The Radical Call

Dec 25

Throughout the history of Christian thought and practice, few commands of Jesus of Nazareth have proven as profoundly challenging and persistently unsettling as the call to forsake everything and follow him. This summons, articulated in various forms across the canonical Gospels, strikes at the very heart of human security, attachment, and allegiance. It is a radical demand that appears to countenance no compromise, asking for a totality of commitment that transcends familial bonds, social obligations, and the fundamental instinct for self-preservation. From the poignant encounter with a wealthy young man who chose his possessions over the kingdom of God, to the stark parables demanding a sober calculation of the cost of discipleship, the message is one of absolute priority. The call echoes through two millennia, compelling every generation of believers to confront the same fundamental question: What did Jesus truly mean by giving everything away and following him?

This article will argue that Jesus' call to “give everything away” is not primarily a universal, literal command for material divestment applicable to every believer in every circumstance. Rather, it is a radical, diagnostic summons to a complete reorientation of the heart's ultimate trust, allegiance, and treasure from the created order to the Creator God. The specific, and often severe, demand made of an individual—be it to sell all possessions, leave one's family, or even lay down one's life—functions as a spiritual scalpel, designed to expose and excise the primary idol that stands in the way of this total reorientation. The call is absolute at the level of the heart's disposition: a willingness to relinquish anything and everything that rivals God for supremacy. This concept, which the 20th-century theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer would term “costly grace,” stands in stark opposition to any form of Christianity that promises salvation without sacrifice, or faith without allegiance.

To substantiate this thesis, this analysis will proceed in five parts. Part I will conduct a detailed exegesis of the foundational New Testament texts, examining the narrative of the Rich Young Ruler, the economic vision of the Sermon on the Mount, and the “cost of discipleship” parables in Luke. Part II will contextualize these teachings within the socio-economic and cultural realities of first-century Judea, exploring the dynamics of wealth, poverty, and Rabbinic discipleship that shaped their original reception. Part III will trace the interpretive history of this radical call, surveying its application from the stewardship of the Church Fathers and the literal renunciation of the Desert Ascetics to the mendicant ideal of St. Francis and the vocational theology of the Protestant Reformation. Part IV will engage with key modern theological perspectives, including the “costly grace” of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the “preferential option for the poor” in Liberation Theology, and the theological inversion presented by the Prosperity Gospel. Finally, Part V will place Christian renunciation in dialogue with other philosophical traditions and synthesize the report's findings into a practical theology of stewardship, simplicity, and counter-consumerism for contemporary life. Through this multi-layered investigation, the enduring power and profound personal challenge of Jesus' call will be brought into sharper focus.

The Scriptural Foundation of Renunciation

The New Testament provides a rich and demanding scriptural basis for the concept of renunciation. The teachings of Jesus, particularly as recorded in the Synoptic Gospels, establish a framework where following him requires a radical reordering of life's priorities. This section will perform a close reading of three key textual blocks that form the foundation of this call: the dramatic encounter with the rich young ruler, the economic principles of the Sermon on the Mount, and the stringent requirements of discipleship outlined in the Gospel of Luke.

The Encounter with the Rich Young Ruler (Matthew 19, Mark 10, Luke 18)

The story of the rich young ruler, recorded in all three Synoptic Gospels, serves as a paradigmatic case study in the conflict between material wealth and spiritual allegiance. It is not merely a historical anecdote, but a strategically placed narrative that reveals the core of Jesus' teaching on possessions and the nature of true faith.

The Sincere Seeker

The encounter begins not with a skeptic or an adversary, but with a man of considerable social standing who is deeply and sincerely seeking spiritual truth. The Gospel accounts paint a vivid picture of his earnestness. Mark portrays him running up to Jesus and kneeling before him, actions that convey a sense of urgency and reverence. He is described as a “ruler,” likely a leader in the local synagogue, and he is both wealthy and young, possessing the very qualities his society would have interpreted as signs of divine blessing. His question, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 18:18), while revealing a common works-based understanding of salvation—that eternal life is something to be earned through action—stems from a genuine spiritual yearning. He is not a hypocrite, but a devout man who believes he has diligently followed the path of righteousness as he understands it.

Jesus' Diagnostic Method

Jesus' response is a masterclass in spiritual diagnosis, designed to probe beneath the surface of the man's self-perception. His first move is to challenge the man's premise. By asking, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone” (Mark 10:18), Jesus is not denying his own divinity but strategically redirecting the conversation. He shifts the focus away from the human standard of goodness, represented by rabbis and teachers, toward the absolute and singular goodness of God. This initial query forces the ruler to reconsider both his understanding of “good” and the true identity of the one he is addressing. It is a call to move from a focus on self-righteousness to a recognition of God's unique status.

Next, Jesus directs him to the commandments, specifically those from the second table of the Decalogue which govern interpersonal relationships: “You shall not commit adultery, You shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not bear false witness, Honour your father and mother”. This serves two critical functions. First, it meets the man on his own ground, the Law, which the ruler believes is the path to eternal life. Second, by focusing on horizontal duties to one's neighbour, Jesus sets the stage for revealing the man's fundamental failure to fulfill the first and greatest commandment: to love God with all his heart.

The One Thing Lacking or The Idol Revealed

The ruler's confident reply, “All these I have kept since I was a boy” (Luke 18:21), highlights his misconception that eternal life can be earned through external observance of the law. It is at this moment that Jesus delivers the loving but devastating diagnosis. Mark's account uniquely adds the detail that “Jesus looked at him and loved him” (Mark 10:21), indicating that the command to follow is not a harsh ultimatum but a compassionate invitation. Jesus says, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me” (Luke 18:22).

