he has no conviction of sin. He has no thought that he might be unable to reach his goal, if only someone would point out the means to him... He confesses himself ignorant of the way of life, and has confidence, as it seems, that Christ can teach him. All this is encouraging. Yet he is still on the broad way with the crowd — no good sign, that — and he expects God to give eternal life to the doer of "some good thing."
The Lord's reply passes over the task the man asked about. It stops at the word "good."
By a change of reading the answer of the Lord here is, "Why do you ask me concerning goodness? One there is who is good." There was no use in speaking of God's goodness until the idea of his own goodness was dealt with. So the Lord is only meeting him on his own ground. He points him to the law, which shows what God required of anyone who would stand before Him on the principle of man's goodness.
There is a second edge to the reply. The man addressed Jesus as a fine teacher and nothing more.
He was earnest and reverent and recognized in Him a great Rabbi, who could direct men to eternal life. He took it for granted that a man gets this life by his own doing, according to the law. Clearly he had no idea of the Deity of Jesus... The Lord refused to be called good apart from His being God, saying in effect, "If I am not God, I am not good."
He is not an unusual case.
The young man is a typical religious, moral and natural man... He is in ignorance about eternal life. Despite all his religious observances, his position and his good moral qualities, he had no certainty, no assurance of eternal life. Though he belongs to the professing people of God, he gropes in the dark... He wants to earn eternal life, "do and live," as the law demands. He does not know the basic fact: with all his religiousness and good moral qualities, he is a guilty and lost sinner.
- Doing. He asks what good thing he must do, expecting eternal life as the reward of a task, not as a gift received like a child.
- Good. Jesus stops at that word first: only One is good, so a man not good in himself cannot produce a good thing.
- Ignorance. He is sincere, moral and religious, yet has no assurance of life and no sense that he is lost.
- Ground. The Lord meets him where he stands and points him to the law, because his idea of his own goodness had to be dealt with first.
- Test. The call to sell all and follow Him showed where his heart really was — and he went away from grace.
And he said to him, What askest thou me concerning goodness? one is good. But if thou wouldest enter into life, keep the commandments.
A young man has just asked what good thing he must do to get eternal life. The answer does not tell him what to do. It questions the assumption hidden in his question. Before naming any commandment, the Lord points to who alone is good.
A different reading of the Greek text lies behind the question as we have it. It asks about goodness itself, not about the title "Good Teacher." One writer traces the change, and what the man's request revealed about him:
The young ruler was satisfied with his position under the law. The letter of the law deceived his conscience, so he was not awake to sin. He wanted to know what extra good deeds would gain him eternal life. By a change of reading the answer of the Lord here is, "Why do you ask me concerning goodness? There is One who is good." It was no use speaking of God's goodness while the man still clung to the idea of his own.
Some writers quote the older wording of the verse, "Why do you call me good?" Either way, the reply aims at the conscience, not at curiosity. If the man had followed its logic, he would have measured himself by it:
That ought to have struck his conscience at once. If only One is good, I am not that one. So I cannot do any "good thing." Another Gospel tells us that he said, "Good Teacher, what good thing shall I do?" Do you think you can do any good thing? I sometimes hear men talk about being better. I have even heard them talk about "doing their best." What folly!
The Lord's answer reaches past one man. It lays down a principle about the whole human race:
The Lord will not admit that man is good; not one righteous man can be found among men — no, not one. He says, "Why do you call me good? No one is good except One: that is God." Certainly Christ was good, but He was God, although He made Himself man in His perfect love. He was always God. God became man without ceasing to be God, and He could not cease to be God. He had only hidden His divinity in human nature — at least His glory — to come near to us... He establishes this important principle, that no one among the sons of fallen Adam is good. It is a humiliating truth, but one of immense weight.
One writer reads the Lord's question as an opening the young man never took:
I think the Lord gave him the opportunity of saying, "But you are God." If he had known and clearly seen who Jesus is, he would have said at once, "You are God." But I take it he saw no more in Christ than a teacher of religion. So when the Lord presses His claims on him, he does not rise to them. He could not, so he turned away sorrowfully.
The Lord does not answer him with the gospel. One writer explains why the law comes first:
So the Lord meets him where he is. He does not begin, perhaps as we might have expected, with the gospel and the declaration of His grace, for as yet he has no need of grace. Law must do its work with him, for "through the law comes knowledge of sin."
Commentators differ on what "enter life" means here. One reads it as "life on earth, not eternal life." He notes that the commandments the Lord then lists all concern duty to other people, because "the man was not thinking of God, but of goodness in himself" (Leslie M. Grant).
