Commencement speeches are rarely memorable.

They tend to be (can I say this?) preachy and

are often filled with platitudes and even cringey

moments. Therefore, exceptions are notable. Ten

years ago, the columnist David Brooks spoke to

the graduating class of the University of the South

in Sewanee, Tennessee. The speech is well worth

your time, easily accessible on YouTube. Brooks

eloquently reflects on the meaning of life with a mix

of humor and solid research from the social sciences.

At one point, reflecting on what brings fulfillment in

life, Brooks gives sage advice to these graduates,

advice that will come as no surprise to those of you

who have chosen to gather for worship on a Sunday

morning. He says, “Join a group that meets (at least)

once a month. That produces the same happiness

gain as doubling your income. Use what money you

have to buy experiences, not things.”i

I always find it gratifying when research confirms

what we already know in our hearts and what

scripture teaches us. Life is not about an

abundance of things. Wise guidance. Practical

advice. Biblical truth.

And yet. You and I live in the real world, where

much is measured by financial gain and the

acquisition of things. Remaining for just a moment

on the subject of higher education, I’ve been

disappointed in recent debates on university

admission policies by the uncontested assumption

that elite schools are those that result in the highest

earnings among their graduates, not the virtues

learned, the character shaped, the community

formed by the experience. These seem to me an

accurate reflection of how we actually measure

success, regardless of what we may tell ourselves…

or our graduates. The point was driven home for

me this week when a friend sent me a piece with

the ominous title, “Rot of Nation’s Core Values

Quantified by Single Poll.” The results of that poll,

which has been conducted for decades now, signify

tectonic shifts in what Americans say matters

most. Values like community involvement, religious

participation, and patriotism have seen dramatic

drops in the last five years, while the importance of

only one priority has grown. Money.

Back to the text. A stranger asks Jesus for some

help with an argument he’s having over inheritance.

More to the point, the man wants Jesus, who has

the authority of a teacher, to command his brother

to divide the family inheritance with him. Predictably

if you’ve met Jesus, the teacher challenges the

premise of the request. He undercuts our inclination

to equate possessions with purpose. And then he

tells a story for all those in the crowd to hear.

It’s a challenging story, especially for us, with our

cultural emphasis on acquisition and consumption,

the unchallenged mythology that claims that life

consists precisely in the abundance of possessions

or, if not their abundance, at least having the right

possessions. We function in this way even while

acknowledging the futility of our approach. We

are enticed. We are beguiled by the cleverness of

advertisers. We are easily convinced that possessions

will fill the gaps we feel in purpose and fulfillment.

And of course, it never works. It is never enough.

There are only two characters in the parable. There

s a man who has great resources, and there is God.

We would call this man successful. He is a strategic,

prudent businessman. He does not become wealthy

by immoral or illegal means. His land produces

abundantly, and he aims to secure his future. Not a

bad person. Certainly not the caricature of corporate

largess. And yet, in the parable, God addresses the

man as a fool. Why?

Remember the first words of Jesus to the man in the

crowd: “Be on your guard against all forms of greed.”

The story of the barn-builder is a warning. A warning

about the possessive power of possessions.

The man’s anxiety over his material wealth rules his

life. It consumes him. His singular driving concern is

to build barns large enough to achieve security.

And so, the question must be asked: at what point

are those barns large enough? Perhaps when they

tower over all the buildings surrounding them? Or

when the man is fully insulated from the needs of

those standing outside? When he can no longer

see his neighbors? When all of his competitors are

finally defeated and bowed down in recognition of

his triumph? And by the way, how much can one

person really use or enjoy? Doesn’t grain rot if it

goes unused?

Once, a reporter asked John D. Rockefeller, “How

much money is enough?” Rockefeller smiled and

chuckled a little, and answered, “Just a little more.”

The parable is a warning against greed. But it’s more

than that. It’s a meditation on what does matter.

Let’s look again. The story is dominated by soliloquy.

The man speaks exclusively to himself. His monologue

consists of sixty words. You don’t need to count them.

