We often use the phrase “follow the money” as a diagnostic tool in culture and society to identify corruption and hidden motives. Perhaps Christ does something similar with us—He “follows the money” (or whatever we cling to most tightly) to expose our idols and invite us into greater freedom.
In the journey of faith, God often reveals our hidden attachments not through abstract lectures, but through direct, personal invitations to act. These moments function as merciful diagnostics—tests that surface what truly holds our hearts. Far from evidence of divine ignorance, they serve as opportunities for awareness, repentance, and growth.
The classic example is the rich young ruler (Matthew 9:22 RE; Mark 5:23 RE; Luke 10:9 RE). A sincere seeker approaches Jesus asking, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” He claims to have kept the commandments. Jesus, looking at him with love, issues a targeted command: “Sell all that you have and give unto the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. And come, follow me.” Jesus says nothing generic against wealth itself. Instead, He follows the money straight to the man’s functional idol—his possessions as source of security, status, and identity. The young man walks away sorrowful, unwilling to release his grip.
Jesus later teaches His disciples: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God” (Mark 5:24 RE). The difficulty lies not in riches per se, but in the heart’s attachment. Idolatry often involves good things loved in the wrong order. When anything—wealth, relationships, reputation, comfort, or ideology—displaces God as our ultimate trust, it becomes our functional savior.
This pattern appears repeatedly in Scripture. God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the “son of promise,” testing whether the gift had become greater than the Giver (Genesis 8:5-8 RE). After His resurrection, Jesus probed Peter with the question, “Do you love me more than these?”—likely gesturing toward his fishing nets and old life (John 11:9 RE). The Israelites’ dependence was tested through daily manna, forcing them to rely on God rather than stored surplus (Exodus 10:2-8 RE).
In each case, the divine ask reveals the hierarchy of our loves. As Jeremiah 6:13 RE declares, “The heart is deceitful above all things... I the Lord search the heart.” God knows our idols intimately, yet He engages us relationally so 'we' become aware and can choose repentance ('metanoia'—a transformative change of mind and direction).
Today, the same mechanism operates. A “family-first” person may resist missing work events for genuine presence. An activist’s ideology might prove intolerant of questions. Fitness, career success, or even religious routines can quietly demand primary allegiance. When Christ asks us to loosen our grip on something valuable, resistance often signals an attachment needing examination.
The goal is never mere asceticism or loss, but liberty. Abraham, David, and others held resources without being owned by them. Jesus promises that releasing idols leads to treasure in heaven and restored relationship: “Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 3:39 RE).
Covenant of Christ echoes these themes through its emphasis on wholehearted discipleship and warnings against pride and worldly attachments. Nephite prophets repeatedly caution that prosperity can harden hearts and lead people to “trust in their own strength” rather than God.
When an idol surfaces—through a whisper, inspired request, uncomfortable circumstance, or a clear “follow the money” moment—it is an act of kindness. Better to face it now than build on sand. As C.S. Lewis observed in related writings, God’s love is relentless in pursuing our freedom.
The invitation stands: Examine your attachments honestly. Where Christ asks you to release something, see it as diagnostic grace—an opportunity to repent, realign, and ascend. In surrendering what we clutch, we often discover what we were truly seeking all along: the One who gives life abundantly.
Augustine put it powerfully: we become like what we love, and when we love lesser things supremely, we shrink. When we elevate good but secondary things — money, success, relationships, comfort, ideology, reputation — above their proper place, they inevitably become functional gods. What was meant to be a blessing turns into a tyrant. This misordered love doesn’t just create minor inconveniences; it distorts our entire life, decisions, and affections.
Ultimately, the path to freedom and fullness of life is found in this clear and liberating truth: never love the gift more than the Giver. When Christ reigns supreme in our hierarchy of loves, every blessing—wealth, relationships, success, comfort—can be received with open hands and enjoyed without bondage. This is the heart of discipleship: not the rejection of gifts, but their proper ordering under the One who gives them. May we have, is my prayer, the courage to heed His gentle (and sometimes pointed) diagnostics, release what we clutch too tightly, and step into the abundant, undivided life He offers.
Signed
John The-Not-So-Beloved