This command is not a new universal law for salvation. It is a precise, surgical strike aimed directly at the man's heart, targeting the one thing he values more than God: his wealth. His “many possessions” were not merely assets; they were the source of his identity, his security, and his social standing. They were his functional god, the true object of his trust and affection. In commanding him to liquidate these assets and give them to the poor—an act of supreme love for his neighbour—Jesus exposed the man's violation of the very first commandment. The command to sell all was a diagnostic tool designed to reveal the idolatry that prevented him from truly following God. This is a critical distinction, as other followers of Jesus, such as Zacchaeus or Lydia, were wealthy and were not given this exact command. The disciples themselves “left” their possessions to follow Jesus as an itinerant preacher, a practical necessity, but the texts do not indicate they immediately sold everything they owned; indeed, they still had access to homes like that of Simon and Andrew. The command was tailored to the specific spiritual malady of the individual.

The Tragic Refusal and the Disciples' Astonishment

The ruler's reaction confirms the accuracy of Jesus' diagnosis. The text says he “became sorrowful because he was very wealthy” (Luke 18:23). His grief reveals the powerful hold his possessions had on his heart; faced with a choice between his earthly treasure and the heavenly treasure offered by Jesus, he chose the former. He walked away from eternal life because the cost of discipleship—the surrender of his idol—was too high.

This tragic refusal prompts Jesus' famous and shocking pronouncement: “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God” (Luke 18:24-25). This hyperbole was intended to astound his disciples, who, like their contemporaries, likely viewed wealth as a sign of God's blessing and favour. If the rich, the seemingly blessed, could not be saved, their astonished question, “Who then can be saved?” (Luke 18:26) is entirely logical. Jesus' teaching radically overturned their worldview.

His final response places salvation entirely within the realm of divine grace, not human effort or status: “What is impossible with man is possible with God” (Luke 18:27). The rich cannot save themselves by their wealth or their works, but God can save them by freeing their hearts from the idolatry of wealth. The encounter with the rich young ruler thus stands as a timeless illustration that the call to follow Jesus is a call to enthrone God as the sole object of one's ultimate trust and affection, a call that requires the willing surrender of any rival god, especially the potent idol of material wealth.

The Sermon on the Mount's Economic Vision (Matthew 6)

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus lays out the ethical framework for life in the Kingdom of God. Within this seminal discourse, the section on wealth and possessions (Matthew 6:19-24) provides a core economic vision for his followers. This teaching is not an isolated financial maxim but is deeply integrated into a broader discussion of piety, allegiance, and the orientation of the human heart.

Context of Pious Practices

Jesus' instruction regarding treasure directly follows his teaching on the three central pillars of Jewish piety: almsgiving (giving to the poor), prayer, and fasting. For each of these practices, he draws a sharp contrast in motivation. One can perform these righteous acts “to be seen by others,” in which case the reward is the fleeting praise of men. Alternatively, one can perform them “in secret,” for the eyes of the heavenly Father alone, in which case “your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you”. This framework establishes a crucial link between earthly actions and heavenly reward, setting the stage for the discussion of treasure. The concept of “storing up treasure in heaven” is presented as the outcome of sincere, God-oriented piety.

The Nature of Two Treasures

Jesus presents a stark choice between two mutually exclusive investment strategies, defined by their durability and ultimate worth.

Earthly Treasure: This category is defined by its inherent vulnerability and transience. Jesus uses vivid imagery of “moth and rust” destroying and “thieves” breaking in to steal, highlighting the impermanence of all material wealth. In the ancient world, wealth was often stored in fine garments (vulnerable to moths), grain and metals (vulnerable to decay or rust), and coins (vulnerable to theft). The principle extends to all things this world values—not just money, but power, fame, and possessions. To amass and hoard these things is presented as both foolish, given their fleeting nature, and spiritually dangerous, as it constitutes a form of idolatry.
Heavenly Treasure: In contrast, heavenly treasure is defined by its absolute permanence and security. It is a place “where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal”. This eternal, incorruptible treasure is not something earned in the afterlife, but rather “stored up” through actions performed on earth. The context strongly suggests that these actions are acts of righteousness done for God's glory, with a particular emphasis on charity. Giving to the poor is explicitly and repeatedly linked in the Gospels to the act of storing up treasure in heaven. As Jesus tells the rich ruler, selling possessions and giving to the poor results in “treasure in heaven”.

The Heart-Treasure Principle

The central axiom of this entire section is found in Matthew 6:21: “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also”. This is not just a poetic saying; it is a profound psychological and spiritual principle. It reveals a causal relationship: our financial and emotional investments determine the location and loyalty of our hearts. A person whose life is dedicated to accumulating earthly wealth will find their heart, their passions, their anxieties, and their identity anchored to this world. Their focus will be on earthly matters, and their actions will reflect those priorities. Conversely, a person who invests their time, energy, and resources in things of eternal value—in God's kingdom, in acts of love and justice, in sharing the gospel—will find their heart oriented toward God and eternity. The direction of our treasure dictates the allegiance of our heart.

The Ultimate Choice: Two Masters

Jesus brings this teaching to its sharp and unavoidable conclusion with one of his most famous ultimatums: “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money” (Matthew 6:24). Here, “money” (Aramaic Mammon) is personified as a rival deity, a master demanding total and exclusive allegiance. This is not a simple choice between being religious and having a job. To “serve” Mammon is to make the acquisition of wealth the central, organizing principle of one's life—the source of one's security, identity, and purpose. To serve God requires making His kingdom and His righteousness the supreme pursuit (Matthew 6:33). Jesus declares that co-allegiance is impossible. A choice must be made. This principle unifies the entire sermon: just as one cannot have two ultimate motivations for piety (human praise and divine reward), one cannot have two ultimate masters for one's life. The call is to an undivided heart, and the disposition of one's treasure is the clearest indicator of where that heart truly lies.

The Absolute Demands of Discipleship (Luke 9 & 14)

The Gospel of Luke presents some of Jesus' most demanding teachings on the nature of discipleship, culminating in the stark declaration that a follower must be willing to renounce everything. These passages move beyond the specific issue of wealth to encompass all earthly attachments, revealing the absolute and comprehensive nature of the call.

