Elon Musk’s Leap of Faith: Why He Risked Everything to Follow Jesus

I know it sounds unbelievable—maybe even crazy—coming from me. I used to think faith was for people who needed a crutch, something to lean on when they couldn’t face reality. I was the man who wanted to build the future, to colonize Mars, to solve problems with logic, money, and relentless work. But three weeks ago, I was ready to end it all. Not my companies—my life.

It was 2 a.m. I was alone in my office, staring at a bottle of pills. The weight of everything—SpaceX launches, Tesla deadlines, SolarCity, Neuralink, the expectations of millions—felt like it was crushing me. The world saw me as a visionary, a billionaire, a man with everything. But when I looked in the mirror, I saw a man dying inside.

Eighteen-hour days, seven days a week. No time for family, no time for friends, no time for myself. I was running on caffeine and stubbornness, making decisions that affected thousands while I was barely holding myself together. I remembered the last conversation with my youngest son. He’d asked me to come to his school play. I’d promised I’d be there, but a crisis came up and I sent my assistant instead. The look on his face when I called to explain still haunts me.

That night, I made a list: all the relationships I’d damaged, all the promises I’d broken, all the people I’d hurt in my climb to the top. The list was longer than I expected. I had become everything I used to hate. The rich guy who thought money could solve everything. The boss who demanded the impossible. The father who was too busy to show up for his own kids.

So I picked up that bottle of pills. I was about to take them when I saw it—a small, leather-bound book on my desk. A Bible. I had no idea how it got there. My assistant swore she didn’t put it there. Security found no record of anyone entering my office. But there it was, like it had been waiting for me.

I opened it randomly. The first thing I read was about a man who had everything but felt empty. The story of Jesus talking to a rich young ruler. The man had followed all the rules, done everything right, accumulated wealth and status, but he still felt empty. Jesus told him to give up everything and follow Him.

I read that story five times. Each time, I felt like I was looking in a mirror. I stayed up all night, reading about people who gave up everything for something better. People who found meaning in sacrifice. By sunrise, I made my decision—not to take the pills, not to end my life, but to end the life I had been living.

.

.

.

I called my mother that night. I hadn’t talked to her in months. I told her about the book, about the decision I was making, about the path I was choosing. She was quiet for a long time. Then she started crying. “I’ve been praying for this day for 20 years,” she said. “You had to find your own way. You had to make your own choice.”

Let me tell you about the night that changed everything. I had been working for 36 hours straight. The pressure was crushing. Every decision felt like it could make or break everything. I was responsible for thousands of jobs, billions in investments, and the dreams of millions. But I was breaking. I stood in my office looking out at the city lights, feeling more alone than I had ever felt. The success that everyone envied felt like a prison. The money that was supposed to solve all problems had created new ones. The fame that was supposed to validate my worth had become a spotlight that never turned off.

I opened my desk drawer and stared at the pills. Not the ones doctors had prescribed for my anxiety—different ones, ones that would make everything stop. I sat there for two hours, thinking about how tired I was, how empty everything felt, how I had lost myself somewhere along the way.

But then I saw the Bible. I opened it again and my eyes fell on the story of the rich young ruler. This man had everything. Wealth, status, respect. But he was still searching for something more. Jesus told him to sell everything and give it to the poor, then come and follow Him. The man walked away sad because he had great wealth.

Here was someone who had achieved everything I had achieved, but he was still empty, still unfulfilled. And Jesus offered him something different—a life of meaning, a life of purpose, a life of service. But it required giving up everything.

I kept reading story after story of people who encountered Jesus and had their lives transformed, not by gaining more, but by giving up everything they thought they needed. The fishermen who left their nets. The tax collector who walked away from his business. The woman who poured expensive perfume on Jesus’s feet instead of selling it. All of them made the same choice: give up their old lives to follow Jesus.

As I read, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: hope. Not hope for more success or more money or more recognition—hope for something real, something that mattered.

I realized I had been living like that rich young ruler. I had everything the world said I should want. But I was still empty, still searching, still unfulfilled. And now I was being offered the same choice—give up everything and follow Jesus, or walk away sad.

I made my decision that night. I put the pills away. I closed the book and started planning how to change my life completely. It wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t going to make sense to most people. But it was the only choice that felt real.

The days after finding that book were unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I couldn’t stop reading. I couldn’t stop thinking. I started with the Gospels, the stories of Jesus. I had heard them before, of course. My mother had taken me to church when I was young, but I had never really listened. Not like this.

What struck me most was how Jesus talked about money and success. He didn’t just ignore these things—He actively warned against them. He said it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. He told people to store up treasures in heaven, not on earth. He said you couldn’t serve both God and money.

The more I read, the more I realized that Jesus wasn’t just talking about money. He was talking about a completely different way of living—a way that put others first, that valued service over success, that measured worth by how much you gave rather than how much you got.

I started praying. I hadn’t prayed in years, maybe decades. But I found myself talking to God like I was talking to a friend, admitting my failures, asking for guidance. And slowly, I started getting answers—not audible voices or miraculous signs, but a growing sense of what I needed to do. I needed to give it all up. Not just some of it, not just the excess—all of it. Everything that was keeping me from following Jesus completely.

