How Rich Is Too Rich?

Every few years, somebody stands up and asks the wrong question. They want to know how much wealth is “too much,” as if the problem were the size of a man’s bank account instead of the size of his responsibility. Wealth itself has never been the issue. Stewardship is the issue. Always has been.

 

You can confiscate a man’s money, but you can’t confiscate his foolishness. You can strip him of his riches, but you can’t strip him of the habits that ruined him. And if poor stewardship is the disease, taking away the wealth is no cure at all. If it were, the poorest among us would be the wisest — and we know that isn’t true.

Look at the drug addict who steals to feed his habit. What are we going to confiscate from him? He has nothing to take. His poverty isn’t a sign of virtue. It’s a sign of mismanagement. Wealth didn’t corrupt him. His own choices did.

So what should society do about the wealthy who squander what they have? Nothing. There is nothing society can do. Stewardship is a personal matter, not a legislative one. You cannot regulate wisdom. You cannot outlaw foolishness. You cannot pass a bill that forces a man to handle his blessings well.

This is where the Bible — so often misunderstood, so often dismissed — speaks with a clarity that cuts through the noise. You can debate the historical details all day long, but the principles stand taller than any argument.

Take Joseph. Sold into slavery, thrown into prison, forgotten by men but not by God. And when the moment came, he managed the wealth of Egypt with such skill that he saved nations from starvation. His stewardship turned scarcity into survival. His wisdom multiplied what others would have wasted.

Then look at the parable of the shrewd manager. A man caught wasting his master’s possessions suddenly becomes resourceful when his future is on the line. Jesus wasn’t praising dishonesty. He was pointing to a deeper truth: if you can’t be trusted with worldly wealth, you can’t be trusted with anything greater. Stewardship is the proving ground of character.

The lesson is simple enough for a child to understand and too difficult for most adults to accept: Wealth is not the danger. Mismanagement is. And mismanagement is not cured by confiscation, redistribution, or punishment. It is cured only by wisdom — the kind that cannot be legislated, mandated, or forced.

So how rich is too rich? The answer is as old as Scripture: A man is too rich the moment he stops being responsible. And he is too poor the moment he stops being accountable.

Everything else is noise.

 

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Rich Man Through the Eyes of a Needle Dots Connected

When Jesus spoke, He didn’t waste words. He gave us pictures we could understand. One of the clearest is this one from Matthew 19:24: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” That’s a strong image. You can almost see that poor camel trying to squeeze through a sewing needle. It’s meant to make us stop and think.

Then Jesus said something else in John 12:25: “If you love your life, you’ll lose it. If you hate your life in this world, you’ll keep it for the life of the coming age.” Now, Jesus wasn’t telling us to walk around angry or bitter. In His language, “hate” didn’t mean the hot emotion we think of today. It meant letting go—refusing to cling to this world as if it’s all we’ve got.

Put these two teachings together and the message becomes clear. To enter God’s kingdom, a person has to see that the world, by itself, can’t give anything that lasts. It can offer comfort, success, applause, and a little excitement, but none of that carries over into eternity. It’s like holding sand in your hand—the tighter you squeeze, the faster it slips away.

Now think about someone who has done well in life. Maybe they’ve built a business, earned respect, or gathered up all the things the world says matter. There’s nothing wrong with hard work or success. But success can make it harder to see the truth Jesus is pointing to. When life has treated you kindly, it’s easy to believe the world is solid and dependable. It’s easy to think, “Well, things are going fine for me. Why question it.”

That’s why Jesus said the rich man has a tougher time. Not because God is against wealth, but because comfort can blind us. When everything is going our way, we don’t feel the need to look deeper. We don’t feel the need to ask what really matters. We don’t feel the need to loosen our grip on this world.

But Jesus is inviting us to do exactly that—to loosen our grip. To see that the world is temporary, and that real life, lasting life, comes from God alone. When we stop clinging to the world, the heart opens. The way becomes wider. And suddenly that camel-and-needle picture doesn’t seem so impossible anymore.

Jesus wasn’t trying to scare us. He was trying to free us. He was saying, “Don’t let this world hold you so tightly that you miss the life I’m offering.” And that’s a message every one of us—young or old, rich or poor—can take to heart.

Righteous Ridicule

Every now and then, somebody will ask whether ridicule has any place in righteous living. I always tell them the same thing: Well, if it was good enough for Jesus, it’s probably safe for the rest of us.