The young man will claim he has kept it all. The verdict does not rest with him:
By the law righteousness could never come, nor life either. There was no person ever able to keep the commandments. In his own estimation, the young man had kept them. But he forgot one thing. The question was not what he himself thought and saw. The important question was what God saw, and God saw that he had failed.
- One is good. Goodness belongs to God alone. Man cannot produce it, and no son of fallen Adam escapes that verdict.
- One was standing there. Jesus was good, because He was God — always God, and made man without ceasing to be God. His question was not a denial but an opening.
- One confession missed. The young man saw only a respected teacher, so the claims of Christ found nothing in him to answer them.
- One method. He asked about doing, so the Lord hands him the law — not as the gospel, but so that the law can teach him what sin is.
- One outcome. The law could never give righteousness or life. What counts is not what a man sees in himself, but what God sees.
He says to him, Which? And Jesus said, Thou shalt not kill, Thou shalt not commit adultery, Thou shalt not steal, Thou shalt not bear false witness,
The young man had asked which commandments he must keep. The Lord answers with a short list. What He names — and what He leaves out — is the whole point.
The man came asking what he could do, and the Lord answers him in those terms.
He had not learned the first lesson a Christian knows — that he is lost. The young man had no sense of sin. He regarded eternal life as the result of a man's doing good. The Lord at first simply deals with him on his own ground: "If you want to enter life, keep the commandments." The Lord quotes the commands that relate to human duties — the second table of the law, as it is called.
The Lord names five commandments and leaves five out. He passes over the four about duty to God, and He passes over the tenth. That last gap decides everything that follows.
When the rich young ruler approached the Lord with his question about eternal life, Jesus tested him with five of the ten commandments. He did not quote the first four, which deal with what is due to God, and He did not mention the tenth. The young man could say he had kept the five the Lord mentioned. No doubt he had, if only the forbidden acts counted. But the tenth would have condemned him beyond hope.
That missing commandment does not stay missing. The Lord withholds it in words and then applies it in a demand.
The Lord takes him up on the ground of the law. The law was the revealed measure of what God required, if man wanted to stand before Him on the ground of good in man. In quoting what was required of him toward his fellow man, the Lord leaves out the last commandment — the only one that touched what man is. He applies its principle another way. He tells him that if he wants to be perfect he should give his possessions to the poor, with a view to treasure in the heavens and the path of a rejected Christ on earth. But his possessions linked him with the earth.
Every command on the list forbids an act, and the man had never broken one of them. But each command carries more than the act it forbids.
He knew the letter of these commands, and he had obeyed them to the letter. But the spirit of them reached much further — their real, vital, spiritual meaning, their moral weight. Carried through to the end, they affected more than outward conduct. They touched the springs of the heart. They said, "You shall not steal" — but they meant "You shall love."
The Lord does not accuse him of lying when he claims to have kept these. The exposure comes from a different direction.
The Lord did not tell the young man that he had not kept the law. But when Paul took the principle of it — "You shall not covet," that is, do not lust — it was all over with him. He was a man, and he did lust.
The second table of the law comes down to one command. Measured by that, the man's record collapses.
The other table of the law is, "You shall love your neighbour as yourself." Had he loved his neighbour as himself? He had not committed adultery. He had not murdered, stolen, borne false witness, or defrauded anyone. And he had honoured his father and his mother. He was a most respectable man. But did he love his neighbour as himself? Certainly not. Why? Because he was wealthy. If he had loved his neighbour as himself, he could not have been wealthy.
Commentators differ on how far to press this. For the writer above, the man's wealth is itself the proof he failed. Others point out that the Lord never denied his claim. Instead He exposed the man by the demand that came next.
- Ground. The man asked what to do, so the Lord answered with law. Law is the measure for anyone who wants to stand before God on the ground of good in himself.
- Selection. Of ten commandments, the Lord quotes five. He passes over the four about duty to God and the tenth about desire.
- Omission. The unmentioned tenth is the one that reaches past actions to what a person is. Left out in words, it returns as a demand: sell your possessions and give to the poor.
- Letter. Every command named forbids an act. Kept only in letter, "You shall not steal" leaves the heart untouched. Carried through, it means "You shall love."
- Exposure. The Lord never says he broke the law. He shows instead that a blameless record and a heart tied to earth can live in the same man.
Honour thy father and thy mother, and Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
A young man asked Jesus what good thing he must do to gain eternal life. The Lord answered with a list of commandments, ending with the two in this verse. The list looks ordinary. But the commands He chose, and the one He left out, were deliberate.