Radical Priorities

In Luke chapter 9, Jesus encounters several would-be followers and uses the opportunities to clarify the radical priorities of the kingdom. To one who offers to follow him, Jesus highlights the itinerant and insecure nature of the mission: “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Luke 9:58). To another, who wishes first to fulfill the sacred duty of burying his father, Jesus gives the shocking reply, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:60). This is not a callous disregard for family duty but a statement of supreme urgency. The call of the living God to proclaim his kingdom takes precedence over all other obligations, even those considered most sacred by society. Following Jesus requires an immediacy and totality that cannot be deferred or conditioned by other loyalties.

“Hating” Family and Self

This theme of supreme loyalty is intensified in Luke chapter 14. Jesus, addressing the large crowds following him, declares, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26). The word “hate” here is a classic example of a Semitic idiom of preference. It does not command emotional animosity but rather a radical reordering of loves. It means to “love less” in comparison or to “put in second place.” The allegiance to Christ must be so absolute that all other loves—for family, for community, even for one's own survival—appear as hatred by comparison. The relationship with Jesus is to be the single defining relationship of a disciple's life, the centre of gravity around which all other relationships must orbit. This is followed immediately by the command to “carry their cross and follow me,” linking this radical detachment to the path of suffering and self-denial.

The Final Calculation or “Give Up Everything”

Having established the supreme priority of following him, Jesus then urges caution and sober reflection. He presents two short parables: one of a man planning to build a tower, and another of a king preparing for war. In both cases, the protagonist must first “sit down and estimate the cost” to see if they have the resources to complete the task. The application to discipleship is direct: one must realistically assess the immense demands of following Jesus before making a commitment. It is a call to a clear-eyed decision, not a rash, emotional one.

This section culminates in the unambiguous and sweeping statement of Luke 14:33: “In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples”. The Greek verb for “give up” or “renounce” (apotassomai) implies a formal, decisive act of farewell, like saying goodbye to one's possessions. This verse presents a significant interpretive challenge: does it mandate literal, universal impoverishment for every Christian?

Some interpreters argue against a strictly literal, universal application. They point out that the focus is on the ideal level of commitment: a willingness to give up everything if God were to ask. The core issue is an internal one—releasing the love of possessions and the sense of ownership in one's heart, recognizing that all things belong to God. The disciples, for instance, “left” their possessions as a practical necessity to follow an itinerant teacher, but they did not necessarily liquidate all their assets and sever all ties. Thus, the command is considered establishing the non-negotiable principle of absolute inner surrender.

Across these three foundational scriptural pillars—the Rich Ruler, the Sermon on the Mount, and the cost of discipleship parables—a single, unifying principle emerges. The underlying issue is not possessions, family, or life in themselves. These are good gifts from the Creator. The core issue is trust. The rich ruler trusted in his wealth for security. The Sermon on the Mount contrasts trust in earthly treasures with trust in a heavenly Father. The Lukan parables demand a trust in Jesus that supersedes trust in family, personal safety, or material provisions. Therefore, “giving everything away” is the powerful, physical metaphor for the essential spiritual act of transferring one's ultimate trust. It is the external manifestation of an internal realignment of faith from the created world to the Creator God. The command is absolute at the level of the heart: one must transfer total trust away from any earthly source and place it wholly and exclusively in God. The material and social expression of that transfer is secondary and circumstantial, a reality reflected in the diverse ways the Church has sought to live out this radical call throughout its history.

The Context of the Call

To fully grasp the revolutionary impact of Jesus' teachings on wealth and renunciation, one must understand the world into which they were spoken. His words were not delivered in a vacuum; they were a direct and often confrontational response to the prevailing socio-economic structures and cultural norms of first-century Judea. By examining the stark realities of wealth and poverty and the established traditions of discipleship, the “harshness” of Jesus' call is revealed not as arbitrary, but as a historically and ethically coherent response to the crises of his time.

Wealth and Poverty in First-Century Judea

The economic landscape of first-century Judea was not one of gentle gradients and social mobility. It was a brutal, agrarian society characterized by extreme and systemic inequality. Under the overarching power of the Roman Empire, a tiny, parasitic elite class thrived at the expense of an impoverished peasant majority.

A System of Exploitation

Estimates suggest that 80 to 90 percent of the population consisted of peasants living at or perilously close to the subsistence level. A true middle class was non-existent. At the apex of this pyramid was a privileged elite, constituting a fraction of one percent of the population, which included the imperial dynasty, Roman senatorial families, and local client rulers. This ruling class drew its immense wealth from the agricultural products of the peasantry, funding a lavish lifestyle, massive building projects, and a powerful military apparatus. The ancient city was largely parasitic, extracting surpluses from its surrounding villages through taxes and rents, while providing little in return besides administration and cultic services.

Mechanisms of Oppression

This exploitative system was maintained through several powerful mechanisms:

Land Ownership: Wealth was fundamentally based on the ownership of land, and the vast majority of arable land was controlled by a small number of elite families. These wealthy landowners, often aligned with Roman authorities, rented their land to tenant farmers or used slave labour, consolidating their power and amassing massive estates while the majority of the population struggled for survival. This was not merely an economic arrangement but an entrenched hierarchy of exploitation.
Oppressive Taxation: The Roman tax system was relentlessly efficient, described by historian Richard A. Horsley as a “machine of imperial oppression” designed to siphon wealth from the provinces to fuel imperial ambitions. Local tax collectors, often viewed as traitors by their kinsmen, were notorious for their corruption, frequently inflating tax demands and pocketing the difference, thereby exacerbating the economic chasm between the rich and the poor.
Crippling Debt: For peasants living on the margin, a single failed harvest due to drought, flood, or the ravages of war could be catastrophic. They were often forced to take out loans from wealthy landowners or moneylenders at staggering interest rates. Failure to repay these loans could lead to foreclosure on their ancestral land, forcing them into debt servitude or a life as landless day labourers or beggars. This cycle of debt was a brutal tool that ensured wealth remained concentrated in the hands of the elite.

