As God began uncovering this blind spot in us, my wife and I began looking at the things around us. You see, a couple of years ago, we had lost everything. Our house went underwater in Hurricane Katrina, and all our possessions floated in about ten feet of water for two weeks. After we went back to see what we could salvage, we found ourselves driving away from New Orleans with a few Christmas decorations from the attic to our name.
This was our chance. We could literally start from the bottom and responsibly rebuild our lives more on necessities and less on luxuries. In the days to come, however, we would quickly squander that opportunity.
By the time we moved to Birmingham, where I would begin pastoring, we found ourselves in the throes of buying a house and filling it with stuff. The lure was strong. We didn’t buy a mansion, but we did purchase more than we needed. And the more space there is in a house, the more stuff is “necessary” to fill it. It did not take long to find ourselves with twice as much as we once had in New Orleans. In the eyes of the world (even the church world), we had reached the promised land. But I could not get rid of the sinking feeling that we were better able to live out the gospel when we had less.
The lesson I learned is that the war against materialism in our hearts is exactly that: a war. It is a constant battle to resist the temptation to have more luxuries, to acquire more stuff, and to live more comfortably. It requires strong and steady resolve to live out the gospel in the middle of an American dream that identifies success as moving up the ladder, getting the bigger house, purchasing the nicer car, buying the better clothes, eating the finer food, and acquiring more things.
My wife and I have decided we are going to wage the war. We now find ourselves in what seems like a never-ending process of identifying necessities and removing luxuries. We put our house up for sale and began looking for something smaller and simpler. We began the process of adoption again, concluding that our savings were better spent on that which is most important to the heart of God.35 We are attempting to form a budget that frees up as much as possible to give away.
These things are just the beginning, and we have far to go. So many questions still remain unanswered. What kind of car should I drive? How many clothes do I really need? What luxuries does God intend for my family and me to savor, and what luxuries does God invite us to sacrifice? If we have savings, where is the line between responsible saving (which the Bible certainly advocates) and irresponsible hoarding (which the Bible clearly condemns)?36 How does all of this affect the way we approach investments, retirement accounts, or life insurance? How much is wise to save for potential future need when brothers and sisters around me (as well as people who haven’t even heard the gospel) are threatened by dire present need?
These are not easy questions, and I do not presume to have all the answers. Nor do I claim that there are legalistic measures by which we can or should answer these questions. We must avoid the error of imposing upon ourselves or others laws that are not commanded in Scripture. At the same time, this should not stop us from asking the questions and letting these questions drive us to Christ.
I am discovering in my own life that this is a journey, and along the way I am finding deep joy in depending on Christ for the guidance only he can provide as he produces the fruit of the gospel in my life. More than anything, I don’t want to be the rich young man. And I don’t want to ignore the fact that the lure toward becoming him is always stronger than I would like to admit.
The Bible says that when Jesus told the rich young man to sell everything he had and give to the poor “the man’s face fell. He went away sad, because he had great wealth.”37 Jesus was uncovering a blind spot in his life, and he didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see the extent of his sin, the depth of his bondage to his possessions, or the gravity of the need among the poor. He walked away with full hands but an empty heart. Tragically, he was leaving behind the only one who could bring him the life and joy he so desperately desired.
I don’t want to be blind to these things in my own life. And I don’t want to leave Christ behind. I don’t want to pursue stuff-even stuff in the name of Christianity or stuff in the name of the church—and in the process miss Christ and the pleasures he alone gives in a life free from bondage to the possessions of this world. Ultimately, I don’t want to miss eternal treasure because I settle for earthly trinkets. “Where your treasure is,” Jesus says, “there your heart will be also.”38 The way we use our money is a barometer of our present spiritual condition. Our neglect of the poor illustrates much about where our hearts lie. But even more than that, the way we use our money is an indicator of our eternal destination. The mark of Christ followers is that their hearts are in heaven and their treasures are spent there.