Being Rich: Jesus' How-To Guide

The farmer whistled as he stood on a hill and surveyed the unrelenting white of his fields. He'd never seen so much wheat, so much barley, so many other grains. As if he'd planted some kind of super-seed, the field was choked solid with it – no bare spots, no dim patches, no gaps – and every stalk looked full to bursting. Turning to his other fields, every crop was the same way. He didn't know what he'd done right – he didn't know if he'd done anything at all – but whatever crop he'd planted this year, the harvest season had found plump and plentiful. On a normal year, he did quite well for himself. He had oodles. He was never dissatisfied. He'd bought up plenty of little family farms from his former neighbors over the years, so there was no shortage of fields in his name. But now every one was yielding like it'd been bathed in a miracle fertilizer or a growth hormone or... or... he didn't know what (Luke 12:16).

The laborers had been working for a couple days already to harvest it all – and it hardly seemed like they were making a dent. The sun rose, the sun set, the sun rose, the sun set – they kept hauling it in. And then they came to him. “Sir... Sir, Barn A is full.” “Sir, sir... There's no room left in Barn B.” “Sir – I mean, if you've got a moment – I hate to tell you, but we can't fit anything else in Barn C.” And the farmer looked out over his fields. A third were yet to be harvested. And all his barns were full. “What on earth am I gonna do? I can't just waste it. I want it all! Think of what it can do!” (Luke 12:17).

The farmer thought that over for a day. Wrestled with the possibilities. And he reached a decision. “I know, I know. Here's what I'm going to do. Boys, gather 'round. Get rid of Barn A, Barn B, Barn C. Deconstruct 'em. Dismantle 'em. I'm placing an order for more lumber. Time for an old-fashioned barn raising. How big? Oh... very big. Enough to stockpile a lifetime supply, that's how big. Tear down these barns. Build larger ones. Big enough to handle all this harvest. Big enough to store all this grain. Big enough to stash all my purchases. All my grain, all my goods. Big enough to hide away years of plenty for the days of famine. Big enough to guarantee my security. Bigger...” (Luke 12:18).

The labor teams went to work. The farmer watched with contentment and pride. Barn A2 went up. Barn B2. C2. Biggest barns on the block – like aircraft hangers. The farmer watched. The farmer watched, and he whispered: “I'm free. I'm set. I could retire. I'm safe. Even if my fields lie fallow for ages, even if it doesn't rain for three years – I'm set. I've got so much! I can withstand many years with these ample goods! And now it's time to enjoy the good things in life. I could use a vacation at the beach. I can finally relax. I want to lounge in a hammock stretched between two palm trees. I want to sip margaritas by the bay. I want to eat barbecue and steak. I want to sample the night life. I've been breaking my back out here for years. I deserve this. And thanks to this windfall, with a harvest like this, I can afford it and then some. I'll never go hungry. I'll never run out. This harvest – it sure is a lifetime supply. My safety net. Time to relax, eat, drink, and be merry” (Luke 12:19).

The farmer sighed a sigh of relief as the sun dipped toward the horizon. He knew he was the envy of his neighbors. He'd done everything right, after all. He was fiscally responsible. He was planning ahead. He was setting aside an ample retirement fund. He was well-to-do and respectable. He could afford to live a little, and he deserved it. The sun sank a bit lower in the late afternoon sky. All was quiet. Until it wasn't. A sound like a jet flying low enough to give him a haircut. In the roar, he could barely make out the words that boomed like a jackhammer in his ear. “You fool! This very night, your soul is required from you! And these things you have prepared, this grain, these goods, all those plans and dreams... Whose will they be then?” (Luke 12:20).

No answer was given. But with a prophecy of his death before sunrise, the formerly satisfying sinking sun must have instilled a much different emotion in the farmer's heart throughout the following hour. Such was a scenario that Jesus framed for us: the story of a man who already has plenty, but when more gain comes his way, he doesn't even consider any option but expanding his storage capacity – his luck is his luck, no one else's; his blessings are private bonuses and yield security with which to savor his good fortune. A good harvest is all about him, you see.