The Lord does not open with God's claims. He picks the commands about how we treat other people. He meets the man where the man had placed himself.
At first the Lord deals with him on his own ground: "If you want to enter life, keep the commandments." The man asks which ones. The Lord quotes the commands that relate to human duties — the second table of the law, as people call it.
The command about parents stands out among the ten. It alone came with something attached to it.
The specific command was, "Honor your father and your mother" (Ex. 20:12; Deut. 5:16). This was one of the "ten words," and is called the "first commandment with promise" (Eph. 6:2). Jehovah marked this command out with a promise: those who obeyed it would have prosperity and long life.
The promise is not all. One writer ties the other commands to this one:
If everyone kept this command faithfully, people would hardly ever break the other five commandments.
Something is missing from the Lord's list. The tenth commandment, against coveting, never appears — and this was not an oversight.
When the Lord quotes what the law required of him toward his fellow-man, He leaves out the last commandment. It was the only one that touched what man is. He applies its principle another way. He tells him that if he wants to be perfect, he should give his possessions to the poor, with treasure in the heavens in view, and the path of a rejected Christ on earth. But his possessions linked him with the earth, and he turned away from heaven in sorrow.
So the missing command arrives disguised as an invitation. When it lands, the man's real condition is out in the open.
There is much that is naturally beautiful and lovely in human nature. But there is nothing in it that tends to God, no will to please God in it, no righteousness in it... Jesus had now touched the thing the young man's heart was set on, and proved him to be an idolater and covetous. His riches were the treasure on which his heart was set.
Take the phrase at its word and it becomes a test. Writers apply that test to a man who claimed he had kept it.
So the demand to sell everything was not an extra condition. It was this verse taken at its word.
People ask, how could the Lord make that the condition of eternal life for him? But the law had already required the very thing that would have made this easy — that he should love his neighbor as himself. And he had declared that he did. So why not sell what he had and give to the poor? Giving to the neighbor he loved as himself would be no more than giving it back to himself.
The standard in this verse is self. Writers contrast that measure with the measure Christ set.
Law taught me to love my neighbor as myself. It made my love for self the measure of my duty to my neighbor. Christianity looks for having no self at all, but for giving ourselves up for our neighbor... Some treat the mutual love of self and neighbor as the same thing as the complete self-devotion of Christ. That is an abuse of words. The only thing the two share is the word love.
- Ground — The man chose the ground of doing. The Lord met him there, quoting the commands about duty to people, not duty to God.
- Promise — Honoring father and mother is the one command with a promise attached. Where homes keep it, people rarely break the rest.
- Omission — The Lord left out the one command that reaches what a man is, not just what he does. Then He applied it by telling him to sell everything.
- Exposure — Loving your neighbor as yourself, taken at its word, would have emptied his hands. He kept his riches, and that proved him covetous.
- Measure — The law makes self the measure of love. Christ gave self up completely, and that is the higher measure.
The young man says to him, All these have I kept; what lack I yet?
A rich young man has come to Jesus asking what good thing he must do to have eternal life, and Jesus has pointed him to the commandments. His reply here sounds confident — but it ends with a question.
Jesus had just named commandments about how to treat other people. The young man answered that he had kept them all. Jesus did not argue with him. The failure lay somewhere the list never reached.
Next comes the case of the rich young man. He claimed to have kept the law — at least the commandments about one's duty to one's neighbour. The Lord did not deny his claim, so it seems he had been blameless in outward obedience. But he was much mistaken in thinking that he could have eternal life by doing some good thing. Coming on that ground, Jesus at once tested him, and under the test he completely failed.
A settled man would not have asked for more. His extra question gives him away: the record is clean, yet something is missing.
He was unsatisfied. The light of God was not on his path, and he knew it. He felt no burden of sin to be lifted. He lacked something, but by his own admission he did not know what he lacked. How many are in just such a condition! They are rich, and comfortable enough to thank God for it. They know nothing of the trials that even Job had to go through before the depths of his heart came to light. Yet, like him, they are not at rest… There is no shadow on the honest face he turns to the One he is questioning, as he claims, "All these I have kept; what do I still lack?"
Look again at the commandments Jesus listed. One is missing — the one that tests desire, not behaviour.
The letter of the law deceived him. He only wants to know what extra good deed will get him eternal life… The Lord quotes in a general way what the law required of him toward his fellow-man. But He leaves out the last commandment, the only one that touched what man is. Then He applies the principle of it. He tells him that if he would be perfect, he should give away his possessions to the poor, in view of treasure in the heavens, and the path of a rejected Christ on earth. But his possessions linked him with the earth.
