So, there is a restaurant in Chattanooga called Bea's. It's been there since about forever, at least before I was born. It serves true Southern food. Barbecue pork, green beans, pinto beans, creamed potatoes, chow chow, yeast rolls, some kind of cobbler, pitchers of obscenely sweet tea, and the crown jewel – the most amazing fried chicken in the world.
And here's the catch: at Bea's, it's served on a Lazy Susan. Each table seats about 8 people, and there's this big Lazy Susan in the middle of each one. Your party is seated, and the chances are you will be sharing with other folks. And rather old, slow waitresses start bringing out these plastic bowls of food, sitting them on the Lazy Susan. And people start spinning that thing around, trying to spoon things on their plates. And the food is awesome, but, like I said, people come for the chicken.
But it always seems that everyone gets the chicken before I do. And somebody will take more than one piece, and by the time it gets to me, there's an empty bowl. So, I make do with pinto beans and yeast rolls until another bowl is slowly brought over to us. And during that period when we're waiting, I kinda have my fingers on the Lazy Susan, trying to ensure that the empty spot, the spot where the chicken is going to go, is in front of me, so I can grab the first (and maybe second) piece this time around.
Once my plate has enough, I can relax and enjoy the rest of the meal, occasionally spinning the Lazy Susan for this and that, but still keeping an eye on how much chicken is available. But it's not like it is at the beginning, when I am so anxious that I'm almost buzzing. At the beginning, I'm having serious doubts that any chicken will come my way. And the adventure is on! Part of why I love Bea's is that feeling – every time – that maybe next time, the waitress will just bring more rolls. But also knowing that the smell coming from the kitchen means that, no, chicken is on the way.
A lot has been made of this man in today's Gospel reading. Matthew calls him rich. Luke calls him a ruler. Mark? Well, Mark just calls him a man. Just a dude trying to get some face time with Jesus before he heads to the next town. He's heard Jesus, bought into the message, figures he's on to something. But something is missing. He sees the change in others, and he wonders why he's not changed himself, maybe. It's like he has enough on his plate, but he's eyeing that last piece of chicken, and he wants to get to it before someone else snatches it away.
And I kinda feel sorry for Jesus here. Here he is, trying to get going: things to do, people to see, and this guy is holding him up, so anxious that Jesus can probably feel the vibrations, asking what he can do for eternal life. And Jesus stops and looks at him, and ticks off a list of things. No murder? Check. No adultery? Check. No false witness? Check. Dude, it seems like you are on your way.
But the man is still anxious. Something is missing. And Jesus zeroes in with “Sell everything...EVERYTHING and give all the money to the poor. Not just the proceeds. Not net profit. ALL of it.
And the guy walked away. Walked away from Jesus. But at least he had something in him that made him sad.
There is a phrase that we've all heard. Leap of Faith – the belief that good things will happen to you when you make a change in your life. And so often we condemn this poor man for not taking this leap of faith regarding Jesus. If he'd only have done what Jesus said, we assume, all good things would've happened to him.
We often attribute this phrase, Leap of Faith, to the theologian Soren Kierkegaard. But the fact is, this most famous phrase of his? He never said it. He probably wouldn't have said it, because Leap of Faith is sort of a happy-clappy, prosperity Gospel kind of concept, where we are told that if we believe hard enough and take chances with God, treating God like a lottery ticket, we'll win big. Or at least we'll get that piece of chicken without having to wait.
But Kierkegaard never would have come up with that idea, because frankly, he was a bit of a downer. Probably no fun at parties, certainly not of the Prosperity Gospel ilk.
But he did come up with something awfully close: Leap TO Faith. And that tiny preposition makes all the difference. With a leap OF faith, the faith is something I possess and can use to my benefit. With the leap TO faith, the faith is that thing I need, and in the needing and reaching for it, I change. And in the reaching for it, I have to open my hands. And in the opening of my hands, I let go of whatever it is that I am currently clutching for security. Like a trapeze act – I have to let go of one bar before I can ever hope to grab the other one.
It is the excitement of true abandonment. It is the tumbling through the air, hoping God will catch you, and giddiness of being caught. And here's the thing: deep inside a leap TO faith, is this tiny kernel of doubt. The not knowing for sure, but doing it anyway. Not expecting rewards but rejoicing when they come. Without that inkling of doubt, the outcome is as expected. And nothing about Jesus is as expected. Everything about Jesus is exciting, shot thorough with a hint of danger and adventure.
We don't know what happened to this man, rich or not, ruler or not. Other than he went away grieving. But there's nothing to say, that he didn't come back one day. And there's nothing to say that he didn't feel that giddiness of knowing that next time, next time it will be different. Next time he will leap. Next time he will let go. Next time he will catch the trapeze bar. Next time he will soar into the arms of Christ.
Because with Jesus there's a next time. And a next and a next and a next.
Thank God for that.