Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Luke 12:13–21
Empty suitcases, Christmas decorations, golf clubs, youth sports trophies, stuffed animals, VHS cassette tapes, photo albums, baking sheets, art supplies, wrapping paper, Easter baskets, garbage bags stuffed with clothing donations: you name it, it’s in my downstairs closet. Determined to let go of the excess, detach from material things, and clear out the space, I try to make a trip into this abyss of clutter and chaos often, guarding myself from all the creeping—that of the occasional wolf spider, but also, of the temptation to hold onto the things I genuinely don’t need but might one day.
You know what I’m talking about. We’ve all got this closet. Or garage. Or junk drawer. We’ve all got an inner hoarder that collects and accumulates, and just can’t let go. We love our stuff. Comedian George Carlin nailed it when he said, “That’s the whole meaning of life, isn’t it? Trying to find a place for your stuff.” His bit on “stuff” continues to crack people up because it’s true, and so here’s my question:
Why do we do this? Why do we hold on to so much stuff?
Buried in the pile of items stored for that just-in-case moment is the lie that our possessions offer security. We fear that if we discard the item, the memory will be lost with it. Or we worry that if we give something away now, we will regret it later. With our attachment to the things of this world, we fill closets, plastic bins, and basements to the brim, and when our plentifulness exceeds space inside our homes, we pay to store it elsewhere. In a spirit of greed, we keep from those in need what no longer serves us.
If that last line didn’t sting, read it again.
The parable of the rich fool tells the story of a man who, upon receiving a bountiful harvest, decides to tear down his barns and build bigger ones to store his grains and goods. Feeling good and secure with his abundance, he is admonished by God: “You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong? Thus will it be for the one who stores up treasure for himself but is not rich in what matters to God” (Luke 12:20–21).
I’ve spent a lifetime laying up treasure for myself. Things for my home, things for my children, things for my pets, things for my enjoyment, things for my well-being, lots and lots of things. And here’s the thing about these things—they do not last. On a day I do not know but is guaranteed to happen, I will die, and death will strip me of everything I own. All the things that brought me temporary joy will hold little worth; they will be put in a box, hauled off to the dump, or, if they hold any sentimental value, divided among family. But at the end of the day, this is not the treasure I care to leave behind. My legacy, God willing, will not be, “She sure was rich in possessions,” but, “She sure was rich toward God.”
To be rich toward God means that we prioritize spiritual wealth over material possessions. Instead of hoarding our resources, we use what we have to serve God and others, recognizing that all we have ultimately comes from Him and should be used to honor Him and bless others. It makes sense, yet this remains a struggle in our modern world. Even the most advanced soul is tempted by the comfortable broad road with all its perks and pleasures, and so, despite knowing our treasure is in heaven, we become the “fool” seduced by earthly riches.
Wealth does not make us fools; it is our attitude toward it. The man in our parable was a fool not because he was rich, but because he lived without any awareness of eternity. When we set our eyes on heaven, we recognize the temporary nature of earthly life, which helps us focus on what is lasting and meaningful. Living for eternity means we prioritize our spiritual life and the things that truly matter; we live each moment with gratitude and intention, recognizing that our actions have consequences that extend beyond this life.
But I get it. It can be hard to live in this world and not be of it; to believe that heaven is real and so the suffering is worth it. Because, let’s be honest: sometimes, when life feels shaky and God’s provision is questionable, we find greater comfort in filling a cart versus emptying it. Temporary relief feels better than no relief at all, and if it offers us the slightest hint of security, false or not, we reach for it. Believing there was security in his earthly possessions, the rich man thought he was all set. And yet, even in his abundance, he was filled with concern and worry. For when faced with more than he could manage, he anxiously asks, “What shall I do?” (Luke 12:17).
The same question bubbles up in my heart as I venture into my downstairs closet. Although disquieted and overwhelmed by too much, I am eager to detach from it all, longing for my treasure in heaven; mindful that “better is a little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble with it” (Proverbs 15:16). “Blessedness lies, not in great wealth, but in a living relationship with God.”[1] And that, my friend, is the stuff I am after. And so, with eyes on heaven, I am learning to resist the temptation to build larger and to press into that heavenly nudge that whispers: Your treasure is not here; you have more than enough. I am your security—pull down the barns.
Food for thought or journaling …
What possessions, things, or “stuff” keep you from being rich toward God?
Is there something you are holding onto that someone else needs?
Heavenly Father, You are our source of security. We desperately want to detach from all that hinders us from loving You most. Help us to empty our carts, open our hearts, and pull our barns down. Amen.
[1] Ignatius Catholic Study Bible, RSV Second Catholic Edition, (San Francisco, Ignatius Press, 2024), 1857.
