The conversation was about whether money helped or whether it stood in the way of getting into heaven. Most of those talking admitted that they were looking for a way to have their money and heaven, too. When they asked their leader for his opinion, he said that it was easier for a camel to squeeze through the eye of a needle (Matt. 19:24) than for a person with an MBA or an All Savers Certificate to enter the kingdom. It was an outrageous image, the camel and the needle’s eye; but the rest hit a little too close for comfort for anyone to be amused.

This is how another remembered the advice: "The gate to life is narrow, and the way that leads to it is hard and there are few people who find it" (Matt. 7:14). Think of an airport security gate; all possessions -- even the contents of pockets and purses -- have to be put aside before one goes through the gate alone. It made sense, of course, that all one needed in heaven would be God. But the idea was frightening so not many were consoled.

The Camel & The Needle’s Eye

After a time, reports trickled back about those who tried to get through the gates loaded down with gold chains, their pockets bulging with municipal bonds. There was an occasional embarrassing scene whenever someone refused to surrender his or her treasured possessions to the conveyor belt. Rebuffed, some turned away, clutching their belongings and settling wherever they were welcome with the things they clung to.

Once in a while someone surfaced who tried to explain that God, who had more important things to deal with, most certainly had nothing to say about money, or that Christianity was indifferent to it, or even that a hefty bank balance was a sign of God’s favor. There were always takers for these positions, but not everyone agreed and so the issue never totally disappeared.

The money issue is simmering again, fueled by inflation, unstable interest rates, and the disconcerting fact that lifestyles which Christians were accustomed to simplifying for the noblest of reasons are now being involuntarily modified by forces beyond their control.

The subject is a touchy one. The Quaker author of a Pendle Hill pamphlet suggests that money is to our generation what sex was to the Victorians -- which is to say that many people are willing to read about how others handle it or mismanage it, but few are ready to disclose their own involvement with it.
The Christian gospel has some things of its own to say about money, and says them directly and simply. First of all, it tells us that money itself is not the issue; the real issue is how we get it and what we do with it. In other words, money may not be intrinsically evil, but in its comings and goings in our lives it is frequently the root of evil.

Root of All Evil?

On the subject of how we get money, "Thou shalt not steal" is more than a directive to employers to pay just wages and to employees to do a fair day’s work. Getting our houses in order on this score frequently means agonizing over employment that supports ethically questionable enterprises, or collecting fees that widen the gap between those who can afford our services and those who cannot.

On the subject of what to do with money, Jesus was unambiguous: "Sell your possessions and give alms: Get yourselves purses that do not wear out, treasure that will not fail you, in heaven where no thief can reach it. . ." (Luke 12:33, JB). I’m not sure I want to believe that such counsel is as radical as it appears, or as personal, or as nonnegotiable, since it fails to thank us for the share we’ve already given. Instead, it leads us to places where we would rather not go and asks, making us increasingly uneasy, questions we would rather not hear.

How much does the gospel tell us to give away? Excess, for sure, because to hoard is to exploit the poor who are demeaned by the brutal poverty of imbalance. But the fact that the widow’s offering (Mark 12:42-44) was not declined might give a clue about divesting even when it cuts into basic needs. "She gave from her want, all that she had to live on." That kind of giving is always a powerful sacrament of solidarity. It says that even though we cannot take the suffering away or really share it, symbolic action (fasting, living with less, sharing -- not renting -- space in our home, opposing consumerism) is one way of lessening the distance between our own lives and the terror, deprivation and despair of the suffering poor. And something more. It also opens our eyes to the reality that we are all needy -- not only the suffering poor, but we, the suffering rich, as well. The slave-making forces at work in our world exempt no one.

The Widow's Mite

Jesus may have given the best answer to the "how much" question when he urged the rich young man (Matt. 19:21) to rid himself of whatever stood in the way of acknowledging that Jesus alone sufficed. The costliness of Christian discipleship boils down to just that: detaching ourselves from material goods, from prestige, power, advancement, or whatever else stands in the way of attachment to Christ. However much we would like to keep economics and faith separate, the gospel forges them together, establishes a mysterious but real connection between them, and asks for a continual reckoning from each of us concerning the blocks we place in the way of their unity.

Second, the gospel says that our attitude toward money can be dangerous. Jesus frequently warned about greed that encouraged people to work not only for what they needed, but for more and more. "Take heed, and beware of all covetousness; for a [person’s] life does not consist in the abundance of possessions" (Luke 12:15). Jesus knew that in the amassing of money, people sometimes became obsessed by it. When his followers wondered what was wrong with that, he told them the story of an enterprising entrepreneur (Luke 12:16-21) who built silos to store his extra grain. Buying (or building) on margin has always been a risky business, and the inherent anxiety in that kind of gambling may well have triggered the coronary, or whatever it was, that unexpectedly did in this hustler.

The man’s death, however, was not the issue. The moral of the story, it seems, had to do with security. Even (or especially) in the eyes of Wall Street, this fellow lost out because he invested imprudently. The mistake was tragic, but Jesus offered a redeeming lesson to the survivors, claiming that he is our security -- our only security. To make anything else our "ultimate concern," or to let anything else deflect us from recognizing that he is all we need, is not only idolatry but a fatal flaw. For, at least in this parable, the man’s concern was responsible for destroying the very thing he hoped to save.

[In the second part of this article, Dr. Donnelly looks at the question of ‘internal poverty vs. external poverty’]

About The Author: Dr. Donnelly is associate professor of religious studies at John Carroll University in Cleveland. This article appeared in the Christian Century, April 27, 1983, pp. 400-402. Copyright by The Christian Century Foundation.

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