Jesus as Radical Disruptor

It is against this backdrop of systemic injustice and widespread suffering that Jesus of Nazareth emerged. His teachings on wealth and poverty were not abstract philosophical musings; they were a direct and revolutionary assault on the exploitative norms of his day. His parable of the Rich Fool, who planned to build bigger barns to hoard his surplus while others starved, was a “blistering critique of hoarding and selfish accumulation,” exposing its moral and spiritual bankruptcy. His pronouncements in the Beatitudes, such as “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God” (Luke 6:20), and “He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:53), represented a radical inversion of the existing social, economic, and religious order. In a world where wealth was considered a sign of divine favour, Jesus declared it a primary obstacle to entering the kingdom. His call to “give to the poor” was not just a suggestion for personal piety but a profound ethical challenge to the very structure of his society.

The Nature of Rabbinic Discipleship

Just as Jesus' economic teachings responded to the social context, his method of calling disciples operated within a recognized cultural framework. The phenomenon of a disciple leaving home and trade to follow a master was a unique but established feature of first-century Jewish society. Jesus adopted this model and radicalized it for his own purposes.

An Established Tradition of Total Commitment

In first-century Israel, becoming a full-time disciple (Talmid) of a great sage or rabbi was a serious and life-altering commitment. It was understood that this path demanded total dedication. A disciple was expected to put learning Torah from his master above all other earthly endeavours, including the deeply ingrained cultural and religious duty to honour one's parents. The relationship between sage and disciple was intensely personal and hierarchical; the sage became a spiritual father figure who was to be revered, and in some cases, honoured even above one's biological father. The Mishnah, a compilation of Jewish oral tradition, even rules that a disciple must ransom his teacher from captivity before his own father because while a father brings one into this world, a teacher of Torah brings one into the life of the world to come.

The Practical Sacrifices of Discipleship

This commitment entailed significant practical sacrifices. It was an itinerant lifestyle, requiring disciples to leave behind family, friends, and their trade to travel the country under austere conditions. They would pool their money for food and rely on the hospitality of the villages where they taught. While many disciples were single, marriage occurred at a relatively early age, and for a married man, this path was particularly demanding. He required his wife's permission to be away from home for more than thirty days to study with a sage.

Jesus' Discipleship in Context

When Jesus called Peter, Andrew, James, and John to “leave their nets” and follow him, he was initiating them into this recognizable form of apprenticeship. His contemporaries would have understood the radical nature of the commitment he was demanding. Statements that seem uniquely harsh to modern ears, such as “let the dead bury their own dead” or the command to “hate” one's family, would have been seen by a first-century audience as “reasonable and normal” within the extreme context of full-time discipleship to a great sage.

Jesus also expanded and intensified this model. While a typical rabbi might have only two or three close disciples, Jesus called a core group of twelve to this intimate, itinerant life. Furthermore, his mission was not simply the academic study of Torah. He was proclaiming the imminent arrival of the Kingdom of God and training his disciples to be emissaries of this new reality. This mission carried an unparalleled urgency that justified the absolute and immediate nature of his call.

Understanding these contexts is crucial. The harshness of Jesus' demands is mitigated when seen not as arbitrary tests of loyalty, but as commands rooted in a specific cultural and social logic. He adopted a known cultural form—rabbinic discipleship—and intensified its demands to meet the urgent spiritual and social crisis of his day: a world rife with systemic injustice and a people in desperate need of the good news of God's coming kingdom.

A Historical Survey of Interpretation and Practice

The radical call of Jesus to forsake all has resonated through Christian history, but its interpretation and application have been far from uniform. From the early centuries to the dawn of the modern era, the Church has wrestled with the tension inherent in these teachings—a tension between literal renunciation and spiritual detachment, between a universal command for all believers and a special counsel for a spiritual elite. This historical survey will trace the evolution of this interpretation through four key periods: the Patristic era, the Desert ascetic movement, the Franciscan mendicant ideal, and the Protestant Reformation.

Stewardship, Charity, and the Common Good

The earliest Christian theologians after the apostolic age, known as the Church Fathers, developed a sophisticated and nuanced theology of wealth and possessions. While not advocating for universal poverty, they fundamentally challenged the prevailing Roman concepts of absolute ownership and laid a foundation of Christian stewardship that would influence the Church for centuries.

Private Property as a Divine Trust

The Fathers generally affirmed the legitimacy of private property, but with a crucial theological qualification: all possessions are ultimately gifts from God, and humans hold them not as absolute owners but as stewards or managers. God is the sole owner of creation, and He has entrusted shares of it to individuals for the sake of the common good. St. Basil the Great famously argued that the rich person who withholds their excess from the needy is, in fact, a thief. He reasoned that the bread in the rich man's storeroom, the cloak in his chest, and the shoes in his closet belong to the hungry, the naked, and the barefoot. This perspective reframes wealth not as a private right but as a social responsibility. Human possession of earthly goods is good only when it fulfills God's creative purpose: providing sufficiently for one's own needs and the needs of others.

The Sin of Hoarding and the Virtue of Almsgiving

Consequently, the Fathers vehemently condemned avarice, greed, and the conspicuous display of wealth. These were considered symptoms of a soul dangerously attached to the world and forgetful of its duty to God and neighbour. The primary virtue for the wealthy Christian was generous almsgiving—the charitable distribution of surplus wealth to the poor. This was not merely a suggestion but a strict moral duty. Clement of Alexandria taught that riches are instruments to be used for good, and the one who holds possessions as gifts from God and ministers them for the salvation of others is “blessed by the Lord and called poor in spirit”.

Two Tiers of Christian Life are Duty and Perfection

In addressing Jesus' commands, the Fathers often distinguished between two levels of Christian living.

