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.
And Jesus said to his disciples, Verily I say unto you, A rich man shall with difficulty enter into the kingdom of the heavens;
The rich young man has just walked away, unwilling to part with his possessions. Jesus then turns to His disciples with a verdict that shocked them. Does wealth shut a person out of the kingdom? And if it does, who has any hope?
Older translations read "shall hardly enter." One commentator explains what that word does and does not mean:
"A rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven." That is, with difficulty. It does not say he cannot; it says he "shall hardly." He repeats it with emphasis: "Again I say to you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle" (beyond nature, of course) "than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God."
Some soften this by saying the needle's eye was a small city gate. One writer answers that, then points to a phrase Mark adds:
Those who would make this less absolute than it seems, by applying it to an eastern city gate, should remember that the Lord says directly that what He speaks of is impossible for man. On the other hand, Mark records for us the explanation that a rich man here stands for one who trusts in riches. That prevents the obvious mistake of a crude literalism, and extends the principle to the poorest in actual possessions. Really, only the man who trusts in riches is "rich" in the sense intended, and a man may do that who never acquires them.
But trust and ownership are hard to keep apart. In Mark's account, verses 23 and 24 sit side by side:
Verse 23 speaks of those who "have riches," and verse 24 of those who "trust in riches." The fact is that it is very hard to have them without trusting in them. We naturally cling to riches and earth. Christ offers the cross and heaven.
Their amazement makes sense only against their background:
The disciples were amazed because under law God had promised great increase to those who obeyed it. People too often treated riches as a sign that the man who owned them must be keeping the law. This was by no means always true, for in fact all were guilty of breaking the law. But if a man's riches only strengthened his claim to be keeping the law, then those riches made it harder for him to see any need of the grace of God.
The coming of Jesus moved the evidence of God's favour somewhere else:
They were no longer to look on material prosperity as a sign of God's favour, or to count wealth on earth as a blessing from God. They were to be followers of a rejected Christ, who had become poor. And they were to see heaven as the place to store their treasures.
What made the young man's wealth so heavy was the kind of King he was being asked to follow — not one about to take a throne, but one about to be crucified:
It was a question of forsaking all and following Christ — a Christ who was not about to ascend the throne at once and wield the sceptre of His father David, but who was first to be rejected and crucified. The riches and honours of this world were such a hindrance to anyone who had them, in following a rejected Christ this way, that nothing could overcome it, or enable anyone to overcome it, but the almighty power of God.
Does salvation then work one way for the wealthy and another for the poor?
But He drew a clear line, so that no one would apply this to salvation, as if salvation were different for different classes of men when they seek it. Those who realise their need of salvation are all one class: "Christ died for sinners" covers every case. But when men are the ones seeking, eternity seems less real the more they have to satisfy themselves with here.
Riches only stop the man who is trying to get in by his own effort. God calls whom He will, and from the least likely places:
If it were a question of man doing anything to get into the kingdom, riches are only so much hindrance. And so it is with everything else counted desirable. Whatever I may have, and trust in — whether moral ways, position, or anything else — these are only obstacles as far as the kingdom is concerned, and they make it impossible for man. But with God all things are possible, no matter what the difficulty. Therefore God chooses in His grace to call all sorts and conditions of people. We read of a person called out of Herod's court; we read of saints in Caesar's household... above all, Saul of Tarsus, brought up at the feet of Gamaliel. All these difficulties only gave God the opportunity to overcome every obstacle by His own power and grace.
- Difficulty, not denial. "Hardly" means with difficulty. The Lord does not say a rich man cannot enter. He repeats the warning instead of easing it.
- Trust is the hinge. The rich man in view is the one who trusts in riches. A man who never gets them can still be "rich" in that sense.
- Favour relocated. Wealth once looked like a mark of God's approval. Now treasure belongs in heaven, and the Christ they follow is a rejected one.
- One class only. Salvation is not graded by income. "Christ died for sinners" covers every case. Wealth simply makes eternity feel less urgent.
- Impossibility invites grace. Every advantage a person clings to is an obstacle. With God all things are possible, and He has overcome them all — in Herod's court, in Caesar's household, in Saul of Tarsus.
and again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to enter a needle's eye than a rich man into the kingdom of God.
Jesus has just watched a wealthy young man walk away sad. Now He gives His disciples a picture that stuns them: the largest animal they knew, set against the smallest opening they could imagine. Is this merely hard, or impossible? And who counts as "rich"?
Many soften this saying by making the "eye of a needle" a low city gate. A camel could squeeze through it once unloaded. Commentators reject that reading on the Lord's own grounds. He calls it impossible for man.
To the amazement of His disciples, He says it is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God. Some want to make this less absolute than it sounds, so they apply it to an eastern city gate. They should remember that the Lord states plainly that what He is speaking of is impossible for man. Mark records the explanation that a rich man here stands for one who trusts in riches. That guards us from a crude literalism, and it stretches the warning to those who own almost nothing. Really, the only man who is "rich" in the sense meant is the man who trusts in riches — and a man can do that who never gets them.
