The rich man in Mark 10 is very interested in God but remarkably disinterested in discomfort or risk. Often we make the same decisions for the same reason. While money is certainly central to his story and he, in his actions, declares his allegiance to it, it is not only about money. It is also about the comfort, security, familiarity, power, and influence his wealth has afforded him. He just can’t risk it. How often do we rest on our comforts and securities and familiarities instead of stepping in faith into the challenges and risks is brings?

No less a follower of God than John the Baptist looked at Jesus’ early resume and sent students to him to ask “Is it really you? Or Should I be looking for another?” The church, by discouraging questions and doubts along the way, has failed the seekers and cynics among its numbers. But John is one of them. Both his expectations and his present circumstances cause him to view Jesus’ early ministry in a way that leaves him unconvinced. But instead of ridiculing or rejecting John for his trepidation, Jesus embraces it, answers it, and then celebrates John the question-asker as a faithful prophetic giant.

Brennen Manning’s well-known quote about the largest contributor to atheism in our world no doubt has its roots in scripture. As uncomfortable as that quote is for us who are guilty of its crimes, Jesus teaching in Luke 18 is not less comforting. Perhaps the most ignored step in a faithful pursuit of God is the step of honest self-reflection.

He needs help. They know it. They don’t care. His need is completely secondary to whatever it is they want at the moment. This vague synopsis could describe all sorts of interactions in our lives and the lives of those around us. Mark 10 tells the story of a man in need of healing and a crowd of Jesus’ followers shouting him down. You’d like to think they’d know better, but the selfishness Jesus has called them away from still holds strong. What can we learn from this story?

In Luke 12, the parable of the Rich man is sandwiched between two teachings of Jesus on greed and worry. This is not accidental. The words “Don’t chase after what you will eat and what you will drink” inform us that when Jesus speaks of worry here, he has in mind the type of worry that hijacks our consciousness of others, causes us to store up for ourselves instead of caring for others. In that way, worry is its own type of greed. In a nation of storage buildings, we probably know more as much or more about storing up than we do sharing, and this passage should give us pause as to how we function in the world.

Certainty drives many of the Pharisees and legal scholars of Jesus day to oppose him. They’ve got the answers sorted, and any questions they might have certainly can’t be answered by the lowly Jesus, a radical rabbi from sticks. It is their certainty that keeps them from getting what Jesus is really doing. Honestly, though, the same is true for Jesus’ closest followers. Once they decide he’s the messiah, they know with absolute certainty what it means. Peter, so certain that the messiah is a warrior-priest who will reestablish God’s kingdom in a physical sense on earth, whips out a sword in the garden and fires the first (and only) shot in the Battle of the Garden. His certainty was no more well founded than that of the Pharisees- both misled in different ways by what they already “know” to be true. So, how are you doing the same thing?

Culturally speaking, our conversations around greatness almost always involve a measurement of achievement. Who has “accomplished” more. More championships, more awards, more records, etc. When Jesus’ disciples ask him about greatness in the Kingdom of Heaven, however, none of this measuring sticks show up. What might happen if we learned to measure and pursue greatness on the terms that Jesus offers?

I imagine the people of Israel celebrated the prophet Amos’ early proclamations against their enemies. Who doesn’t like it when those obviously-more-evil-than-I people on the other side of the fence “get theirs.” I imagine they are less comfortable when they become the ones on the receiving end of the proclamation of judgment. How is it that we so easily blind ourselves to our own injustices while calling out the injustices of others?

We like our comfort. So much so that we tell ourselves stories that help bring about our comfort. We’re alright. We’re doing what we are supposed to. Sure there are problems, but since I’m not powerful, I can’t really do much. I’m good. Isaiah’s audience told themselves comfortable narratives about their religious practices too. They did so while turning a blind eye to the injustice around them. At its root, comfort-seeking is self-oriented, not neighbor-oriented. Isaiah’s message, echoed by Jesus a several centuries later, is that self-oriented comfort narratives are opposed to God’s work of justice.

Some of my favorite verses in all of scripture come from Isaiah 43. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine.” But these words are not spoken by a person with no reason to fear. A prophet in captivity has little voice, less influence, and no power. Nor does prophetic calling spare them from hardship. Yet Isaiah, while in captivity in a foreign land, imagines a future where the God of Israel redeems and rescues. These words can only be spoken from a place of hope. Indeed, Isaiah shows us what it looks like to put more stock in our hope than we do our circumstances.