The Moral Duty for All: Every Christian, rich or poor, was bound by the moral law to practice charity, live justly, and use their resources responsibly. Salvation was certainly possible for the wealthy, as evidenced by figures like Zacchaeus, who gave half his goods to the poor, or Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. For these individuals, the proper stewardship of wealth was the path of righteousness.
The Counsels of Perfection: For those “nobler souls” seeking a higher grade of Christian life, the Fathers gently urged, but did not command, the “counsels of perfection”. Chief among these was the practice of voluntary poverty—the complete renunciation of all wealth in a direct imitation of the life of Christ and in response to his call to the rich young man, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions” (Matthew 19:21). This path was considered the highest expression of Christian charity, but it was a voluntary choice, not a universal requirement for salvation.

Radical Renunciation as a Path to Perfection

Beginning in the late 3rd and 4th centuries, a powerful movement emerged in the deserts of Egypt and Syria that took the “counsel of perfection” and made it the centrepiece of a radical new form of Christian life. The Desert Fathers and Mothers (Abbas and Ammas) were hermits and monastics who embraced a life of extreme asceticism, and for them, the renunciation of possessions was a non-negotiable first step.

A Literal Interpretation of the Call

The desert ascetics interpreted Jesus' words to the rich young ruler in Matthew 19:21 as a direct and literal command for anyone truly serious about seeking spiritual perfection. The archetypal figure of this movement, St. Anthony the Great, is said to have been a wealthy young man who, upon hearing this very verse read in church, immediately went out, sold his vast inherited estates, gave the proceeds to the poor, and retreated into the desert to live a life of solitude and prayer. This act became the model for thousands who followed him, choosing a life of solidarity with the poor and complete separation from material goods.

Asceticism and Radical Detachment

For these early monks, the abdication of worldly goods was a foundational principle of their ascetic practice (askēsis), a form of spiritual training designed to discipline the body and purify the soul. They renounced not only wealth but all comforts of the senses—rich food, baths, and even unnecessary rest—in order to focus their entire being on God. Possessions were seen as a primary obstacle to this goal, a source of distraction, anxiety, and demonic temptation. The stories from the Desert Fathers are filled with examples of this radical detachment. One hermit, Theodore, sold his three valuable books after being told by Abba Macarius that “possessing nothing is more than anything”. Another, Evagrius, recounted the story of a brother who sold his only possession, a copy of the Gospels, to feed the poor, justifying the act by saying, “I have sold even the word that commands me to sell all and give to the poor”.

Poverty as Spiritual Wealth

This tradition enacted a complete inversion of worldly values. Poverty was not seen as a misfortune to be endured, but as a spiritual state to be embraced. Blessed Macarius taught that a monk who “regards contempt as praise, poverty as riches, and hunger as a feast, he will never die”. This was not merely a philosophical idea, but a lived reality. Abba Macarius, when robbed of his goods, helped the thief load the animal and sent him on his way peacefully, quoting Scripture and blessing the Lord. This radical renunciation was the means to achieve apatheia—a state of calm dispassion and freedom from the “thraldom of material things”—which allowed the soul to be completely available to God.

St. Francis and the Imitation of Christ's Poverty

Nearly a millennium after the Desert Fathers, the ideal of voluntary poverty was reignited with breathtaking force by Francis of Assisi in the 13th century. The Franciscan movement represented a new expression of radical renunciation, moving it from the solitary desert back into the towns and cities of Europe and infusing it with a spirit of joyful service.

Poverty as an Imitation of Love

The driving force for Francis was not an abstract philosophical ideal of poverty, but a deeply personal and passionate desire to imitate the concrete life of Jesus Christ. He was captivated by the Gospel portrait of a Christ who “had nowhere to lay his head” and a God who “emptied himself” to become human (Philippians 2:7). For Francis, poverty was not primarily about ascetic self-denial, but about entering into the weakness and vulnerability of Christ out of love. He saw a profound beauty in the poverty of Jesus and his mother, Mary, and sought to replicate it in his own life.

Lady Poverty and Absolute Non-Possession

Francis personified and romanticized this ideal, famously referring to poverty as his noble bride, “Lady Poverty”. This chivalrous framing transformed the act of renunciation from a grim duty into a joyful pursuit. The rule he established for his followers, the Friars Minor, was one of absolute poverty. They were forbidden to own property or even handle money, living instead by the work of their hands or, when necessary, by begging for alms. When a poor man asked for alms, Francis, who had resolved never to refuse anyone, would give away his own tunic if he had nothing else, determined that no one should be poorer than he. This was a literal and radical attempt to live in total dependence on God's daily providence, like the Israelites receiving manna in the wilderness.

The Franciscan Orders

The Franciscan movement also demonstrated an early and influential model for adapting the radical ideal to different states of life.

The First Order (the Friars Minor) and the Second Order (the Poor Clares, founded by St. Clare of Assisi) practiced this absolute non-possession, with all property held in common by the Church.
The Third Order was created for lay men and women who wished to follow the Franciscan spirit while living in the world, raising families, and working in secular jobs. For these Secular Franciscans, the vow of poverty was translated into a spirit of detachment from worldly goods, a commitment to simplifying their material needs, and a dedication to using their wealth to serve the poor, as exemplified by patrons like St. Elizabeth of Hungary. This provided a practical path for laypeople to participate in the ideal of renunciation without complete divestment.

Vocation, Stewardship, and the Critique of Monasticism

The Protestant Reformation of the 16th century marked a significant theological shift in the understanding of wealth, poverty, and the Christian life. The Reformers, particularly Martin Luther and John Calvin, mounted a powerful critique of the monastic tradition and articulated a new theology of vocation and stewardship that relocated the centre of Christian faithfulness from the cloister to the marketplace and the home.

Luther's Critique of Monastic Poverty

Martin Luther viewed the monastic vow of poverty, and the idea that it was a superior path to perfection, as a dangerous human invention that obscured the central truth of the Gospel: justification by faith alone. He saw it as a new form of works-righteousness, a “foolish” law of renunciation that displaced the free forgiveness of sins through Christ. For Luther, money itself was not inherently evil; the problem was covetousness and the idolatrous trust in wealth. He famously declared that three conversions were necessary for a believer: the conversion of the heart, the conversion of the mind, and the conversion of the purse. The focus was on an internal change of heart leading to Christian love and generosity, not on an external act of divestment as a means of earning merit.

