There’s a story about the great preacher William Sloane Coffin from his many years as a college chaplain.  

Apparently, at a freshman convocation at some point in the 60s, Coffin observed that while the college prided itself on producing great men, in more recent years it seemed content instead just to churn out nice guys.  

We can probably parse that in any number of ways. 

I would hasten to add, it wasn’t that Coffin saw anything wrong with niceness, but rather that he wanted to push us ask what was right about it—and whether that was sufficient. 

He thought it was not.  

And our Gospel this morning seems drawn along similar lines. 

Mark describes a moment of encounter between Jesus, heading toward Jerusalem, and a man with many possessions.  

This in itself was not so unusual, and there are a range of ways that Jesus responds in such encounters.

The Gospels always emphasize his ability to see through externals to the person beneath. 

He could look at a sinner and see a good person in desperate need of healing and understanding.  

He could look at a pillar of the community and see how wobbly they were.  

And he could look at a big shot and see their smallness. 

This week, I was interested to read the obituary of Brian Mulroney, who was Prime Minister of Canada back in the 90s.  

It noted that, while he was the consummate politician while in office, in later years, there were indications that, behind the scenes, he had always been far less affable, if not downright mean.  Notably foul-mouthed. Quick to take offense.  Long in holding a grudge.  

I was sorry to hear it.  That was news to me.  

For their part, though, the Gospels would want to remind us that it wasn’t news to Jesus. 

I say that just to make the point that, in this morning’s story, he’s not looking at some robber baron and telling him to beat it or warning him that he can’t take it with him.

Not at all. 

Jesus looks on this man and loves him.  

But I think the person he sees standing there is a nice guy.  Maybe even a really nice guy.  

Jesus wants to challenge him to become a great man.  A great person.  

By way of getting started, this will demand a particular commitment to letting some things go. 

II.

If you think about it, it’s a great Lenten story, and I’m surprised we don’t preach it more often during this season. 

A few weeks ago, we talked about Jesus going into the wilderness to face temptation for 40 days…this deliberate period of self-denial in order to face his demons and see himself and the work ahead of him more clearly. 

In this later moment with the man, Jesus seems as if he’s about to prescribe the same medicine: saying, brother, you need to get rid of anything and everything that is not God…you need to face your demons…you need to start getting out of your own way.  

Do that, and on Day 41, the angels will let you know where to find me.  

It makes me wonder—if Jesus had taken a different approach, and just named a really high price for joining the disciples…you know: “Why sure you can join, my brother, but there are dues, the initiation fee, the loaf and fish minimum…just bring your W-2 over to Judas, and he’ll tell you your number….”…would the man have been willing to pay that?  

I kind of bet he would have, right? 

He seems like he might be an ROI kind of guy.   

Mark seems to suggest that there is something in him that measures. That calculates. 

It isn’t presented such that it sounds sinister – as in “he’s calculating” – but it’s fair to say that in this important moment when he stands before Jesus, such tendencies get in his way. 

What was that kid’s book – was it Cheaper By the Dozen? – where the dad is an efficiency expert and he insists that the whole family run according to time/motion studies and other organizational principles.   The point of diminishing returns…the Pareto principle…sunk costs…all as principles of parenting.  

Our nice guy probably wasn’t that extreme, but he might have gone to B school with that dad. 

As we said, he’s an ROI kind of guy. 

But Jesus doesn’t ask him for money.  

ROI and the other frameworks he’s learned along the way for making choices don’t help him to say yes to this particular choice.  

It’s asking something different of him.  

That means, even for a really nice guy (which he is), this is a leap he can’t quite make, even though his soul clearly wants so very much to make it.   

III.

What about us? 

Do we have tendencies that seem to get in our way, somehow – especially in the important moments of our lives? 

And by these, I don’t actually mean our flaws.  

More particularly, I mean the shadow side of so many of our virtues, which manage to make us trip over our own feet.  

Here are some places where we know it: 

…Hospitality that becomes an over-eagerness to please.  

…Humor that provides subtle strategy for silencing a room.  

…Attention to detail that devolves into scorekeeping.  

…Spontaneity that shades into indifference.  

…Love that looks more like worry.  

…Niceness that waves off the messiness of true concern. 

What if the very things Jesus asks us to let go are the very ones we mistakenly believe are holding us together?  The essence of the selves we most know how to be? 

Aren’t those the things we try to hold onto at all costs? 

So often, it’s only stepping back that lets us see the shadows.  

It’s only stepping back that lets us find our way toward the abundant life we know in God.  

Isn’t that what Jesus is saying to the man this morning? 

“Show me who you are without…all this…without all that…” 

That man refuses. 

Isn’t that what he says to us, especially in Lent?  

He asks: “Can you walk without those crutches?” as he looks on us with love.  

What will we say?