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Another writer adds that no historical record supports the gate story.
Some find it attractive to say that the camel and the needle's eye point to a small gate that a camel could only pass through once it was unloaded. But no reliable historian supports this idea.
If the barrier is trust rather than a bank balance, then no one escapes the verse by being poor. The man who only wishes he were rich needs the same work of God.
The danger of having riches is that it becomes far too easy for us to trust them. We should remember that God is the Creator, and we should honour His rights as Creator over whatever possessions He entrusts to us... So it takes an entirely divine work of grace to bring a rich man into the kingdom of God. But poor men who want to be rich need the same sovereign work of God in their hearts (1 Tim. 6:9). In fact everyone needs it, for it is a universal disease to prefer something else to a path of faith.
Wealth is not the only tie of this kind. Another writer names the rest of them, and admits how seldom they break.
These things — riches, family, power — are claims which bind the soul to this world. Grace can indeed break these chains, but it does not often happen... These chains are too strong. But with God all things are possible.
Their amazement makes sense only against what they had been taught. Under the law God promised increase to those who obeyed, so wealth looked like proof of a good record with God.
The disciples were amazed because under law God had promised great increase to those who obeyed it. People too often treated riches as a sign that their owner must be keeping the law. This was by no means always true, for in fact all were guilty of breaking the law. But if a man's riches only strengthened his claim to be keeping the law, then his riches kept him from seeing any need of the grace of God.
Matthew almost always writes "kingdom of heaven"; verse 23 does. Verse 24 switches to "kingdom of God." Matthew's few uses of that term all press the inward, moral side of things.
Only Matthew's Gospel uses the term "Kingdom of Heaven." In fact that Gospel uses "Kingdom of God" in just four passages, and each one stresses the moral or inward side... This statement speaks of the close way in which the power of God works. The Jews had been taught to believe that riches were a mark of God's favour. That idea had to be pulled out of men's minds.
The impossibility clears the ground for grace. The rich man's problem is that he wants to bring himself in too.
If it is a question of man doing anything to get into the kingdom, riches are only a hindrance. He would like to take them with him, along with anything else that makes something of himself. But everything that belongs to man only blocks his way into the kingdom. More than that, it makes entry impossible, as far as he himself is concerned. With God, however, all things are possible, and man reaches the kingdom only by the working of His grace.
- Impossible. The picture is not an exaggeration and not a narrow gate — the Lord Himself calls it impossible for man.
- Trust. "Rich" means one who trusts in riches, so the warning reaches the man who never owns them.
- Chains. Riches, family and power all bind the soul to this world; grace can break them, but it does not often happen.
- Shock. The disciples assumed wealth proved obedience to the law. That is why riches hide a man's need of grace.
- Grace. What man cannot do, God does — entry comes only by His working, never by anything a person carries in with him.
And when the disciples heard [it] they were exceedingly astonished, saying, Who then can be saved?
The rich young man has just walked away. The Lord has told His followers that a camel going through a needle's eye is the easier thing. The disciples are stunned. Their question shows they had been measuring salvation by a standard the Lord has just pulled down.
Money itself was not what shook the disciples. The Lord had removed what they counted as an advantage.
These words astonished the disciples. Their Jewish thoughts were of earthly blessing, so they looked on riches and possessions as a mark of God's favour. The thought in their heart, as too often in ours, may have been this: if only we had riches, how much good we might do... Note that the Lord does not speak of a man who is literally rich, but of one who trusts in riches. The person who owns the least is in just as much danger as the one who owns the most.
The word behind "with difficulty" does not close the door on the wealthy. It says that everything a person carries and leans on becomes weight rather than help.
"A rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven" — that is, with difficulty; not that he cannot, but that it is hard... If it was a question of man doing anything to get into the kingdom, riches are only so much hindrance. And so it is with all else counted desirable. Whatever I may have and trust in — moral ways, position, or anything else — only gets in the way of the kingdom. It makes entry impossible to man.
Their question is often read as despair. Read as a real question, it gets a real reply — and the reply is not comforting to anyone counting on themselves.
The Lord's answer is emphatic: No one. On the ground of human merit, a camel would sooner pass through the needle's eye than a rich man, trusting in his riches, enter the Kingdom.
That verdict is what makes the Lord's next words good news.
These words astonished the disciples. They felt that the words cut the ground away completely from under our feet. So, indeed, they do. "Who then can be saved?" is a momentous question... It was as though the Lord said, "If it is a question of what man can do, nobody can be saved: but if a question of what God can do, anybody can be saved."
If wealth is not the obstacle, then poverty is not the qualification either. The problem sits deeper than a person's bank balance or reputation.
The Lord's answer put the case in its right light. "With men it is impossible, but not with God; for with God all things are possible." It is a question of the heart and nature. It is not about wealth or a pleasant character, but about new birth, which God alone can bring about.
