The Millionaire's Dilemma

" Jesus told the crowd a parable:
'There was a rich man whose land produced a bountiful harvest. He asked himself, 'What shall I do, for I do not have space to store my harvest?' And he said, ' This is what I shall do: I shall tear down my barns and build larger ones. There I shall store all my grain and other goods and I shall say to myself, 'Now as for you, you have so many good things stored up for many years, rest, eat, drink and be merry!' But God said to him, 'You fool, this night, your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom do they belong?'  Thus will it be for all who store up treasure for themselves, but are not rich in what matters to God." --[Luke 12: 13-21.]


A Wise Woman tells me that those who are ungenerous with their money and their things, are ungenerous in matters of the heart.

I learned that the hard way, growing up.

Once I had reached about a year old, and could walk on my own, my mother stopped holding me or comforting me or soothing me in her arms. She never, ever hugged me or kissed me or said, "I love you."

I used to try to "trick her" into saying this. I would say, "Don't you love me, Ma?" She would reply, "WHY do I have to say this to you? Why can't you just see this for yourself, a mother's love for her child?"

There are those who would say, that that generation did not become all mushy and lovey-dovey, in their ways as mothers. You were just supposed to KNOW that your parents loved you, by all the things that they did for you.

But, in my case, my parents' actions did not convey Love either. If I fell and cried, at about age three, my mother would say, "Get up, you are not hurt."

If I could not eat the 4-day old leftovers for dinner, my father would say to my mother, "Do NOT feed her anything else." And, yet, our pantry was full. . . .

My older sibling called me ugly every day, intoning cruel taunts in my face, and rounding up the neighborhood kids to sing his mean chants at me. When I cried, my mother would say, "Stop crying. You are too sensitive."  ---Her silencing of me being the justification of a bully?

And so my sibling's abuse elevated to booby-trapping my room, and hitting me. I went to school in pink ruffled dresses and with ribbons in my wavy hair; -- but with black eyes. My mother said to me, "Stop getting black eyes. You are embarrassing us."

And if I told my mother that I was cold, and I asked for the key so I could go in our house to fetch a sweater, my mother would tell me, "You are not cold, stop acting up."

When I declared my major in college, my mother told me, "If you elect that major, we will refuse you tuition money."

Is it any wonder that my family was singularly ungenerous to others?

As a grown young lady, I would tell my parents, since we seemed to be so comfortable in life, that we ought to give to charity.  They would say to me, gasping in horror, "We don't GIVE our money away!" Oh, the glares I would get from them . . . .

In this Scripture, it is not so much the having of money that is evil, it is the hoarding of it.  You have heard the expression, "You cannot take it with you." Many interpret this to mean, to spend the money on oneself, to "rest, eat, drink and be merry."

But in the end, all the material goods hoarded by the rich man, in his giant barns, benefited him to naught. Jesus asks, " To whom do the [good things] belong [now]?"

We look at a billionaire like Bill Gates, who is systematically giving his money away, saying he does not think it is good for his kids to start out life, set for life. We call him "crazy" We say, "WHO would do that?" But keeping everything for ourselves limits the impact of our personal gifts and talents. It shrinks our world so that we do not need contact with other humans. In short, keeping it all for ourselves shrivels our soul.

The good things about life are like Love: meant to be given away.

Today, a dear friend calls me "the most generous person I know."

I remember vividly, the cold that would not fade away. I give away my sweaters, I knit for the homeless.

I remember the hunger. I donate to the town food pantry.

I remember the feelings of isolation, of being unloved. I hug others freely, even the marginalized who collect money on the streets.

I remember the fear, that I could not complete my education. I send pencils and paper and rulers and flashcards to a school in Africa.

I remember the taunts, being called ugly and a failure. I give encouragement to ALL I meet, even the stranger.

I remember my family's attitude of entitlement. I am grateful every day. I give others thanks, even if they are just doing their job--- bagging my groceries or cooking my restaurant meal.

For-- the most important things in life are being rich in "what matters to God". And I would call THAT Love!

[Related Postings: " Stored Up Treasure", Sept. 30, 2012; "The Hoarder", August 5, 2013; "The Shrewd Steward", Sept. 24, 2013.]

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