Being Rich Toward God
I’m pretty sure I’ve
shared this story with you before, but it is so relevant again today that I
can’t resist.
Every fall semester, I
taught an advanced writing class at ULM.
The first day of class I required students to complete a diagnostic writing
exercise—in class.
I gave them several
topics to choose among, a time limit and an approximate word length, and set
them to work. One of my topics was “The Last Speech.”
For “The Last Speech,”
they were to imagine they had six months to live and to write the farewell
speech they would give in the waning days of their life.
Young people write some
interesting things when presented with that particular challenge. I’ll share a
few examples with you in a moment.
But for the moment, let’s
look at the assignment Jesus gives in today’s Gospel lesson. And the first
thing I notice is that it is much tougher than the one I give my students. I
give my students 6 months to get their affairs in order and define their
legacy. Jesus says, “This very night…” This. Very. Night. You must account for
what you have done with your life.
Goodness, Jesus, that’s
harsh! I mean, what happened to the Jesus of love and mercy and endless second
chances? It’s almost as though he is upset about something.
So let’s go back to the
beginning of the passage to look for a clue. What instigates this rather harsh
“this very night” verdict from Jesus?
Turns out it’s what must
seem to us to be a rather mundane request from a guy in the crowd: “Jesus,
please tell my brother to be fair to me.” And it sounds mundane to us because
we ask Jesus for mundane stuff all the time: Please, Jesus, get me that job.
Please, Jesus, help my business prosper. Please, Jesus, get me out of this
trouble I’m in and I’ll be good forever, I promise.
What’s the harm in that,
right? Isn’t that what Jesus is for? To do the hard things for us? To get other
people to be nice to us, to hire us, to give us another chance, and on and on.
I fear way too much of
our prayer time is focused on asking Jesus to fix everything that’s wrong in
our lives and every challenge we face.
But, no. That is
precisely NOT what Jesus is for! Jesus is not our fixer! Especially not when
what needs to be “fixed” is another person or a situation “out there.”
Notice that the guy who
kicks off the story does not ask Jesus to fix himself. He asks Jesus to fix his
brother. And that is so classically human as to be simultaneously sad and
amusing. Do you see yourself in that? I do. Isn’t it typically the case whenever
humans come into conflict or disagreement or whatever, it is the other person
who needs to be fixed?!
Jesus is not our fixer.
He didn’t come to fix the people we think need fixing. He didn’t even come to
fix us. What he came to do is show us a better way to be in the world, a
kinder, more loving, more generous, more forgiving, more compassionate, more
merciful—in short, a more-like-him way of being in the world.
Jesus came, and comes
again and again to us in prayer and through the indwelling Holy Spirit, and the
only “fix” he has to offer is “love God and your neighbor as yourself.”
Most of Jesus’ teaching
then expands on what it means and what difference it makes when we actually put
love—love for God and, consequently, love for all of humankind—at the center of
our existence.
The story he tells on
this occasion has to do with priorities and he criticizes the human tendency to
prioritize accumulating stuff—earthly treasures, and typically more than we
need.
There’s an online
platform called “Statista” that can provide a statistical answer to all kinds
of questions. So, last night I asked it about the worldwide distribution of
wealth and here’s what it told me:
*75% of global wealth is in the hands of just 10% of the
global population
*the bottom 50% of the global population owns just 2% of
global wealth
As Mahatma Ghandi once
said, Earth provides enough to satisfy
everyone's need, but not everyone's greed.
Earlier I promised to
return to my students and their assignment. Over the years, students have
written some remarkable things that I have taken to heart and remembered.
One imagined himself at
the age of 46 with many regrets but determined to not waste his remaining time.
No more passing up opportunities, he wrote, I’m embracing everything
from here on out. He had long wanted to travel to Australia; at
46 and under sentence of death, he was pricing plane tickets.
Another had clearly felt
some real pain is his short years. He thanked his parents, reminding them that
he had had to wear the ill-fitting hand-me-down clothes of his older brother,
their “golden child,” but also that they had also always been there for him. And
I love you, he says. After noting a couple of other great disappointments
—one at the hands of his best friend and another handed to him by his
country—he ends with one word: Peace. He has come to terms.
A third young man lived
his life in a wheelchair, and his last speech is a statement of courage and
defiance. My disability does not define me. I define it, he wrote. That
is what I want to talk to you about tonight. Doing the best with what you have
and never looking back.
Jesus ends the story he
tells in today’s Gospel lesson by admonishing us that storing up treasures on
earth is in vain. And he offers instead the notion of being
rich toward God.
There’s a meme that makes
the rounds every so often. I’ve seen several minor variations of it. My
favorite depicts a large number of diverse people gathered around a big table
laden with food. Think “church potluck” table. The caption says,
“When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher wall.”
I’m pretty sure that
would count as being rich toward God.
“This very night,” Jesus
says. What is each of us doing, today and every day, to be “rich toward God”? That’s the question.
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.
(3 August 2025 at Christ Episcopal Church, St. Joseph, LA
Year C, Pentecost VIII
Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23; Colossians 3:1-11; Luke 12:13-21)
