Mr. Witt’s funeral was fairly typical, typical for a Lutheran service, anyway. But it was unique in that it was not a service planned with the help of his children or family members, rather the church took the lead on it. See, Raymond Witt did not have any immediate family around, and certainly none who went to our little Lutheran Church in southeast Georgia. So, we followed the funeral liturgy, confessed our faith, prayed the Lord’s Prayer, and turned our hope to the promise of the resurrection of the dead. However, there were many from the community where he lived who came to the service, and in the small reception which followed, you could not help but overhear some of their conversations. They were not exactly glowing reviews. One older lady told a friend, “I can’t believe this was his church.” She seemed a bit put off by the formality of it all; the vestments and liturgical movements caught her off guard. Another, a stereotypical southern good-old-boy type, mentioned he would never have imagined Raymond would go in for a church like this one. After all, he never talked about church, his faith, or any of this to any of them.

Now, I think some of that criticism and questioning was warranted. After all, I did not get to know Mr. Witt until the last year and a half of his life. He just showed up one Sunday and sat in the back pew. He came in after I had already begun the service and left before it was over. He did this a few times over a month or so before he finally stayed for the whole service, and we had a chance to talk at the door on the way out. He was genuinely intrigued by what was happening and wanted to know more. We set a time to sit down during the week and discuss it. The conversation which ensued on that Wednesday afternoon was surprising and memorable. Mr. Witt must have been in his mid-eighties, and he lived a hard life. He had no formal education but grew up on a farm and learned the trade of animal husbandry. He cared for animals, sort of like a vet without a degree. He learned by doing. In this way he made a good life for himself. It was hard and dirty work, but it was worth it, especially because it provided for what he called the one joy and light of his life, his bride. To carve out a life for her, a place of security and hope, was worth the long hours. To be able to retire to the backwoods of southeast Georgia in a nice little doublewide on a piece of land you owned outright was a good life.

But, as I have been told more than a few times by members, getting old is not for the faint of heart. Slowly, his quiet modest home was filled with the sights and constant sounds of medical equipment. One ailment after another crippled his bride. Their dreams of taking long road trips to places they always hoped to go were simply no longer a possibility. Their home, which had been an escape from this world, began to feel more and more like a strange prison. Furthermore, Mr. Witt was not a believer. He did not have much use for church, but his bride did, at least she went from time to time when she could, and he would often find her praying. Then, towards the end, she would ask him to join her in prayer. He felt clumsy and awkward, but this was the love of his life. He would take her hand and mouth along with her as she spoke the Lord’s Prayer.

After her death, once all the medical equipment was removed from his house, as he tried to put his home back together, he found he was a changed person. He was stirred deep within. He was lost and alone, so he went on a quest to find some guidance, answers, and hope. He ended up going to the places his wife had gone. He went to church. Actually, he went to churches. He was on the lookout for something that might make sense. The only reason he returned to our service is because we prayed the Lord’s Prayer every Sunday, and he mouthed along to it like he did with his bride. But now, in my study on that Wednesday afternoon, he wanted to know what he needed to do, what he was supposed to do to receive the hope of eternal life, the hope he knew his wife died with.

Of course, that question, no matter how well or even inexactly it is phrased, is the question. If there is eternal life, if there is something beyond this age, if there is a resurrection of the dead, if there is the promise of a reunion with those who have gone before us, if there is Paradise eternal, what must I do to inherit such a thing? In Mark chapter 10, we hear a man who jumps at the chance to get his answer right from the source. Here is the Messiah, here is the Promised One, and he runs up to Jesus and kneels before Him. He lays it all on the line and says, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And everyone leans in a little bit. All who are within earshot have to be excited that someone finally just asked Him. What is it?

What does Jesus say? He refers this young man, in fact, he refers all of you, to the Commandments. You know, the Commandments, those decrees of God regarding how you are to live your life. “Do not murder. Do not commit adultery. Do not steal. Do not bear false witness. Do not defraud. Honor your father and mother.” Now, most likely, you hear this list and as good, church going Lutherans are already thinking, “Well, is there a plan B for inheriting eternal life? Cause I have already messed this up.” But this guy shocks us all. He says, “Teacher, all these I have kept from my youth.” With this answer, we might think he is a bit pompous, a little full of himself, but he seems earnest. In fact, Jesus does not respond by scrutinizing his life to see if it is true. Our text says Jesus loved him, and it seems to be that love which motivates Him to graciously get to the heart of the issue. “You lack one thing: Go, sell all you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in Heaven; and come, follow Me.”

This breaks him. It cuts him to the core, for he has many possessions. But what is our Lord doing? When you study the Small Catechism, which I know you do with great regularity, you learn that the First Commandment is to have no other gods, and the meaning of that commandment is to fear, love, and trust in God above all things. And then the meaning of every other commandment begins the same way, saying you should fear and love God, so you do not murder, steal, commit adultery, or bear false witness. In other words, we are taught how every other commandment looks back to the First Commandment. Every commandment works back to having no other gods. And one’s god is what he fears, loves, and trusts the most in this age. If you fear a political party, that is your god. If you love status and fame, that is your god. Do you trust in your wealth? That is your god.

Jesus hears the man’s confession about keeping the Commandments, but he drives it back to the first, to what his god is. To possess eternal life, he must die to that god. “Sell everything and follow Me,” Jesus says, and this man is not sure he can. Is this what it takes? Is this how one inherits eternal life? So, what is your thing? What is the thing you refuse to give up? What are the things you will hold onto to the bitter end? What is it you fear, love, and trust more than God? And if you are serious about this, you will soon find out your ability to do what is necessary to inherit eternal life slips away. It is too hard, too painful, too demanding to follow through completely.

Now as you might have guessed, unlike the young man at the feet of our Lord, I did not direct Mr. Witt to the Commandments of our God. I did not challenge him to uncover the god he would not let go of. He was not holding on to anything. His life had been emptied, and he was adrift. Instead, we spoke about the love of Christ. We talked about His gifts and His sacrifice because we would not let go of our gods. We confessed our failures and together held fast to the forgiveness Jesus gave. Mr. Witt became a part of our fellowship. He learned to sing loudly alongside his brothers and sisters and would boldly pray the Lord’s Prayer. And when God finally took everything from him, when he was lying in a hospital bed at the end of a short but fierce battle with cancer, he asked to hear the story Jesus told about the Good Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine lambs and goes in search of the one lost one. He said that was him, the lost lamb, who did nothing to inherit eternal life. But here he was, dying in the arms of his Lord, dying with complete assurance that he will live again. He will see his bride. He will celebrate with us all the dawning of a more glorious day.