The idea terrified me. How could I give up everything I had worked for? How could I disappoint all the people who depended on me? How could I throw away all the opportunities I had created? But then I remembered the rich young ruler. He had walked away sad because he couldn’t give up his wealth. And Jesus let him go. He didn’t chase after him or offer him a compromise. He gave him a choice.

I didn’t want to be that man. I didn’t want to walk away sad. I didn’t want to choose my possessions over my soul.

So I made the hardest decision of my life. I started making plans—how to transition my responsibilities, how to ensure the people depending on me would be taken care of, how to give away my wealth in ways that would actually help people. I knew it was going to be the hardest thing I had ever done. Harder than starting my first business, harder than working 18-hour days for years. But I also knew it was the only thing that would save me.

I found the book at exactly the right moment. When I was ready to give up on life, I found a reason to live. Not the life I had been living, but a new life—a life of meaning, a life of purpose, a life of following Jesus.

The first person I told was my mother. She cried with joy. The next was my assistant, Maria. I asked her what she would do with her life if she could do anything. She said she wanted to be a teacher, but needed a job that paid well. I told her I would pay for her education, her living expenses—everything. I realized this wasn’t just about me giving up my wealth. It was about using my wealth to help other people find their purpose, too.

Some people understood. My youngest son seemed relieved I would finally have time for his school plays. My mother cried with joy when I told her about the scholarship fund I was creating. But others didn’t understand. Some old friends thought I was having a breakdown. Some business associates felt betrayed. The media started calling, trying to understand what was going on. Stock prices fluctuated. Competitors circled. But I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: peace.

I started volunteering—not as a publicity stunt, but just to serve, to help, to do something useful with my hands instead of just moving money around. For the first time in years, I went to bed knowing I had actually helped someone—not helped them make money or become more successful, but helped them eat, helped them find shelter, helped them feel less alone. This is what Jesus had been talking about. This is what I had been missing.

The transition took six months. Six months of the hardest work I had ever done. Not hard because it was complicated, but hard because it meant letting go of everything I had built my identity around. I had to tell my children what I was doing. That was one of the hardest conversations of my life.

“Dad, are you sure about this?” my oldest asked.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I told him.
My youngest asked, “Does this mean you’ll finally come to my school plays?”
“Yes,” I said. “It means I’ll finally have time for the things that really matter.”

The business side of the transition was complex. Lawyers, accountants, tax specialists—all working to figure out how to transfer billions in assets while taking care of employees, investors, and customers. I decided to give most of it away, not to one big charity, but to hundreds of small organizations doing real work in their communities.

The media had a field day. Headlines about my breakdown and midlife crisis appeared everywhere. But I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I didn’t care what people thought about me. I cared about following Jesus.

The hardest part was the loneliness. Many old friends stopped calling. People I had known for years acted like I had betrayed them. But I gained something: time. Real time. Time to read, to think, to pray, to spend with my family. Time to volunteer, to help people who needed help.

I started teaching a class at a community center—entrepreneurship for teenagers from low-income families. Not teaching them how to get rich, but how to use business skills to serve their communities. They reminded me of who I used to be before I got obsessed with success.

A year after I made my decision, I was standing in a small church in East Austin, getting ready to be baptized. Not because I had to be, but because I wanted to make a public declaration of my commitment to following Jesus. The church was full of people I had met over the past year—people from the homeless shelter, kids from the community center, neighbors from my new neighborhood. My mother was there, crying with joy. My children were there, still trying to understand what had happened to their father, but beginning to see that he was happier than he had been in years.

The pastor asked me to share my story. “A year ago, I was one of the richest people in the world. I had everything money could buy, but I was dying inside. Then I found a book, a Bible, and I read about a rich young ruler who walked away sad because he couldn’t give up his wealth to follow Jesus. I decided I didn’t want to be that man. So I gave it all up. Not because I hated money, but because I loved Jesus more. And I can tell you today that it was the best decision I ever made.”

After the service, I walked through the neighborhood, past houses where families were living in homes built with money I had donated, past the community garden growing food for people who couldn’t afford groceries, past the small clinic providing health care for people without insurance. This was my legacy now. Not companies or innovations or stock prices. People—real people living better lives because I had chosen to follow Jesus instead of chasing success.

That evening, I sat in my backyard reading the Bible that had changed my life. It was still the same book, but now I understood it differently. Now, I knew what it meant to follow Jesus. It wasn’t about being perfect. It wasn’t about having all the answers. It was about being willing to give up everything that stood between you and God.

For some people, that might mean giving up a bad habit or a toxic relationship. For me, it meant giving up billions of dollars and a life of luxury. But the cost was nothing compared to what I had gained. I had gained a relationship with God. I had gained peace. I had gained purpose. I had gained the ability to sleep at night knowing that my life was making a difference.

My phone buzzed—a text from my youngest son:
“Dad, I’m proud of you.”

That was worth more than all the money I’d ever made.

This is my story. This is what it means to risk it all for Jesus Christ. And it’s the best decision I ever made.