Calvin's Theology of Stewardship and Moderation

John Calvin echoed this critique, arguing that simply divesting oneself of riches, like the pagan philosopher Crates who threw his money into the sea, was an act of “empty ambition” rather than true virtue. The goal, for Calvin, was not non-possession but the proper use of wealth as a tool for the glory of God and the love of neighbour. He taught a theology of moderation, viewing wealth as a legitimate gift from God to be managed responsibly. The danger lay in allowing wealth to become an idol. In his commentary on “You cannot serve both God and Mammon,” Calvin was clear: “where riches hold the dominion of the heart, God has lost his authority”. The Christian must guard against the snares of wealth and avoid being “intoxicated by them”.

The Doctrine of Vocation and the “Protestant Work Ethic”

The most significant shift introduced by the Reformers was the doctrine of “vocation”. They rejected the medieval hierarchy that placed the “spiritual” life of monks and priests above the “secular” life of the laity. Instead, they taught that all legitimate forms of work—whether that of a farmer, a magistrate, or a homemaker—were a holy “calling” from God. A Christian serves God not by retreating from the world, but by faithfully and productively living out their faith within their specific vocations in the family, the church, and society.

This theology had profound economic implications. The sociologist Max Weber, in his seminal work The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, famously argued that this doctrine of vocation, when combined with a Calvinist form of asceticism (working diligently but avoiding luxury and lavish spending), created the cultural conditions for the rise of modern capitalism. Hard work and success in business came to be seen by some as potential signs of God's favour and one's election. Instead of spending their profits on worldly pleasures, these “worldly ascetics” tended to save and reinvest their capital, fuelling economic growth. While Weber's thesis remains highly debated, it correctly identifies a monumental shift in the Christian understanding of wealth—from a monastic ideal of poverty to a worldly ideal of productive stewardship.

Modern and Contemporary Theological Perspectives

The 20th and 21st centuries have witnessed a new intensification of theological reflection on Jesus' call to renunciation, often forged in the crucible of political upheaval, social injustice, and cultural crisis. Theologians and movements have re-engaged with these radical texts, producing powerful interpretations that challenge the status quo. These modern perspectives can be understood not merely as abstract theological systems, but as dynamic responses to perceived failures within the dominant forms of Christianity of their time. Each seizes upon a crucial aspect of the Gospel—its cost, its demand for justice, its promise of blessing—and amplifies it to speak to the urgent needs of the contemporary world.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer and the “Costly Grace” of Discipleship

Writing in the shadow of the Nazi regime in Germany, pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw a church that had become complacent and complicit, neutered by a theology that demanded nothing of its adherents. In his classic work, The Cost of Discipleship, he articulated a powerful critique of this state of affairs, centred on his famous distinction between “cheap grace” and “costly grace”.

Cheap Grace vs. Costly Grace

Bonhoeffer defined “cheap grace” as “the deadly enemy of our Church”. It is grace understood as a mere doctrine, a principle, an inexhaustible treasury from which forgiveness is dispensed without price or limit. It is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, communion without confession. In short, it is “grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate”. Bonhoeffer argued that this cheap grace is destructive because it justifies the sin without justifying the repentant sinner, hardening people in their disobedience and barring the way to a true life in Christ.

In stark contrast stands “costly grace.” This, Bonhoeffer writes, is “the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it, a man will gladly go and sell all that he has”. It is the pearl of great price, the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows. This grace is costly because it calls us to follow Jesus, and this following costs a person their life. It is grace because in giving up their life, it gives them their only true life. It is costly because it cost God the life of His Son—” you were bought at a price”—and what cost God so much cannot be cheap for us.

The Call to Die and the Abandonment of Attachments

For Bonhoeffer, the call to discipleship is nothing less than a call to die. His starkest formulation is, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die”. This is a death to self-will, to personal ambition, and to a life lived on one's own terms. It requires a radical break with the world. “The first Christ-suffering which every man must experience,” he writes, “is the call to abandon the attachments of this world”.

This abandonment directly involves one's relationship with possessions. Bonhoeffer saw earthly goods as things “given to be used, not to be collected”. Drawing on the story of the manna in the wilderness, which went bad if hoarded, he argued that the disciple must receive their portion from God daily. To store it up as a permanent possession is to spoil the gift and to set one's heart on accumulated wealth, making it a barrier between oneself and God. Hoarding is idolatry. The call of costly grace liberates the disciple from this “thraldom of material things” by demanding a sole allegiance to God. This is not a life of grim asceticism, but one of freedom, where the Christian understands that they are no longer their own but have been bought with a price, and that everything they “possess” is truly owned by God and held in trust for His purposes.

Liberation Theology's “Preferential Option for the Poor”

Emerging from the context of widespread poverty and political oppression in Latin America in the mid-20th century, Liberation Theology offered a radical re-reading of the Gospel from the perspective of the poor and marginalized. It arose from the perceived failure of the institutional Church to adequately address the profound social injustices plaguing the continent and its frequent complicity with oppressive regimes. At the forefront of this movement was the Peruvian priest and theologian Gustavo Gutiérrez.

Praxis and the “Scandalous State” of Poverty

Gutiérrez fundamentally reoriented the theological task. He insisted that theology must begin not with abstract doctrines but with praxis—a critical reflection on the concrete, historical experience of the poor in their struggle for liberation. He distinguished between two forms of poverty: “spiritual childhood,” a spirit of openness and dependence on God which is valued in the Gospels, and material poverty, which he termed a “scandalous state”. This material poverty is not a blessed condition, but a subhuman situation of “premature and unjust death” that is contrary to the will of God and must be actively opposed.

Holistic Liberation and the Critique of Capitalism

For Gutiérrez, salvation is not a purely spiritual or otherworldly reality. It is a single, complex process of liberation that encompasses the whole of human existence. This liberation has three interconnected dimensions:

Political and Economic Liberation: Freeing people from the oppressive social and economic structures that cause poverty.
Historical Liberation: Empowering human beings to take control of their own destiny and build a new, more just society.
Theological Liberation: Liberation from sin and communion with God, which is the ultimate root and goal of all liberation.

