The Children and the Rich Man
Jesus welcomes the helpless faith of children while a rich man, confident in his accomplishments, walks away sad when asked to lose everything—showing that the kingdom is entered not by strength, but by becoming small and needy.
10:13 People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. 14 When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. 15 Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” 16 And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.
The disciples spiral continues. Fresh off Jesus’ teaching about marriage and hard hearts, they immediately forget the lesson of humility and start acting like gatekeepers. Parents bring their children to Jesus for blessing, and the disciples, with all the misplaced authority of want to be bouncers, try to shoo them away. Have they already forgotten what Jesus said just a chapter ago—that whoever welcomes a child welcomes him? Once again, Jesus flips their “rightness” upside down and declares: “Let the little children come to me… anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” So what is it about children that makes them fit for the kingdom? Don’t be fooled into thinking it’s their innocence—anyone who’s spent five minutes with a toddler knows that’s not the case. As Augustine put it, “the feebleness of infant limbs is innocent, not the infant’s mind.” No, it’s their helplessness, their incompetence. Children can’t do for themselves; they must receive everything as a gift. And that is precisely the posture Jesus says belongs in the kingdom.
17 As Jesus started on his way, a man ran up to him and fell on his knees before him. “Good teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
18 “Why do you call me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone. 19 You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder, you shall not commit adultery, you shall not steal, you shall not give false testimony, you shall not defraud, honor your father and mother.’”
Enter stage left, the exact opposite of a child. A man comes running up, kneels down, and asks the all-too-adult question: “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He gets points for posture—kneeling is a good start—but loses them for the question. A child asks for help; this man asks for instructions. Jesus pauses to note his language: “Why do you call me good? No one is good—except God alone.” Already, the man’s framework is being cracked open. He wants a checklist, so Jesus gives him one: the commandments. Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal—basic Sunday school stuff.
20 “Teacher,” he declared, “all these I have kept since I was a boy.”
And here the man reveals just how un-childlike he really is. “Teacher, all these I have kept since I was a boy.” He’s not helpless, he’s not incompetent—at least not in his own eyes. He’s an all-star, a moral high-achiever, the kind of guy you’d want teaching your Bible study. But remember, in the upside-down kingdom, winners are the ones in trouble. Because those who think they’ve got something to offer will always miss the one thing that matters most.
21 Jesus looked at him and loved him. “One thing you lack,” he said. “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
Then comes one of the most beautiful sentences in all of Scripture: “Jesus looked at him and loved him.” Not judged, not mocked, not dismissed—loved. Out of that love, Jesus offers him the one thing he’s missing: “Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor… then come, follow me.” It’s not a punishment; it’s an invitation. Jesus is giving him a shortcut into the kingdom—lose everything so that you can gain the only thing that matters. Become small, become needy, become childlike.
22 At this the man’s face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.
But the man can’t do it. His possessions, his comfort, his security, his reputation—these prove heavier than the weight of eternal life. And so, tragically, he walks away sad.
We shouldn’t be too quick to judge him. If Jesus asked us the same question, most of us would walk away too. Have you ever met anyone who actually sold everything to follow him? Not downsized a little, not cut some spending, but everything? We tell ourselves this command was “just for him” because wealth was his idol. But who are we kidding? If Jesus looked us in the eye, would he say anything different? The truth is, we all bow to comfort and security; we all cling to our stuff like it’s life itself. And in that sense, we are this man—earnest, religious, even respectable—but ultimately unwilling to become children again. Which leaves us hopeless… unless, of course, Jesus himself does the doing on our behalf. And as we’ll soon see in his words to the disciples, that’s exactly the kind of Savior he is.
Reflection Question
Where in your life do you approach God like the rich man—trying to achieve—rather than like a child who simply receives?