Righteous ridicule isn’t cruelty. It’s not punching down. It’s not making sport of the weak. It’s the old‑fashioned, plainspoken way of shining a light on nonsense so folks can see what they’re stepping in. It’s the moral equivalent of tapping a man on the shoulder and saying, “Say listen… you might want to check your shoes.”

If you want a master class in righteous ridicule, open Matthew 23. Jesus didn’t whisper. He called the religious elites “blind guides,” “whitewashed tombs,” and “a brood of vipers.” That wasn’t name‑calling for sport. It was moral diagnosis. When hypocrisy gets thick enough to cut with a butter knife, a little ridicule is the only tool sharp enough to slice through it.

And that wasn’t the only time. When He told the mourners that Jairus’ daughter was only sleeping, they laughed at Him—so He raised the girl and sent their laughter home humbled. When His hometown crowd dismissed Him as “just the carpenter’s son,” He let their ridicule expose their own blindness. When Simon the Pharisee silently mocked Him for letting a sinful woman touch His feet, Jesus answered with a parable that turned the ridicule back on the ridiculer.

So what’s the value of righteous ridicule?

It clears the air. It punctures pretension. It exposes the powerful when they hide behind robes, titles, and committees. It reminds the public that truth doesn’t need a marketing department. And it gives ordinary folks permission to stop pretending that nonsense is wisdom just because it comes with a seal and a podium.

Mocking the weak is bullying. Mocking the powerful is accountability. And mocking hypocrisy is sometimes the only way to get the truth past people’s defenses. That’s why Jesus used it. That’s why the prophets used it. And that’s why any honest teacher of natural law keeps it in the toolbox.

Righteous ridicule isn’t about being mean. It’s about being clear. And in a world that runs on illusion, clarity is the rarest kindness of all.

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Losing Life to Find It

Every now and then, a line of Scripture cuts through the noise of modern life like a freight train rolling through a quiet town at midnight. Matthew 16:25–26 is one of those lines. Jesus doesn’t ease into the subject. He doesn’t warm up the crowd. He just lays it out there:

“Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it… What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?”

That’s not poetry. That’s not philosophy. That’s a man telling the truth as plainly as it can be told. And if you’ve spent any time with Solomon’s writings in Ecclesiastes, you’ll notice the two of them—Jesus and Solomon—meet each other on the same road, even though they walked it a thousand years apart.

Solomon, with all his wealth, wisdom, and worldly success, came to a conclusion that sounds like it could have been printed right alongside the Sermon on the Mount: everything under the sun is vanity. You can stack up gold, build monuments, chase pleasure, and gather applause, but none of it fills the empty place inside a man. Solomon tried it all, and he wrote the report so the rest of us wouldn’t have to repeat the experiment.

Jesus, in His usual fashion, goes straight to the heart of the matter. He says the real danger isn’t losing your life. The real danger is wasting it. A man can spend his whole lifetime polishing his image, padding his bank account, and protecting his comfort, only to discover he traded away the one thing he couldn’t afford to lose—his soul.

Solomon would nod his head at that. He spent a lifetime learning that the value of life isn’t measured in what you gather, but in what you become. Jesus takes that same truth and sharpens it: the only life worth having is the one you’re willing to give away.

Both men—one a king, the other a carpenter—arrive at the same conclusion. Life is not something you clutch. It’s something you surrender. Solomon says everything else is chasing the wind. Jesus says everything else is losing your soul.

And if you listen closely, you can hear Jesus echoing Himself from other places in the Gospels. “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” “The last shall be first.” “Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” It’s the same theme, played in different keys. The man who tries to build his own kingdom ends up with nothing. The man who hands his life over to God ends up with everything that matters.

Natural Law fits right into this. The truth is simple: you can’t violate reality and come out ahead. A life spent chasing illusions ends in disappointment. A life aligned with truth—truth about God, truth about yourself, truth about what life is for—ends in peace. Jesus and Solomon both understood that long before modern folks started trying to outsmart the universe.

So the question Jesus asked two thousand years ago still stands on Main Street today: What good is it to gain the whole world if you lose yourself in the process? Solomon tried gaining the world. Jesus offered losing it.