He could answer so surely because he read every command as a rule about outward actions.
He had viewed the ten commandments as speaking to outward actions only, as Saul of Tarsus did in a later day… It was a tremendous test for a man who clung to his earthly possessions. In a moment it laid bare the hidden, unrevealed spring of covetousness.
Why should selling everything be the test? The answer lies in the law he claimed to keep.
People ask, how could the Lord make that the condition of eternal life for him? But the law required the very thing that would have made this easy — that he should love his neighbour as himself. And he had declared that he actually did. Why not, then, sell what he had and give to the poor? Giving to the neighbour he loved as himself would be no more to him than giving it back to himself.
The test went past his conduct and reached what he valued most.
Jesus had now touched the thing his heart clung to, and proved him to be an idolater and covetous. His riches were the treasure his heart rested on.
He asked what he still lacked. The answer is not one more good deed added to a good life.
He himself, aware of a deficiency, puts the question, "What do I still lack?" I will tell you what he lacked. He lacked the real knowledge of Christ. And, my friend, if you do not have Christ, you lack everything — no matter how beautiful and moral your life may be. A man may have and be whatever he likes in this world. If he does not have Christ, he lacks everything really worth having.
That is why the single missing thing was so serious. It was not a gap in an otherwise complete life.
It was creature excellence that was filling his mind, and he thought he possessed it himself. So the Lord takes him on his own ground and says, "One thing you lack." But to lack that one thing was to lack everything — it was to lack all that can be conceived.
- Blameless. The Lord never disputed the young man's record; He let his outward keeping of the commandments about his neighbour stand.
- But unsatisfied. His own extra question exposed him. He had no burden of sin, no light on his path, and no rest — and he did not know what was missing.
- The missing command. The list Jesus quoted left out the one commandment that reaches desire. The call to sell everything applied that principle to him.
- The hidden spring. He had read the law as a rule about actions. One sentence from Christ laid bare covetousness and showed his treasure was on earth.
- The one lack is everything. What he lacked was the real knowledge of Christ — and to lack that one thing is to lack all that is worth having.
Jesus said to him, If thou wouldest be perfect, go, sell what thou hast and give to [the] poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.
A young man who claimed to keep every commandment asks what he still lacks. The Lord's answer touches his money, his heart, and his readiness to follow a rejected Christ.
The command can sound harsh until you weigh the young man's own claim. He said he loved his neighbour as himself, and one writer presses that claim to its end:
People ask, how could the Lord make that the condition of eternal life for him? But the same law that made that necessary would have made this easy — the law that he should love his neighbour as himself. And he had declared that he did just that. Why not, then, sell what he had, and give to the poor? Would it be more to him than giving it back to himself, to give to the neighbour whom he loved as himself?
One writer ties the word "perfect" to the Person standing in front of the young man — the Stranger who had emptied Himself of everything:
He was, in the highest sense, the Stranger — the self-emptied heavenly Stranger here. Standing before the rich young man, He speaks to him of a perfection suited to such a one. This is a high order of perfection indeed — imitation of the fully-emptied heavenly Jesus.
One writer reads "sell" as a trade, not a loss, and points to Paul as the example:
But what is this selling? It is not abandoning what we have, or throwing it away, but parting with it to receive more than its equivalent. If we turn to Philippians 3 we shall have a lovely example of this selling. There we see Paul suffering the loss of all things, counting them as rubbish. But did he do so, like a monk, in his self-mortification, to work out a fitness for eternal life? No; that would have been throwing away what he had and getting nothing back. But he did it "to gain Christ."
One writer sets the moment out as a pair of scales:
He puts the world in one scale, Himself and heaven in the other. He offers him the assurance of the very thing he had asked about. "You will have treasure in heaven" — but He offers it on condition that he leaves all to follow Christ on earth — Christ on earth and treasure in heaven. These are in one scale — and, in the other, the world. Not the world in its wretchedness, but in its fair and attractive forms.
The test lands on "follow me." One writer imagines the Lord's challenge in plain words:
The Lord, as it were, put the test in this way, What do you think of Me? I am come down from heaven, I was rich but for your sake I became poor. I have come down to be here as a man. I did not come to be served. I am going through this world teaching My disciples to look forward to that glorious time, which is not of this world. Will you follow Me? Will you be on My side? You will have much to put up with. Do you think I am worth following? Do you think I am worth giving up everything you have in this world?
