What does it mean, psychologically, to be "rich"? Not in the financial sense — but in the sense of being so full of oneself, so possessed by one's own competence and accumulated identity, that nothing new can enter? These reflections treat the prince of Tyre and the camel at the needle's eye not as moral warnings about money but as precise descriptions of an inner obstruction — the swollen self that cannot pass through the narrow gate of transformation. This is esoteric psychology dressed in ancient language, and it belongs to anyone willing to sit with it.
First reading
From the Book of Ezekiel — Ezekiel 28:1-10
The word of the LORD came to me:
Son of man, say to the prince of Tyre,
Thus says the Lord GOD:
Because your heart has swelled with pride
and you have declared, "I am a god!
I sit enthroned in a divine seat
in the heart of the sea!"—
yet you are a mortal, not a god,
though you fashion your mind to be the mind of a god.
Indeed, you are wiser than Daniel;
no mystery lies hidden from you.
By your wisdom and your shrewdness
you have amassed great wealth;
you have heaped gold and silver
into your treasuries.
Through your vast cunning in trade
you have multiplied your riches,
and your heart has grown proud because of your riches.
Therefore thus says the Lord GOD:
Because you have set your heart
as though it were the heart of a god,
I will bring foreigners against you,
the most ruthless of nations.
They shall unsheathe their swords
against the splendor of your wisdom
and pierce through your radiance.
They shall cast you down into the pit,
and you shall perish a bloodied corpse
in the depths of the sea.
Will you still proclaim, "I am a god!"
before the face of those who kill you?
You are a man and no god
in the grip of those who slay you.
You shall suffer the death of the uncircumcised
at the hands of foreigners,
for I have spoken, says the Lord GOD.
Gospel
From the Gospel of Matthew — Matthew 19:23-30
Jesus said to his disciples,
"Truly I tell you, it will be hard
for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven.
I say it again:
it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle
than for someone rich to enter the kingdom of God."
When the disciples heard this they were deeply shaken and said,
"Then who can possibly be saved?"
Jesus looked at them and answered,
"For human beings this is impossible,
but for God all things are possible."
Then Peter spoke up and said to him,
"We have left everything behind and followed you.
What then will be ours?"
Jesus said to them,
"Truly I tell you,
you who have followed me,
in the age of renewal,
when the Son of Man takes his seat on his throne of glory,
you too shall sit upon twelve thrones,
judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
And everyone who has left behind houses or brothers or sisters,
father or mother, children or lands,
for the sake of my name,
will receive back a hundredfold
and will inherit life everlasting.
But many who are first shall be last,
and the last shall be first."
— Interpretation —
Let us begin with a strange phrase from Ezekiel. The Lord says to the prince of Tyre: “You are a mortal, not a god, though you fashion your mind to be the mind of a god.”
Notice what is being described. It is not simply arrogance. It is something more precise — a man who has fashioned his mind into something it is not. He has constructed an imitation. He has built, with great skill and shrewdness, a self that mimics divinity. And this constructed self sits “enthroned in a divine seat in the heart of the sea.” The sea, in the language of parable, is life — the vast, moving, changeable medium in which we live. And this prince has placed himself at the center of it, upon a throne, convinced that he is a god.
Now this is not merely a portrait of a Phoenician ruler from the sixth century before Christ. It is a portrait of something in every man and every woman. We all construct this throne. We do it with our cleverness, our accumulated knowledge, our wealth of opinions, our treasuries of self-regard. Ezekiel even says the prince is “wiser than Daniel” — that is, his natural intelligence is formidable. His cunning in trade — his ability to manipulate life to his advantage — is extraordinary. And it is precisely this success, this fullness, that becomes the obstacle. “Your heart has grown proud because of your riches.”
The riches here are not gold coins. They are everything we have stored up as “myself.” My reputation, my certainties, my history of being right, my spiritual attainments, my suffering — yes, even suffering can become a treasury. Anything the natural mind accumulates and sits upon as though upon a throne — this is the richness that Ezekiel speaks of, and it is the same richness that Christ addresses when he says it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.
Let us stay with this image a moment. A camel is a beast of burden. It carries goods. It is loaded. To pass through the eye of a needle — the narrowest conceivable opening — one must be unloaded entirely. One must become, as it were, nothing. The kingdom of heaven, which is an inner state accessible now, has a very narrow entrance, and what cannot pass through it is the accumulated, loaded, burdened self — the self that sits enthroned and says, “I am a god.”
The disciples are deeply shaken. “Then who can possibly be saved?” They ask this because they understand, at least dimly, that everyone is rich in this sense. Everyone carries this cargo. Everyone has fashioned a mind that sits in a divine seat. And so the question is genuine and urgent — if this is what blocks entry, then who can enter?
And Christ’s answer is extraordinary. “For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.” That is, the natural man — the first man, the mechanical self — cannot do this. He cannot unload himself. He cannot make himself nothing. Every effort he makes to become humble becomes a new piece of cargo: “I am humble.” Every attempt to let go becomes a new grip: “I have let go.” This is why it is impossible for human beings. The self cannot dismantle itself with tools made of self.
Something else must act. Something from a higher level must enter, and this can only happen when there is space — when the throne is empty, when the treasuries have been opened and given away, when one has, as Christ says, “left everything behind.” Houses, brothers, sisters, father, mother, children, lands — these are not merely external possessions. They are identifications. They are the network of mechanical connections that hold the false self in place.
And what is promised? Not loss, but a hundredfold return — and life everlasting. This means that what one receives on a higher level is incomparably greater than what one releases on the lower level. But notice — it cannot be received until the releasing has occurred. The camel must be unloaded before it can pass through.
“Many who are first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” The prince of Tyre, seated on his throne, imagines himself first. He is, in inner reality, last — furthest from the narrow opening through which new life enters. And whoever stands last — whoever has nothing, claims nothing, sits upon no throne — is nearest to that opening. Not because poverty is virtuous, but because emptiness is the only vessel that can be filled.
The question is always the same. Can I bear to set down what I am carrying? Can I step off the throne I have built in the heart of the sea? Not once, heroically, but again — this morning, this breath, this moment of seeing myself enthroned?
For God, all things are possible. But God requires an empty hand.
Photo by Raymond Eichelberger on Unsplash
Scripture: Unified English Version — an original rendering synthesized from the King James and New American Bible translations