 

 How the Gospels Came to Be

 How the Gospels Came to Be

Folks today tend to think the Bible dropped out of the sky already bound in leather with gold edges. But if you back up a couple thousand years and look at things the way ordinary people lived them, the picture gets a whole lot more human. When Jesus was baptized, John the Baptist recognized him as the Messiah. Later on, sitting in a prison cell, that same John sent word asking if Jesus really was the one. Now, that’s not a small detail. That’s a flat‑out contradiction. And it isn’t the only one. The gospel stories don’t always line up neat and tidy, and sometimes they tell things nobody could have witnessed at all.

There were moments when Jesus was completely alone. No disciples. No crowds. No scribes hiding behind a rock taking notes. Yet we have long, detailed accounts of what he thought, felt, and prayed. Where did those stories come from? They came from memory—layered, repeated, polished, and passed down by people who couldn’t read or write but could remember a story better than most of us can remember where we left our keys.

Folks forget that Jesus was from Nazareth, a place not known for schooling or libraries. There were no court reporters, no newspapers, no historians following him around with a notebook. The people who carried these stories didn’t have the luxury of writing anything down. They had to hold it in their heads, and when you do that, you remember the heart of a thing even if the order gets scrambled.

That’s why the gospels sometimes feel out of sequence. That’s why you see the same event told three different ways. And that’s why some parts sound like they were shaped to fit the needs of the early church—because they probably were. People add things when they’re trying to teach, persuade, or steady a frightened crowd. That’s human nature, and the early Christians were as human as the rest of us.

But here’s the part that matters. Even with all the rough edges, the principles shine through. The facts may wobble, but the truth stands straight. The teachings hold up because they weren’t built on paperwork; they were built on lived experience. Folks who couldn’t read had sharper memories than we do, and they passed down what mattered most. Not the dates. Not the sequence. The principles.

So when I read the gospels, I don’t get tangled up in who remembered what first or which version is the “correct” one. I look at the principles. Those are flawless. Those are what last. And those are what still speak to anybody willing to listen.

Suffering for the Sake of Righteousness

Suffering There is no one who isn’t suffering. Buddhism is built on that very idea. Life has friction built into it. My purpose here is to explain that suffering for the sake of righteousness is a very particular kind of suffering, and it tells you something about the way a person is living.

There are plenty of reasons people suffer that don’t mean anything at all. Some suffering is physical. Some is genetic. Some is just the wear and tear of being alive. Those don’t count, because they aren’t caused by behavior. They don’t reveal anything about a person’s character.

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Because He Lives and the Journey Through Death to Life

When Jesus spoke, He didn’t waste words. He gave us pictures we could understand. One of the clearest is this one from Matthew 19:24: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” That’s a strong image. You can almost see that poor camel trying to squeeze through a sewing needle. It’s meant to make us stop and think.

Then Jesus said something else in John 12:25: “If you love your life, you’ll lose it. If you hate your life in this world, you’ll keep it for the life of the coming age.” Now, Jesus wasn’t telling us to walk around angry or bitter. In His language, “hate” didn’t mean the hot emotion we think of today. It meant letting go—refusing to cling to this world as if it’s all we’ve got.

Put these two teachings together and the message becomes clear. To enter God’s kingdom, a person has to see that the world, by itself, can’t give anything that lasts. It can offer comfort, success, applause, and a little excitement, but none of that carries over into eternity. It’s like holding sand in your hand—the tighter you squeeze, the faster it slips away.

Now think about someone who has done well in life. Maybe they’ve built a business, earned respect, or gathered up all the things the world says matter. There’s nothing wrong with hard work or success. But success can make it harder to see the truth Jesus is pointing to. When life has treated you kindly, it’s easy to believe the world is solid and dependable. It’s easy to think, “Well, things are going fine for me. Why question it?”

That’s why Jesus said the rich man has a tougher time. Not because God is against wealth, but because comfort can blind us. When everything is going our way, we don’t feel the need to look deeper. We don’t feel the need to ask what really matters. We don’t feel the need to loosen our grip on this world.

But Jesus is inviting us to do exactly that—to loosen our grip. To see that the world is temporary, and that real life, lasting life, comes from God alone. When we stop clinging to the world, the heart opens. The way becomes wider. And suddenly that camel-and-needle picture doesn’t seem so impossible anymore.

