The Servant and Material Wealth | Mark 10:13-31
Sermon Summary
I want to invite you, right from the start, to revisit two snapshots in Jesus’ ministry here in Mark 10. They’re distinct moments in the same chapter, yet both reveal the posture of the heart that either draws us nearer to God or drives us away. First, we see Jesus welcoming children—seemingly insignificant, powerless little ones—while He rebukes grown men for turning them away. Then, right on its heels, comes a sobering account of a rich young ruler who is outwardly devout yet inwardly bound by his wealth. These two portraits underscore a vital reality: the kind of faith that enters the kingdom of God is childlike—humble, helplessly dependent—while a faith grounded in material security will ultimately keep us from the fullness of life that God offers.
We’ll break our time into two parts, reflecting on the simplest, most open-hearted faith and contrasting it with the self-sufficiency that wealth can bring. And as we listen, may the Holy Spirit search our hearts—whether we’re struggling to approach God with trust or to let go of our reliance on possessions.
Faith as a Child Will Bring You to God
In Mark 10:13–16, we read that families brought their children to Jesus, seeking a blessing. This was nothing new—people often brought little ones to rabbis for a touch and a prayer. But the disciples, seeing it as a trivial interruption, rebuked those who came. They assumed Jesus had “grown-up” concerns and no time for children. In our culture, we might imagine the disciples acting like self-appointed “bodyguards,” turning away an inconvenient crowd that doesn’t fit the agenda.
Jesus, however, does something remarkable: He becomes indignant, the only time in the Gospels He’s described that way. It wasn’t petty anger; it was a holy displeasure that the disciples would block children from coming. To Jesus, children weren’t a sideline. They were—and still are—living examples of how we should approach the kingdom of God. So with pointed words, He tells the disciples, “Let the little children come to Me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God.”
What does it mean when He adds, “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it”? We might think of children’s innocence or their sense of wonder. But the key feature here is their helplessness. Children in that cultural setting had no social leverage. They possessed no property, no influence, no illusions of self-sufficiency. If they needed something, they simply trusted an adult to provide. And that quality—a posture of dependence—is what Jesus lifts up as essential for salvation.
We can’t save ourselves. We don’t bring moral credentials or impressive works that “earn” us eternal life. Like children, we come empty-handed, openhearted. That’s exactly how Horatius Bonar’s old hymn “Rock of Ages” puts it: “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling.” We own up to our sin, acknowledging we can’t fix it or balance it by good deeds. Our only hope is Christ, the perfect Lamb who bore our sins on the cross and rose again.
Many people may acknowledge that for their initial salvation—yes, we’re saved by grace through faith—but then slip back into a mindset of achievement and reliance on self. Yet the kingdom of God isn’t just about that first decision. Ongoing, childlike dependence marks the Christian life as a whole. When we trust in ourselves—our intelligence, track record, or morality—we lose that childlike faith that draws us deeper into God’s grace. Jesus welcomes the powerless, the overlooked, and says, “Of such is the kingdom.” So if you feel unimpressive, small, or unaccomplished, know that Jesus offers you His presence. And if you’re used to feeling strong, influential, or resourceful, remember that genuine closeness with Christ depends on humility and surrender.
Faith in Your Wealth Will Keep You from God
No sooner has Jesus emphasized childlike faith than we encounter a stark contrast in Mark 10:17–22. A man described elsewhere as a “rich young ruler” comes running to Jesus, kneels before Him, and asks, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a noble question at face value, yet the way he words it implies a transactional approach: “What do I do to earn or acquire it?” He sees eternal life as an achievement within his grasp.
Jesus first queries, “Why do you call Me good? No one is good except God alone.” In that culture, “good” (used in this context) belonged uniquely to God, so Jesus is probing whether this man recognizes Him as divine. If you really call me “good,” are you acknowledging that I’m God? Or is this just flattery?