In analyzing the causes of poverty in Latin America, liberation theologians identified the global capitalist system and the private appropriation of wealth as the primary drivers of injustice and dependency. Gutiérrez argued that some nations were poor because others were rich, the result of a system that creates a wealthy “centre” and an exploited “periphery”. Therefore, the call to “give to the poor” was interpreted not just as an act of individual charity, but as a revolutionary mandate to transform the very structures of society. Gutiérrez called for the “elimination of the private appropriation of wealth created by human toil” and the building of a socialist society as the only path to true justice and development. This represents a profound, structural interpretation of Jesus' commands regarding wealth.

The Prosperity Gospel as A Theological Inversion?

In stark contrast to the theologies of costly grace and liberation stands the Prosperity Gospel, also known as the “Word of Faith” movement. This influential stream of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity, particularly prominent in the United States, can be considered a response to the lived experience of economic precarity and a deep-seated desire for tangible evidence of God's blessing in a material world. However, critics argue that it achieves this by fundamentally inverting the core teachings of Jesus on wealth and discipleship.

Faith as a Formula for Wealth

The central tenet of prosperity theology is that financial blessing and physical well-being are always the will of God for faithful believers. The Bible is often viewed as a kind of contract or covenant between God and humans. If believers fulfill their side of the contract—primarily through exercising faith—God is obligated to deliver prosperity. This faith is often expressed through two key practices:

Positive Confession: This is the doctrine that words themselves have creative power. Believers are taught to claim what they desire from God by speaking it aloud, in faith, without wavering. This is seen as activating the promises of prosperity already present in Scripture.
Seed-Faith Giving: Tithing and giving offerings, often to the ministry promoting the teaching, are presented as “seeds” of faith. Donating money is taught to be an act that unlocks a reciprocal flow of much greater financial blessing from God.

A Theological Reversal

This framework represents a dramatic reversal of the traditional Christian understanding of wealth and faith.

Wealth as a Goal: Whereas Jesus warned that wealth is a dangerous obstacle to the kingdom, the prosperity gospel presents material wealth as a primary sign of God's favour and a central goal of the Christian life.
Faith as a Tool for Acquisition: Instead of calling believers to give up earthly treasures to gain heavenly ones, this theology reinterprets faith as a spiritual technology or formula for acquiring more earthly treasure.
Serving Mammon through God: The ultimate danger, according to critics, is that it reverses the master-servant relationship. Instead of serving God over Mammon, it risks turning God into a cosmic vending machine, a means to serve Mammon. The Holy Spirit is seen less as a Person to be obeyed and more as a power to be harnessed for the believer's material will.

Critics argue that the prosperity gospel is a form of “cheap grace” par excellence, promising the blessings of God without the cross, the cost, or the radical call to discipleship. It accomplishes this by selectively interpreting scripture out of context and ignoring the vast biblical witness to suffering, sacrifice, and poverty as authentic parts of the life of faith. In the words of Jesus, it presents a path that attempts to serve both God and money, a feat he declared impossible.

Comparative and Practical Dimensions

To complete a comprehensive analysis of Jesus' call to renunciation, it is essential to place it in a broader philosophical context and to distill its principles into a practical framework for contemporary Christian living. By comparing the Christian understanding of detachment with similar concepts in other major world philosophies, its unique character is clarified. By synthesizing the theological findings into actionable principles of stewardship, simplicity, and counter-consumerism, the ancient call can be translated into a coherent and challenging path for believers today.

Christian Renunciation in Dialogue with Other Philosophies

The concept of detaching from worldly concerns to achieve a higher state of being is not unique to Christianity. Both ancient Stoicism and Buddhism, for example, have highly developed philosophies of non-attachment. A comparative analysis reveals both striking similarities and fundamental, irreconcilable differences.

Christian Renunciation vs. Buddhist Non-Attachment

At first glance, the two traditions seem to converge. Both recognize that attachment to the material, transient world is a primary source of human suffering. The Buddhist concept of nekkhamma (renunciation) involves “freedom from lust, craving, and desires”, which resonates with Jesus' warnings against worldly treasures. Both traditions advocate for letting go of attachments to possessions and even relationships as a path to liberation.

However, the core motivation and ultimate goal of this detachment are profoundly different.

Buddhist Non-Attachment: The goal of Buddhist practice is the cessation of suffering (dukkha) by extinguishing craving (taṇhā). This is achieved by realizing the doctrine of anattā (no-self)—the understanding that there is no permanent, unchanging soul or ego. Detachment is the path to dissolving the illusory self and escaping the painful cycle of rebirth (samsara), culminating in nirvāṇa, a state of final extinguishment. The path is ultimately impersonal, aimed at the dissolution of desire itself.
Christian Renunciation: Christian renunciation is not an end in itself, nor is it aimed at the eradication of desire. Instead, it is motivated by a passionate, personal love for a personal God. The goal is not to extinguish desire, but to re-direct it from created things to the Creator. Detachment from the world is the necessary means to achieve a deeper attachment to God. The Christian does not seek to dissolve the self but to surrender the self to God in order to receive it back, redeemed and transformed, in the resurrection of the body. In Christianity, God himself is so attached to the material world that he becomes part of it in the Incarnation. Thus, while the practices may appear similar, the theological foundations are diametrically opposed: one leads toward the dissolution of the personal, the other toward eternal communion with the Personal.

Christian Renunciation vs. Stoic Indifference

Christianity also shares surface-level similarities with Stoicism, a philosophy popular in the Greco-Roman world. Both traditions emphasize inner virtue over external circumstances, teach a form of detachment from things outside one's control, and value a life of reason and self-discipline. For the Stoics, external things like wealth, health, and reputation are classified as adiaphora, or “indifferents,” meaning they are neither good nor bad in themselves and have no bearing on one's virtue or happiness. This sounds akin to the Christian warning not to place one's hope in the “uncertainty of riches”.

