By Bill Bouknight | Retired Senior Minister of Christ United Methodist Church in Memphis, Tenn., now resides in Columbia, South Carolina
Almost... It’s a sad word in anybody’s dictionary. It keeps company with expressions like “if only” and (in the South) “near ’bout.”
Almost is a word that smacks of missed opportunities and fumbled chances.
Tim KcKee was edged out for first place in the Olympic 400-meter race by two-thousandths of a second. He
almost won a gold medal.
Max Lucado gives us these sad statements that revolve around
almost:
“He
almost got it together.”
“We were
almost able to work it out.”
“He
almost made it to the big leagues.”
“I caught a catfish that was bigger than me. Well,
almost!”
As they say, almost doesn’t count except in horseshoes and hand grenades.
Our Scripture lesson focuses on an “almost” kind of guy. We call him “the rich young ruler.” In terms of disciples, he was the big one that got away. He could have been the powerful establishment figure who might have won half the Jewish power structure to Jesus. One day he met Jesus and hovered on the brink of commitment. He
almost claimed Jesus as the Lord of his life. But
almost is not good enough.
The story of the rich young ruler is in three of the four gospels—Matthew, Mark and Luke. Each version is slightly different. We tend to blend the three into one composite story. All three tell us that the man was rich. Only Matthew mentions that he was young. Only Luke notes that he was a ruler. Mark’s Gospel tells us that the man ran up and knelt before Jesus, indicating that he was earnest and respectful.
“Now a man came up to Jesus and asked, ‘Teacher, what good things must I do to get eternal life?’” (
Matt. 19:16).
The Greek word translated here as “eternal life” really means joy, fulfillment and peace with God. It is the most wanted commodity on earth, in the first or the 21st centuries. The rich young ruler had everything in the world except what he wanted most—this eternal, or abundant, life.
In one of his books, Bruce Larson tells about a Presbyterian conference that was held in Omaha. It began with a worship service. As the people entered the auditorium, they were given helium-filled balloons attached to strings. They were instructed to release those balloons at any point during the service when they felt real joy in their hearts. Larson noted that since they were Presbyterian, they were not free to say, “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!” (Sometimes we Methodists have a hard time with that, too.) All through the service, balloons ascended. But when the service was over, it was discovered that one-third of the worshipers were still holding on to their balloons. They had not felt the joy. It’s sad but true. Lots of folks in churches have never felt the unique joy of knowing Christ personally.
