He looked at him and loved him.

There's a lot about this guy to love.

Not me, you understand, but the rich young man from the Gospel reading from Sunday.  He comes bounding over to Jesus, and kneels before him, and loudly asks 'Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?'  There's a lot to love about him.  There's a lot to love about him because he seems so like us, so relateable.  He seems like an ordinary human being. 

If you haven't read them, there's a series of books called 'Bruno and Boots' about a Canadian boarding school called MacDonald Hall.  In this series, Bruno and Melvin (Nicknamed Boots, obviously), engage in hilarious misadventures and harebrained schemes.  MacDonald Hall is located conveniently across the highway from Miss Scrimmage's finishing school for young ladies, and the
girls are frequently involved in the schemes in some way or another.  During one of these schemes, when the girls do something particularly amazing, Bruno remarks breathlessly 'those girls.... they remind me of us.'  It was the highest compliment he could pay.

That line has always stuck with me, because truly, one of the highest compliments one could pay to someone else is that they remind you of yourself.  In your own eyes, you are the hero of your own story, and so to be like you is to be fantastic.  To be like you is to attain as close as possible to perfection this side of heaven.  And this is why I love this rich young man - because he's like us. 

When he bounds over to Jesus, and kneels before him, he doesn't embark on any of the complicated ethical questions that others have asked Jesus.  When the lawyers and scribes test Jesus, they do so by asking questions about whether it's okay to pay taxes or not, or if it's lawful to get divorced, and Jesus responds.  They ask him by what authority Jesus does miracles, or why his disciples don't wash their hands at an appropriate time.  All sorts of questions that seem important to the doctors and merchants and lawyers.  But they're not questions that plague you, I'll bet. 

If you were to be able to ask Jesus only one question, if you could sit him down and ask only one question, it would likely be the same one as this rich young man does - how do I get into heaven.  There we go.  No fanciness, no beating around the bush, just straight into the solar plexus, what do I have to do to get into heaven.  That's what I want to know.  Nothing else. 

And Jesus replies truthfully, which is to say 'you know the commandments: Don't steal, don't commit adultery, don't kill, dont' defraud, honor your mother and father.'  Success!  This is what the young

man wanted to hear.  Heck, it's what we all want to hear! If we were to ask Jesus how to get into heaven, the answer we want to hear is 'be a good person.'  We want to hear that answer because, as mentioned earlier, we are the heroes of our own story.  To get through the day, we have essentially convinced ourselves that we are not just good people, but the best people.  We are good and upright.  We do things well.  We are the people here on Earth who get it right and do things well almost always.  Our problems that we encounter are the fault of other people who get in our way and bust us up.  We don't make mistakes.  That's not us.  And so the best answer that Jesus can possibly give to us is to 'be a good person' because that's what we believe that we're already doing.

This rich young ruler, same thing.  He hears the pronouncement from Jesus and responds joyfully, saying 'I've done all this from my youth!'  Be a good person?  I'm already a good person!  Sweet sassie.  So when the young man says to Jesus 'fantastic, I've done all this my whole life,' Jesus looks at him and loves him.

That's ordinarily where the story would end, right?  That's where the story wraps up, at least in our own minds.  'How do I get into heaven?' 'Be a good person.'  'I'm a good person.' 'Outstanding.'  But the story doesn't end there, because upon looking at him, Jesus loves him.  And love is a terrible, dangerous thing. 

Most of us don't want to be loved, we want to be liked.  We want to be liked, because like doesn't require much of anything.  it doesn't require change or painful growth.  When someone says 'I like you,' they're saying that they appreciate who you are right now, they like what they are currently seeing.  When someone says 'I love you,' they're saying 'I like what I have right now, and I want it to grow and develop, to be better tomorrow than it is today.'  And that's a painful thing. 

It's a difficult thing to be loved, much easier to be liked.  You can be liked by your buddies who will encourage you to drink too much and fight some guy in a bar.  You can be loved by your wife who will encourage you not to drink, and to save your liver.  This is what love is, you understand, is wanting the best for the object of your love.

We've all encountered this love, you know.  The friends who remind you that you're not happy with your new boyfriend, your granny who helpfully points out that you've gained weight, your parents who continue to remind you of your marks in school and how they could be better if you were working to your potential - this is the kind of love we don't want.  The love that bends us and breaks us and makes us into something that we weren't before.  Because that person loves us.

It is this love that compelled Jesus to speak to this young man, to tell him 'okay, so you've told me how you've kept all the commandments your whole life?  Well and good.  But I'm not here to congratulate you for your successes.  I'm here to fix your failings.'

How would you feel about a dentist who congratulated you for your mouth full of healthy teeth, but ignored the one that was placing you in agony?  Or a doctor who praised your breathing while ignoring your broken leg that made you unable to walk out of the waiting room?  What would you think of parents that shrugged their shoulders as you went to your death, or teachers who just plain didn't care if you did your homework or not?  I know we want to be liked, but sometimes we are loved, and love is a dangerous thing.  Jesus has in mind for us to be perfect, just as God himself is perfect. That's the rule and the standard - there is no other.  And when this rich young ruler comes before Jesus and says to him 'I'm a good person,' Jesus essentially responds by saying 'I don't want you to be a good person in your own eyes.  I want you to be perfect.'  Or, to put it another way, 'You may think you are good, but nobody is good but God.'

So Jesus points out his failings.  Even after going through all his strengths, Jesus points out his failings, telling him that it is good that he is doing the work he has been doing so far, but he still has a long way to go.  He needs to be perfect as God is perfect.  If he isn't, then that's why he needs Jesus.

For Jesus looked at him, and loved him.  And he looks at us, and loves us.  And his love requires our perfection.  So where do we go with this love?  Well, Jesus helpfully articulates what his love for us is.  He looks at you, and loves you, and tells you this: No man has greater love than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.  You are my friends.' 

That there is the good news of the Gospel.  Not that you're a good person, because you aren't. Sometimes it takes consulting with God to see how far you have still to go, even if you think you keep the commandments perfectly.  Even if you kept them all but one, there would still be room to go and room to grow - you still wouldn't be perfect as God would demand.  So if you're not going to be perfect on your own, then Jesus will remind you of your need for him.  He will be your savior.  His pointing out of your weaknesses will show you just how far you still have to go, further than you can go in your entire life.  Jesus doesn't tell you this to dishearten you, nor to make you feel bad, but to remind you of your need for him.  He does this to tell you that as good as you think you are, you aren't perfect.  But he is.  And he has come to die for you.

The young man leaves disheartened, because he has many posessions.  He has just been reminded of what he has that is keeping him from God, and he is disheartened because of it.  Perhaps his heart has been hardened, perhaps he is not thrilled about being informed of this, or perhaps he is angry that Jesus has dared to point out that he is less than perfect.  What is he going to do from this point on?  Who can say?  He may sell his posessions, but likely not.  Odds are instead that he will go back to his home, and pretend that Jesus doesn't say what he says. 

But Jesus does say what he says.  He says it and means it.  And he tells anyone who will listen that they have a long way to go, an interminably long way to go.  They'll never get there. Which is why Jesus has to come to them.  Don't harden your heart, don't listen only to the first half of the love of Christ, listen to it all.  Not just his desire for you to be improved, but his willingness to accomplish it for you.