The barrier is what a person is, not what a person owns. So God's grace can reach anyone.
But with God all things are possible, no matter what the difficulty. So God chooses in His grace to call all kinds of people. We read of a person called out of Herod's court, and of saints in Caesar's household. A great company of the priests believed; so did Barnabas, with his houses and lands; and, above all, Saul of Tarsus. All these difficulties only gave God the opportunity to overcome every obstacle by His own power and grace.
The question is not just theirs. It lands on every reader.
You and I cannot save ourselves by our own efforts. Why not? Because we are sinners... You may think your case is not a bad one. But the sinner's verdict on his own condition does not settle it. You are no judge of your case. God has judged you, and me, to be sinners in our sins, lost and undone... So whom am I thrown back on? God. How can you be saved? You must let God save you.
- Shock. The disciples read wealth as proof of God's favour. The Lord had just called it a hindrance.
- Scope. The warning targets trust in riches, not the size of a bank balance. The poorest person faces that danger too.
- Verdict. Their question gets a plain answer: on the ground of human merit, no one can be saved.
- Impossible. Anything a person leans on — money, morals, position — blocks the way the moment he treats it as a qualification.
- Possible. What man cannot do, God can: the change needed is new birth, and it opens the door to anybody.
But Jesus, looking on [them], said to them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.
The rich young man has just walked away, unwilling to give up his wealth, and the disciples are shaken: if riches are a barrier and not a sign of God's favour, who can be saved? Jesus does not soften the verdict — He moves the question off man's ground onto God's.
Their question came out of two settled assumptions: what money says about a person, and what money can do for God.
These words astonished the disciples. Like other Jews of their day, they expected God to bless His people with good things on earth, so they saw riches and possessions as a mark of God's favour. What was more, they were thinking, as we too often do: if only we had riches, how much good we could do!
The obstacle is not the size of a bank balance. It is anything a person leans on to make himself acceptable to God.
If it was a question of man's doing anything to get into the kingdom, riches are only so much hindrance. And so it is with everything else counted desirable. Whatever I have and trust in — good behaviour, position, anything else — only blocks the way into the kingdom. It puts the kingdom out of man's reach.
That is why the danger is not confined to people with a lot to lose.
Note that the Lord does not speak of a literally rich man, but of one who trusts in riches. The poorest person faces this danger just as much as the person who owns the most.
Writers press the exact word the Lord chose. It is not "difficult." It is stronger than that.
Jesus looked at them with His unfailing love and replied: with men this is not difficult but impossible. Yet — thanks be to His name for ever — "with God all things are possible." Salvation comes from God. The gospel that announces it is His, and it is for everyone who believes, poor or rich.
The shut door is not the end of the story.
We stress that word. Salvation with men is not improbable, but IMPOSSIBLE. As far as our own efforts go, the door is barred against us. God, however, has opened another door: death and resurrection. That is where the Lord was now turning the thoughts of His disciples.
The reason lies in what each side is. Man is bound by his own desires. God is not.
If no one is good, and if good intentions and the means of doing good count for nothing — if they are even a hindrance — then who can be saved? The Saviour's answer is definite. If it is a question of man, no one. As far as man is concerned it is impossible; good is not in him. Man is the slave of evil through his own will and desires. But God is above evil — He can save.
If nothing in man qualifies him, then nothing in him disqualifies him either. Kelly reads the closing words as an open field for God's choosing.
But with God — and we may bless Him for it — all things are possible, no matter what the difficulty. So God chooses in His grace to call all sorts and conditions of people. We read of a person called out of Herod's court; we read of saints in Caesar's household. A great company of the priests believed. So did Barnabas the Levite, with his houses and lands. Above all, so did Saul of Tarsus, trained under the teacher Gamaliel. Every one of these difficulties only gave God room to overcome it by His own power and grace.
One writer points to a rich man who did enter the kingdom, and calls him living proof of what the Lord had just said.
Here was a living witness of what the Lord had said: "What is impossible with men is possible with God." Here was a rich man entering the kingdom. He was not acting on the pull of his own conscience — that could never have done it. He was acting under the guidance of God Himself, taught and drawn by the Father.
That leaves one question for the reader: what now?
Who then am I thrown back on? I am thrown back on God. How can you be saved? You must let God save you. You must bow down before God and let Him save you. You ask, How? It is very simple. It is by the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. It is by the atoning work of the Saviour. There is no other way.
- Impossible. Not hard, not unlikely — shut. Whatever a person trusts in to commend himself only adds weight against him.
- Impossible for anyone. The trap is trusting in riches, not owning them. It catches the poorest as easily as the richest.
- Possible with God. Man is held fast by his own will and desires; God is above evil, and He can save.
- Possible for anybody. Herod's court, Caesar's household, priests, Saul of Tarsus — every difficulty became room for grace to work.
- Possible for you. The one move left is to stop rescuing yourself and let God save you, through the work of Christ.