Again, the underlying worldview creates a fundamental divergence.

Stoic Indifference: Stoicism is a materialistic and pantheistic philosophy. It posits that the universe is God (Logos or Nature), an impersonal, rational force. Happiness consists solely in virtue, which is defined as living in accordance with this rational nature. Therefore, external goods are truly and utterly indifferent to one's well-being. The Stoic sage achieves tranquility (apatheia) through a self-sufficient discipline of accepting fate and focusing only on what can be controlled: one's own judgments and actions.
Christian Detachment: Christianity, by contrast, is theistic. God is a transcendent Creator, separate from his creation. While spiritual virtue is primary, the created world and its external goods (health, provision, relationships) are affirmed as intrinsically good gifts from God, necessary for complete human flourishing (shalom). They are not “indifferent.” The Christian is called to be detached not because possessions are valueless, but because the Giver is infinitely more valuable than the gifts. Christian detachment is not the self-sufficient apathy of the Stoic but a faith-filled trust in the personal providence of a loving Father, which frees the believer to hold God's gifts loosely and use them for His glory.

Stewardship, Simplicity, and Counter-Consumerism

How, then, can a contemporary Christian live out this radical call to forsake all and follow Jesus? The historical and theological analysis suggests a practical framework built on three pillars: the principle of stewardship, the discipline of simple living, and a prophetic critique of consumerism.

The Principle of Stewardship

This is the foundational, practical theology for all possessions. It synthesizes the wisdom of the Patristic, Reformation, and modern traditions. The core principles are clear:

The Principle of Ownership: God owns everything; we own nothing. “The earth is the LORD's, and everything in it” (Psalm 24:1). We are not owners but managers, administrators, or stewards of resources that have been entrusted to us.
The Principle of Responsibility: Because we are stewards, not owners, our relationship to possessions is defined by responsibility, not rights. We are responsible for managing God's holdings well and according to His purposes, which include caring for creation, providing for our families, and serving the common good.
The Principle of Accountability: We will one day give an account to the true Owner for how we have managed His resources. This awareness should shape every financial and material decision.
The Principle of Reward: Faithful stewardship will be rewarded by God, not primarily with more earthly wealth, but with deeper communion with Him and eternal treasure in the age to come.

Adopting a stewardship mindset is the first step in dethroning Mammon. It frees us from the anxiety of accumulation and the burden of ownership, reframing all our resources as tools to be used for God's glory.

The Discipline of Simple Living

Simple living is the intentional practice of ordering one's life around a kingdom-focused purpose rather than the accumulation of goods. It is the practical outworking of storing up treasure in heaven. This discipline involves several key practices:

Prioritizing God: Intentionally scheduling one's life to put God first through prayer, worship, and study of Scripture. This means being willing to sacrifice other activities or comforts to protect this primary commitment.
Cultivating Contentment: Actively practicing gratitude for God's provision and resisting the constant cultural pressure for more. This involves saying “no” to the endless cycle of desire and finding fulfillment in spiritual growth and relationships rather than material possessions.
Practicing Detachment: This means learning to do without the superfluous, cheerfully accepting shortage or discomfort when it comes, and holding all possessions with an open hand, ready to give them up if called to do so. It is the inner state of freedom from the “thraldom of material things.”

A Christian Critique of Consumerism

Living this call today requires a conscious and critical stance against the prevailing culture of consumerism. From a Christian perspective, consumerism is the modern incarnation of the worship of Mammon.

The Problem: Consumerism is a cultural force that promotes greed, envy, and dishonesty. It teaches us to find our identity, worth, and happiness in what we purchase and possess. It turns God's good creation into a collection of commodities to be exploited and people into objects to be marketed to.
The Response: The Christian response is one of counter-cultural resistance. This involves not only the personal disciplines of stewardship and simplicity but also public and communal action. It means supporting ethical and sustainable consumer choices, advocating for economic justice for workers and the poor, and challenging the manipulative tactics of advertising. It means building church communities that are centres of genuine fellowship and worship, not vendors of religious goods and services. It is the active choice to live as citizens of God's kingdom rather than as mere consumers in the global marketplace.

The Unresolved Tension and the Ongoing Call

The exploration of Jesus' summons to “give everything away and follow him” reveals a teaching that is at once profoundly simple and endlessly complex. This report has demonstrated that there is no single, monolithic interpretation of this radical call. Instead, its meaning unfolds across a dynamic spectrum of understanding, shaped by the diverse historical, cultural, and theological contexts in which it has been heard. The call has been interpreted as a literal command for absolute divestment by the Desert Fathers and a vocational mandate for responsible stewardship by the Reformers. It has been seen as a “counsel of perfection” for a spiritual elite by the Church Fathers and a revolutionary cry for structural justice by Liberation Theologians.

This persistent interpretive tension is not a sign of contradiction, but a testament to the call's depth and enduring power. It is a call that operates on multiple levels simultaneously. It is an internal demand for a complete reorientation of the heart's trust, and a potential external command for material action. It is a deeply personal challenge to the individual's primary idol and a profoundly social critique of systemic greed and injustice. It is both intensely spiritual, concerning one's relationship with God, and radically economic, concerning one's relationship with money and possessions.

Ultimately, the analysis returns to the central thesis: the call to “give everything away” is a radical, lifelong invitation to a comprehensive transfer of allegiance. It is the summons to move one's ultimate trust, security, hope, and affection from the fleeting and finite treasures of the created order to the eternal and infinite treasure that is the Creator God, revealed in Jesus Christ. It is a call to decisively and continually enthrone God as the one true Master of every aspect of one's life. The cost of this discipleship must be soberly calculated, the commitment must be total, and the implications must be lived out daily in a world that constantly proposes other masters. The call remains as urgent and as unsettling today as it was two thousand years ago, an ongoing invitation to embrace the costly grace that alone leads to true life.

Peter Olsen