The Rich Young Man And the Inheritance He Could Not Claim

Inspiring Reflections based on Mark 10:17-31 He had lived his life well. From his youth, he had kept the commandments, and he knew it. There was no false modesty in him; he was honest enough to recognize his own goodness. He was not a hypocrite, not a man who pretended to be righteous while hiding corruption in the shadows. He was upright, respected, and confident in the integrity of his life. And yet, beneath that confidence stirred a deeper longing. Goodness was not enough. He wanted more—not wealth, not honor, not the applause of men, but something eternal. He wanted to inherit eternal life.

That word inherit carried weight in his heart. Inheritance is not earned like wages; it is received as the right of a son. He had heard how Jesus taught His disciples to pray, calling God “Our Father” with a bold intimacy that startled him. He had even heard them repeat those words with conviction, as though they truly believed themselves to be heirs of the Father’s kingdom. And something in him longed for that same belonging. He did not want only to be a good man; he wanted to be a son, an heir of that Father whom Jesus revealed. And so he came to Jesus, kneeling, asking with sincerity: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

Jesus looked at him with love. That gaze pierced him, affirming the goodness he already possessed, but also exposing the gap between being good and becoming a son. To be a son meant more than keeping commandments; it meant sharing the Father’s heart. And the Father’s heart is poured out for the poor, the little ones, the forgotten. To be a son was to let go of ownership and live in radical trust.

“Go, sell what you have, give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”

The words fell like a sudden storm. He had expected perhaps another commandment, another discipline, something to add to his already virtuous life. But this was not an addition; it was a surrender. It was not about doing more but about becoming different. To sell all, to give away, to follow—this was the path from goodness to sonship.

Inside him, a battle raged. He was not greedy, not miserly. His wealth had been honestly gained, and he had used it responsibly. It was not that he loved money more than God. But his possessions were more than objects; they were his security, his identity, the framework of his life. To sell all was to dismantle the very structure that had given him stability. To give to the poor was to shift his center of gravity away from himself. To follow Jesus was to step into a future without guarantees, without the safety net of wealth.

He weighed it in his heart. He wanted eternal life, but he wanted it as an inheritance that crowned his goodness, not as a demand that stripped him bare. He wanted to be a son, but he could not yet let go of being a master. He wanted to follow, but not at the cost of losing himself.

And so he stood there, torn between desire and fear. He could see the path, but he could not walk it. His virtue had brought him far, but it was not enough to carry him across the threshold into sonship. To inherit, he would have to become poor with the poor, free with the free, surrendered with the surrendered. And that was the one thing he could not do.

The Gospel says he went away sad. That sadness was not the sorrow of rejection but the sorrow of recognition. He had glimpsed the truth, seen the possibility, felt the invitation. He had looked into the eyes of the One who loved him and knew that he could not yet respond. His sadness was the weight of a heart that longed for eternity but clung to earth.

Perhaps that sadness was not the end of his story. Perhaps it was the beginning of a deeper journey, a seed planted by the gaze of Christ. But in that moment, he could not gather enough virtue to sell what he had. He remained a good man, but not yet a son. He desired the inheritance of the kingdom, but he could not yet let go of the possessions that bound him to this world.

And so he walked away, carrying both his wealth and his sorrow, haunted by the love in Jesus’ eyes and the words that still echoed in his heart: “Come, follow me.”

by Fr. Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF