I'll give the G.I. Joe back already!

So this rich young man comes to Jesus and asks what he has to do to get into Heaven. Jesus replies the usual, "don't kill anyone, don't steal peoples' stuff, don't sleep around," etc. The young man says he's done all this, but being the introspective sort, he asks, "what do I lack?" Jesus then says, "sell all you have and give it to the poor - you will have treasure in Heaven. Then come follow me." The Scripture tells us the wealthy young man heard this and went away, sad.

I am that young man.

In many ways I'm very wealthy. Though compared to other Americans I probably make less than average for my age and education; if I'm compared to the world I'm fantastically wealthy...the average income of a world citizen in 2008 was $7000.

Like the young man in the story, I haven't killed anyone or stolen anything (okay not true. But I can't find Billy Ohmstead to give back his Snake-Eyes with the twisty-waist action) or slept with anyone else's wife. And like the young man, I'm not really satisfied with the "I haven't done anything bad, therefore I must be good" logic.

If Jesus beheld and stood at my door and knocked in a white robe with a red sash, I'd invite him in and sup with him. But if he said you're lacking one thing - sell all this, give it to the poor and then leave to follow me, then I would very sadly tell him "No."

I'm ashamed to admit it. I'd like to say that I'm devoted enough and kind-hearted toward the poor enough and free enough to follow through on that kind of command. Truth is, I like knowing that I'm covered for my next meal. I want to guarantee my son's education for as long as he can stand being in school. I have responsibilities and obligations that cannot be fulfilled without money.

My portfolio is fully aware that black line graph is transient and in flux. I recognize that all manner of catastrophes (or, more poignantly "Acts of God") could make everything I have worthless. But I can't reliquish the control. If he really wants it, God will have to take it from me. I'm not going to give all of it away. It's failure. It's defiant.

I'd look into the brown eyes of the man who traded places with me in death-the one whose life I'm supposed to be substituting-and I'd say in my best here's-the-bad-news voice, "Yeah. Well, about that giving away everything to the poor part..."