“Then some of the Sadducees, who deny that there is a resurrection, came to Him and asked Him.”
— Luke 20:27 (NKJV)
Luke’s brief description of the Sadducees is deliberate. By identifying them as those who deny the resurrection, he frames not only their theology but their motivation. Their question is not neutral, and neither is their interest in Jesus. They approach Him not as disciples, nor even as sincere seekers of truth, but as men who see potential value in His endorsement.
Their denial of resurrection narrows life to what can be gained, secured, and enjoyed in the present. Reward, in their view, exists only within the limits of the physical body and the span of earthly life. This belief inevitably shapes how they live, what they pursue, and how they measure success. If life ends at death, then meaning must be extracted now, and legacy becomes little more than reputation, wealth, or influence preserved for a generation or two.
This posture toward Jesus—valuing Him only insofar as He can advance a desired outcome—reveals a deeper issue of stewardship. Jesus becomes useful, but not authoritative. He is engaged transactionally, not transformationally. And while it is easy to critique the Sadducees, the text presses us toward a more uncomfortable realization: their posture is not foreign to us.
This same temptation surfaces when we subtly connect Jesus to our ambitions, asking Him to validate plans we have already decided upon. It appears when we attempt to fit Him into our existing values, rather than allowing Him to re-create us through His death and resurrection. In these moments, Jesus is not shaping our lives; He is being leveraged to enhance them.
This is where legacy stewardship planning must begin—with the resurrection. Without it, stewardship collapses into management of the temporary. Planning becomes an exercise in maximizing present utility rather than surrendering future impact. Legacy, stripped of resurrection hope, is confined to assets, institutions, and memories that eventually fade.
But if God is eternal, and if He promises to be an exceedingly great reward beyond the boundaries of this life, then stewardship must account for more than what can be measured now. The resurrection insists that our lives, decisions, and resources are oriented toward something that outlasts us. Legacy stewardship, therefore, is not merely about what we leave behind, but about who we are becoming and whom we are ultimately serving.
The Sadducees’ approach warns us that admiration for Jesus is insufficient, and so is perceiving value in Him primarily for His usefulness. Both fall short of discipleship. In the same way, legacy planning that merely seeks to align Jesus with our goals—whether financial, vocational, or familial—misses the heart of stewardship altogether.
True legacy stewardship flows from surrender, not strategy alone. It emerges when we allow Jesus to define success, reorder priorities, and reshape our understanding of reward. It requires examining whether our plans are rooted in resurrection hope or confined to temporal gain. It asks whether our stewardship reflects trust in an eternal God or anxiety over a life we assume must be fully secured now.
This examination is not meant to condemn planning, ambition, or success. Rather, it calls us to inspect the heart behind them. Are we stewarding as those who believe life continues beyond death, or as those quietly living as though it does not? Are our plans shaped by discipleship, or by admiration and utility?
Luke 20:27 confronts us with this choice. Legacy stewardship planning, when informed by this passage, becomes less about preserving our name and more about bearing the image of the One to whom we belong. Only then does what we steward truly outlive us.
By Christopher L. Walker at myfathersestate.com
