“Opportunity cost” is the term economists use to define the forgone benefit that would have been derived from an option other than the one that was chosen. My choice of X over Y, for example, may be cheaper right now. But over the long run, due to hidden costs, inferior quality, or higher interest rates, I may wind up paying more for X despite the initial “savings.”

A local priest applied that term to last Sunday’s Gospel, the account of Jesus and the rich young man who “went away sad, for he had many possessions” (Mk 10:22; see here). It was ingenious.

I say that because I have long been struck by a poem written by Polish author Roman Brandstaetter. “The Confession of a Man Who Didn’t Follow the Lord”(Wyznanie męża, który nie poszedł za Panem) is the prayer of that young man when he is old, looking back on that day, on the “early spring day” when “the almonds were blooming.” He considers his life. He admits that, on that spring day, he “chickened out.” He is prosperous, his worth even having doubled. He has a wife and children. His neighbors and peers deem him by all indices successful. By all measures, he “had plenty of good things laid up for many years. Take it easy! Eat, drink, and be merry!” as another rich man said after expanding his barns and silos (Lk 12:19).

But I feel a tangible void inside myself,
A lack of fullness,
A hopelessness
That I fear to reveal
Even to those closest to me.
….
The years have passed
But I still cannot forget
That spring,
My question,
And the almond trees in bloom.

Not having taken Jesus’ counsel, the rich young man kept his wealth. But what opportunity cost did he pay? Two thousand years later, we remember the names of a couple of poor Galilean fisherman: Peter, James, John, Andrew. But he’s passed into history as just “the rich young man.”

Perhaps that’s better. There are souls in Dante’s Inferno whose renown was great in their lifetimes but whose memory was fading. When the Poet offers to make them known again, many chose anonymity.

That’s not to say the rich young man was not saved. He was not a bad man. From his earlier statements it is clear he sought to live a good life. He was not indifferent to spiritual goods. It’s just, neither could he disentangle himself from material ones. Perhaps, more tellingly, he could not set out into the deep with trust in God and so — like poor Peter — found himself drowning in rather than walking on water. It’s what held him back.

Brandstaetter captures the poignancy of his “opportunity cost.” It’s a sentiment felt by Everyman who, warned that “opportunity doesn’t knock twice” pulls back from grabbing the brass ring and then contemplates what might have been. History, alas, cannot be lived in reverse; what is done is done. That said, as Fr. George Rutler once observed, the sad thing about hell is that everybody talks in the subjunctive, about what “might have been.”

That takes us back to the First Reading, in which King Solomon praises wisdom, which he “preferred to scepter and throne, and deemed riches nothing in comparison with her.” In ancient Israel, “wisdom” was not education. It was not book-learning. It was not a degree. There are still cultures (the Poles among them) who make the observation, “He’s educated, but he’s still dumb.”

In the ancient Near East, “wisdom” was recognized in many cultures as knowing how to live right and properly. When that notion came into contact with Israel it was, of course, refracted through the lens of Israel’s relationship to God. So, for Israel, “wisdom” means knowing how to live rightly, and knowing how to live rightly starts with being on right terms with God. Being in right relationship to God and to one’s fellow man is to be wise. To recognize who God is and who you are in relationship to Him — fear of the Lord — is “the beginning of wisdom” (Prov 9:10). It’s why the Psalmist says “the fool has said in his heart, ‘there is no god’” (Ps 14:1) — because there is One, even if the fool thinks he can live well without Him.

Being in right relationship to God — having trust in Him, whose entire history of relationship to man has been of loving fidelity — then puts everything else in perspective. That includes the perspective that “silver is to be accounted mire” (Wis 7:9), not because silver isn’t valuable but because God is more valuable still. Love invites man to set out into the deep; even the incipient love of Pascal’s Wager beckons man to consider the priceless return on the bet. The payout is the One who gives the heart rest. Which is why, despite everything and the years, the rich now old man “cannot forget that spring, my question, and the almond trees in bloom.”

(Translation of Brandstaetter’s text: Copyright John Grondelski, further reproduction is prohibited. Copyright to the original Brandstaetter texts is held by the “Towarzystwo Opieki nad Ociemniałymi w Laskach” in Laski, Poland).