Then Jesus lists six commandments—those dealing with how we treat other people. The man confidently replies, “All these I’ve observed since I was young.” He’s certain he’s checked all the boxes. He doesn’t think himself a hypocrite; he genuinely believes he’s morally upright. Many people, then and now, suppose that “goodness” on a human scale suffices for salvation. But Jesus wants him—and us—to see that no one truly measures up to the perfection of God. Our real problem isn’t that we do a few bad things. It’s that our hearts are warped by sin, and we need a radical transformation that only Christ can provide.
Mark records a touching detail: “Jesus, looking at him, loved him.” Despite the man’s misguided assumptions, Jesus’ heart warms with compassion. Out of that love, He pinpoints the man’s idol: “You lack one thing. Go, sell all you have, give it to the poor… then come, follow Me.” Now, Jesus isn’t commanding a universal vow of poverty. He’s not prohibiting Christians from owning property. Rather, He discerns that wealth has become this man’s functional god. The man’s identity is tied to his affluence and social standing. Jesus asks him to surrender the very security blanket that keeps him from wholeheartedly depending on God.
Sadly, “he was disheartened by the saying; he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.” This is the only time in the Gospels someone leaves Jesus worse off than when they came. It shows how faith in your wealth can keep you from God. The man wanted eternal life, but not enough to relinquish the idol that blocked his true allegiance. He had a head full of commandments but a heart captive to possessions.
As Jesus watches him go, He remarks to His disciples, “How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” The disciples are stunned—they had assumed wealth signified God’s favor. If a devout, seemingly blessed man can’t enter, who can? Jesus doubles down: “Children, how hard it is for those who trust in riches to enter God’s kingdom! It’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.” That hyperbole jostles their assumptions: wealth might look like an advantage, but spiritually it can be a liability.
Of course, money itself isn’t evil. The danger lies in putting our faith in it. A comfortable bank balance can dull our awareness of spiritual need. Instead of coming empty-handed like a child, we bring achievements, security, and a cushion that can supplant genuine trust. Jesus, however, reassures them: “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.” In other words, no matter how entangled we are, God’s grace can break us free from the idol of wealth.
Peter then points out that the disciples had left homes and livelihoods to follow Jesus. Jesus promises that no one who sacrifices for His sake and the gospel’s will ultimately lose out. Though we might face persecution and difficulties, there will be a reward—both in this age and in the age to come. The point is not to manipulate God into blessing us but to see that giving up worldly securities for His kingdom aligns us with a higher, more eternal purpose. And God, who is no one’s debtor, never fails to care for His own.
Reflection
These two vignettes—children welcomed and the rich man sent away sorrowful—press two probing questions on us. First, do we truly approach God with a childlike spirit—helpless, trusting, and open? Or do we harbor illusions of self-sufficiency that might keep us from fully embracing the life Jesus offers? And second, does our wealth or our craving for it form a barrier to wholehearted devotion? While possessions aren’t evil in themselves, they can become an idol that stifles our faith and prevents radical obedience.
Consider your own life. Where might you be acting more like the disciples—shooing away what seems small or unimportant—rather than taking on Jesus’ loving posture toward the weak and the helpless? Do you see that Christ wants you to be childlike, not just at the moment of salvation but daily, placing confidence in His power, not your own accomplishments?
And what about your money and assets? Are you like the rich young ruler—outwardly moral, yet inwardly controlled by material security? God might not call every person to sell all they have, but He does call each of us to live with open hands, ready to release whatever stands in the way of wholehearted loyalty to Him. Real worship arises when we divest ourselves of our supposed self-reliance and invest in God’s kingdom. We discover that our trust is now anchored in His faithfulness, not in our paychecks or retirement accounts. The reward, both in this life and the life to come, outstrips any temporary advantage our wealth might grant.
Let’s allow these truths to shape us. Let’s pray for childlike faith—the kind that doesn’t care about social rank or personal merit, the kind that just runs to Jesus and says, “I need You for everything.” And let’s pray for a generosity that reflects God’s own heart, that we would treasure Him above all and experience His joy as we hold our possessions loosely. We may be amazed, as the disciples were, but we’ll also witness how God does the impossible: bringing us nearer, shaping our hearts, and glorifying Himself through a humble, dependent people.