Jesus wasn’t trying to scare us. He was trying to free us. He was saying, “Don’t let this world hold you so tightly that you miss the life I’m offering.” And that’s a message every one of us—young or old, rich or poor—can take to heart.

Rediscovering Jesus


Teachings: Straight Talk on Inner Change and Real Understanding

Folks, in a world full of fancy rituals and highbrow debates, Jesus’ plain words cut right through the noise. He zeroed in on fixing up the folks who messed up, pushed for real getting-it over bowing down, and his ideas line up mighty well with that thinker Carl Jung. We’re sticking to what he taught—no side trips into miracles or history fights. Let’s get to it.

Focusing on Fixing the Sinners

Jesus didn’t waste time patting the good folks on the back. No, he went straight for the sinners—the cheaters, the wanderers, the ones society kicked to the curb. He said it clear: “It’s not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I came for the sinners, not the righteous” (Mark 2:17).

Look at his stories. The Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32) blows it all on wild living, hits rock bottom, and heads home. Dad throws a party—no questions asked. Or the Lost Sheep (Luke 15:3-7): the shepherd ditches the 99 safe ones to haul back the stray, happier about that one than the rest. Why? Because the sinner’s got the most to lose—big consequences here and beyond. Jesus knew turning them around stops the hurt at the source. It’s about owning your mess and flipping the script. Simple as that.

Chasing Understanding, Not Worship

Here’s the kicker: Jesus never begged for folks to worship him. He pointed ’em to God the Father every time. When some guy called him “good,” he shot back, “Why call me good? Only God’s good” (Mark 10:18). His big prayer starts with honoring God, not himself (Matthew 6:9-13).

Instead, he hammered on understanding. “If you love me, do what I say” (John 14:15). Stories like the Sower (Mark 4:1-20) show how truth needs to sink in deep to grow. He flat-out said, “The kingdom of God’s inside you” (Luke 17:21). Salvation ain’t some show—it’s getting the big picture, loving God and your neighbor (Matthew 22:37-40), showing mercy (Matthew 5:7), and aiming for real wholeness (Matthew 5:48). Check yourself first: “Yank the log out of your own eye before picking at your brother’s speck” (Matthew 7:5). That’s the road to freedom.

How Jesus Lines Up with Carl Jung

Now, Carl Jung—that Swiss doc who dug into the mind—his stuff clicks with Jesus like puzzle pieces. Jung talked about “individuation,” pulling your whole self together, conscious and hidden parts. Sounds a lot like Jesus’ inner kingdom.

Mustard Seed parable (Matthew 13:31-32): starts tiny, grows huge—just like Jung’s soul sprouting from a spark. The Pearl of Great Price (Matthew 13:45-46)? That’s your inner gold, worth everything to dig up. Facing your dark side? Jung called it the shadow; Jesus forgave sinners and said look inward. “Seek and find” (Matthew 7:7) matches Jung’s “wake up by looking inside.” Both push for wholeness, like Jesus’ call to be perfect as the Father (Matthew 5:48). It’s like old-school mind healing, folks.

The Bottom Line

Jesus’ words boil down to this: Fix what’s broken inside, especially if you’re the one breaking things. Get the understanding, and salvation follows. Jung shows it’s deeper than church—it’s human stuff. Ask yourself: Where’s my fix-up needed? What truth am I missing? Grab it, and you’ll find that real peace right now.

 

Was Jesus God? A Scriptural Look Beyond Politics and Tradition

Rethinking the doctrine that shaped Christianity

In mainstream Christianity today, Jesus is almost universally presented as God Himself — the second person of the Trinity, fully divine and co-equal with the Father. Yet when we read the New Testament with fresh eyes, free from centuries of doctrinal tradition, a very different picture emerges.The New Testament was not compiled in a vacuum. It was shaped by political forces, church councils, and imperial interests. Its original interpretation was likewise established politically. A plain reading of the scriptures themselves tells a story that contradicts the later “Jesus is God” claim.

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The Beatitudes: A Map to Heaven, Independent of Dogma

Exploring the “Ladder of Ascent” as a universal spiritual technology.

While traditional religious frameworks often tie salvation to specific events, many view the Beatitudes as a self-contained, logical path to spiritual enlightenment—a “ladder” that leads directly to the Kingdom of Heaven. This interpretation suggests that the afterlife was not a post-script to Jesus’ mission, but a reality already present in the “eschatological fact” of his teachings.
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