And Jesus explains two important things about this story – two basic lessons on how to be rich. First, there's a key distinction. On the one hand, you can be rich toward self. You can treat yourself well. You can pamper yourself. You can spend it on luxuries, you can hoard it like a miser, whatever. You can be rich toward yourself. You can make your gain and your blessings all about you. You can lay up treasure for yourself – for your own use and your own purposes against a rainy day – or, in the farmer's case, the dreaded not-so-rainy day that won't end for a while. That's being rich toward yourself. And that's one option. But there's another one. The opposite of laying up treasure for yourself, like this farmer did – and most people throughout history would have applauded the farmer's fiscal wisdom, don't forget, and not seen him as foolish at all – but the opposite here is being rich toward God (Luke 12:21). And that's a different way to be rich. That's something novel, something radical.

The second lesson, Jesus explains, is that all these things the farmer has, all these things the farmer is daydreaming about – life is about more than living it up. Life is about more than earning. Life is about more than eating food and drinking drinks. Life is about more than relaxation and the good moments, and it's about more than work and toil. Life is about more than what you own. Life is more than a sum on a bank statement or a sequence of hours billed. Life is about more than that. Jesus says, “Take care and be on your guard against covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions” (Luke 12:15).

Maybe that's a better way to phrase it: not just that life is about more than these things, but that if you add them all together, even that doesn't qualify as actually living. You can stockpile as much as you want – that doesn't mean you're living. You can go on vacation to the beach, to historic sites, to cosmopolitan cities in every land hither and yon – that doesn't mean you're living. You can eat the finest gourmet food – that doesn't mean you're living. You can go to all the parties – that doesn't mean you're living. You can have the fanciest toys – that doesn't mean you're living. You can win all the trophies – that doesn't mean you're living. You can work out all the spreadsheets, you can spend hours budgeting, you can make smart investments, you can weave your best safety net to give you breathing room to do all this and take control of your life – and yet it doesn't mean you in fact have a life, much less that you can actually control it. All this doesn't amount to living. And your soul is at the bidding of Another who can recall it at any time. All these things, all the sequence of moments they bring – yet it doesn't amount to living.

It would be so easy for us to look at this parable, read the headline, and safely and smugly think, “Oh, this one is for the rich. Well, I don't much like them anyway. Good for me.” That's easy, to dismiss the parable as saying anything we don't already know and agree with. It's easy to dismiss its relevance to us middle-class Americans – even though each and every one of us probably owns more, and certainly enjoys a higher standard of living, than even the most prosperous farmer in first-century Galilee. We're so quick to assume we're not materialistic. We don't think of ourselves as greedy. But maybe we're too quick to dodge what Jesus is saying.

Why did Jesus tell this story in the first place? “Someone in the crowd said to him, 'Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me” (Luke 12:13). This man in the crowd is a younger brother. His father has passed away. By law, his elder brother was entitled to a double portion, and they could split the property that way, 67-33. It was widely considered preferable, though, to keep the property intact and live there as equals, with the elder brother looking out for and protecting the younger. That was the advice of many Jewish sages in those days. But this younger brother doesn't want that. He doesn't want to do things right. He wants to be financially independent. Maybe he wants to move away. Maybe he's not getting along with his brother. He wants security of his own, not bound to any particular social tie. He's willing to embroil himself in a family conflict – and to drag Jesus into the middle of it – to get his independence and his security, some funds of his own, all his. And what Jesus saw is that this man was at the risk of organizing his existence – like his family relations – around what isn't life. He was putting something not life-giving at the center, and subordinating his family life to that prospect of gain with which he might “relax, eat, drink, be merry” (Luke 12:19). Like the farmer in the story, this younger brother is making his existence about what doesn't amount to life; and that's the inevitable result of seeking to be rich toward self.