Some read the verse as the price of entry into salvation. One writer rejects that, and separates giving up everything after finding Christ from giving up everything to find Him:
For the sinner is never told to sell all that he has to buy the gospel, which is without money and without price. And pointing to the Lord's word to the ruler — "Go and sell what you possess" (Matt. 19:21) — carries no weight at all. For this was a test: could so strict a keeper of the law take the path and place of a disciple of the rejected Messiah?… Giving up everything for His sake after you have found Christ is quite a different thing from surrendering everything as the condition of finding Him. The latter exists in the imaginations of men but not in the gospel.
The verse does not set up literal poverty as the rule either. One writer treats holding property for Christ as a service in its own right:
To hold property for Christ and His service in this world, and to give it out as a steward according to His mind, is a Christian service. It needs much waiting on the Master, and great freedom of soul in His presence.
- Tested — the man's own claim to love his neighbour as himself is what made "sell and give" the fair next step.
- Exchanged — selling is not discarding. It is parting with something to receive more than its worth, as Paul lost all "to gain Christ."
- Weighed — the world in one scale, Christ on earth with treasure in heaven in the other.
- Asked — the sting was in "follow Me": am I worth giving up everything you have in this world?
- Distinguished — the gospel is without money and without price. Yielding all after finding Christ is not the same as surrendering all to find Him.
But the young man, having heard the word, went away grieved, for he had large possessions.
A young man runs to Jesus with a real desire for eternal life, hears one sentence, and walks away. The word "for" gives the reason he left, and it puts one question to every reader: what is holding my heart?
An appeal to the law had left this man untouched. So the Lord tested him another way.
Was Christ more to him than all his possessions? "Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions." Christ probed his heart and uncovered its state. In a moment what had looked so promising clouded over. The bud of promise never opened into a flower; it withered away. He who had run to the Lord with such eagerness turned from Him with a sad and burdened heart. What an appeal to the law could not do, Christ as a test made clear.
Another writer traces the refusal back to its root.
The love of riches ruled this young man's heart, however interesting his natural character was. The base desire for gold lay at the bottom of his heart. It drove his will, and it was the true measure of his moral state. If he goes away grieved and leaves the Lord, it is because he prefers money to God revealed in love and grace.
The story is not about a villain. What went wrong was not a moral flaw in the man, and not his money.
The things of the earth bound him, and prevailed with him to turn away from the path of Christ. It was not anything that was morally bad. We read that Jesus "loved him." In a naturally fine character He saw traces of God's handiwork that still remained among the ruins of sin. It was not sin to have "great possessions." But now they turn out to be the very things that hold the heart back from the path of a rejected Christ.
The Lord's offer was not vague. He named what the man would gain and what it would cost.
He puts the world in one scale, Himself and heaven in the other. He gives him the assurance of what he had asked about: "You will have treasure in heaven." But He offers it on one condition — the man must leave everything and follow Christ on earth. Christ on earth and treasure in heaven. These are in one scale — and, in the other, the world. Not the world in its wretchedness, but in its fair and attractive forms.
The Lord aimed at something underneath the money.
Jesus knew his circumstances and his heart. He put His finger on the covetousness that ruled him, fed by the riches he had. He was to sell all that he had and follow Jesus; he would have treasure in heaven. The young man went away sorrowful. In the eyes of men, his riches looked like a sign of God's favour. But when the heart and heaven came into question, they were only a hindrance.
One writer sets out the three parts of the Lord's call.
There was something the Lord asked him to give up; something to take up; and Someone to follow.
Turning away from Christ does not always look like rebellion.
Like the young man of whom we read that he "went away sorrowful," we may turn back to the things of earth. He did not turn away in anger or hatred of Christ. He had no fault to find with Christ; but the world was too strong for him. Like Demas, of a later day, he loved this present world.
The verse records his grief. Commentators point to another grief the text does not name.
He turned back again into darkness from the light to which he had come. He went back to the circle where he himself was the centre. He went away from the One with every right to be his Centre. "He went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions." We may be sure that the heart of the Lord was grieved. Who can tell the grief that filled the heart of the Lord? He watched that young man choose earthly wealth over eternal life. He watched him choose himself and his own will rather than Christ and the claims of God.
- Owned. His wealth did not just belong to him. It ruled him, and the love of riches drove his will.
- Exposed. The law's demands left him untouched. One word from Christ showed that his heart was set elsewhere.
- Weighed. Christ put Himself and heaven in one scale and the world in the other, and the man chose the world in its fair and attractive form.
- Reversed. Riches had looked like proof of God's favour; here they became the very thing blocking the way to heaven.
- Repeated. He turned back without anger. The world was too strong. The same failure repeats in anyone who admires Christ but will not follow Him.