Financial responsibility is good. But it isn't life. And when we orient our existence around what isn't life and therefore can't give us life, we fall prey to the same foolishness as any idolater past or present. This isn't about just “the rich,” somewhere out there. This is about us. Because we dream like the farmer. We chafe like the younger brother. This parable is about us. We're embarrassed if our neighbors walk through our house and judge us as poor in their eyes – poor towards self. Shouldn't we be more embarrassed for the “great cloud of witnesses” to see us as poor in their eyes – poor towards God? “Such is the one who lays up treasure for himself” – anyone who makes their existence about what doesn't amount to life – “and is not rich toward God” (Luke 12:21).

Being rich toward yourself doesn't amount to a rich life, because it doesn't amount to a life. Enjoying the finer things, having plenty, a sequence of thrilling moments and memorable experiences, making a name for yourself and leaving a mark on those around you – those may be fun, there may even be some limited good there, but it isn't life, and it isn't being rich toward God. But Jesus is explaining a how-to guide for really being rich.

First, “seek God's kingdom” (Luke 12:31). As in, “seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33). The farmer in the story was seeking big barns. The farmer in the story was seeking relaxation, food, drink, and merriment – somewhat fine things that don't amount to life. But the kingdom of God amounts to life. The kingdom of God is that long-lost world with God at the center and God in charge, a world that's healed and fixed and made right, a world made clean and whole, a world of goodness and beauty and truth; and just this world of lavish grace poked into our old world wherever Jesus went – and still does. The first step in being really rich is to put aside other concerns and make your #1 priority to chase after this kind of world – and the only path is the one marked by Jesus' footsteps – up to a cross and then out from a graveyard. Chase Jesus and his Spirit wherever they go, and other things will find you in their proper measure.

Second, Jesus advises us: “Sell your possessions” (Luke 12:33). The farmer in the story was building big barns so he could accommodate more possessions! As a sign of being rich, he wanted to expand. But Jesus says, if you want to really be rich, don't expand; contract. Virtually every single one of us has things we don't need. And nothing you own is neutral. Either it helps you or it hinders you. It enhances your riches or impoverishes you. We stockpile all these things – but when our soul gets recalled, whose will they be? And will they offer life and security to them when they couldn't waylay our soul here an hour longer? So Jesus advises us, “Sell your possessions.” Look over what you own. Don't ask, “Does this bring me joy?” Ask, “Does this help me seek the kingdom for myself and others – does this glorify God – or not?” Sell off the obstacles. That's what true wealth involves.

Third, Jesus continues his thought: “Give to the needy” (Luke 12:33). The farmer in the story was all about hoarding. He looked over his white fields, and his thoughts were all about, “How can I keep hold of more of this for myself?” Not once did he look over the fields and seriously consider, “This is more than I need right now. It must not all be for me.” The farmer wanted to hoard it. But really being rich doesn't mean hoarding; it means giving. Jesus explains that only those who give will thereby stockpile “moneybags that do not grow old, with a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches and no moth destroys; for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Luke 12:33-34). We dare not let our heart be in our own frail chests. Better to keep our heart in heaven. And like St. Peter Chrysologus used to say, “The hand of the poor is Christ's treasury, since whatever the poor person receives, Christ receives. … O man, while on earth, give to the poor those things that you want to abide with you in heaven.”

Fourth, Jesus urges us over and over again: “Do not be anxious about your life...” (Luke 12:22); “Fear not...” (Luke 12:32). The idea of selling things, giving to the poor, all that – if you're really radical about it, it can be unsettling. Jesus tells us we don't have to be unsettled by it. Life is about more than the things over which we get anxious. Life is more than eating, more than drinking, more than having clothes and shelter. Life is more than a balanced budget and a 401(k). Life is more than opportunities; life is more than workdays and vacations.

“Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). Aim to be rich toward God, not toward yourselves. Sell what holds you back, give to those in need whatever God gave you for them and whatever you'd like to have forever, and set aside concerns so you can chase Jesus and his Spirit toward a world made right – and don't be afraid, even if only a few join you in the hunt, because your Father has his heart set on getting you there. Be rich toward God. It's his business to be rich toward you – in his kingdom. And that is how to truly be rich. Thanks be to God. Amen.