I already did. And twelve of them, one-fifth, are I and

my. “These are my crops, my barns, my grain, my

goods, my, my, my.” The man has lost all capacity to

see the existence of other people. After all, the man’s

land does not produce so abundantly without help,

hired or otherwise. The man will not tear down and

build new barns without the assistance of others. And

yet, his focus is entirely on himself. Lying behind his

outward greed, the man is guilty of self-absorption

driven by fear. Living in his own world for himself,

with himself, by himself. As poor in relationship as he

is wealthy in things. And when his life is over, those

things prove worthless on their own.

The barn-builder belongs to no one. He attends no

group that meets at least once a month. Greed is his

only companion. Not only has he become alienated

from human community, he also has abandoned his

relationship with God. The fearful man speaks not to

God but only to himself. In the King James Version he

says, ‘Soul, take thine ease.’” Ironic because ease is

precisely what the man will never have.

What ease is there to take when you have no

community, no one with whom to eat, drink, and be

merry? The cold comfort of material goods surrounds

the man. This is what earns him the title fool. Rather

than dinner with friends, he is stuck on the treadmill

of acquisition. Rather than use his resources for

experiences with others, the barn-builder builds

barns. It is as if he has forgotten there is any other

way. His is a tragic story meant to warn all who follow

Jesus that our attitude toward possessions is far more

important than the amount we possess.

The final question God asks in the parable must have

lingered in the mind of the inheritance-seeker at odds

with his brother. God asks, “All these things—whose

will they be?” Those questions multiply in my mind

because I hear them often in my office. Whose will all

of this be? What it is all for? How much is enough?

Whose will they be in the man’s case? The answer is

obvious, the question rhetorical. There is no one. His

anxious, fearful acquisitiveness has driven everyone

else away from him. The beautiful barns will fall into

disrepair. The grain will rot. And the memory of the

man will fade away.

But this is not the only way to live. Jesus gives us

another choice. Immediately after telling this grim

story, he offers a summary: “So it is with those who

store up treasure for themselves but are not rich

toward God.” What does it mean? How can we be

rich toward God? I think we know the answer. It

has to do with investing our lives in what matters

most instead of what will fade and fail and rot and

disappear. It involves using what we have to bless

and serve somebody else. It involves looking beyond

immediate gratification and instant pleasure to what

endures. It involves building a longer table instead of

bigger barns.

And so, my friends, at the risk of getting personal (or

preachy) I want to suggest that most of the people

hearing my voice have enough. That most of us are

among those who live in relative comfort—enough to

eat, stable housing, security for the future.

And none of us will carry that kind of abundance

from this life to the next. Regardless of how large

the pile is, it will fade and rot and disappear. That is

simply a statement of fact, but it is one that provokes

a question. Knowing that what we have will not last,

what should we do with what we have while it is

ours? The good news is Jesus could not have been

clearer on this one. Just a little later in Luke’s Gospel,

he runs into another man—another man who has a

question about inheritance. What must I do to inherit

eternal life? Jesus gives simple instruction. All you

have to do is sell everything you own and give the

money to the poor, and follow after me, for you will

have treasure in heaven. Maybe you remember how

that exchange ends. The man becomes very sad,

overcome with sadness. Why? Because, in Luke’s

words, he had many possessions. He was possessed.

We are fools. Building bigger barns. Warehouses.

Distribution centers. Self-storage. Walls of division.

Towers of isolation. Barriers that keep us from seeing

each other. I hear the voice of Jesus. Enough. Enough.

What should we, who have more than enough, do

with what we have while it is ours? We should break

barriers and build communities. There are many ways

to do this. Here at Second, we are committed to a

compassion that facilitates mutual transformation,

not just transaction. And so, I hope you will be here

on Tuesday, August the 29th to learn more about our

neighbors and to hear about a program designed to

build a better Washington Township, a community

free of poverty and filled with opportunity. We have a

God-given responsibility to share abundance in ways

that matter.

Just a few days before he was crucified, Jesus

made his way to the temple in Jerusalem. There,

surrounded by his disciples, he watched as a poor

widow placed two copper coins into the collection

plate. Two pennies. It was almost nothing. It was

nearly everything she had. And Jesus says to his

disciples that her gift means more than the millions

of those with abundance. Why? She knew the

purpose of possessions. She knew the meaning of

enough. Take care. Be on your guard against all kinds

of greed. Amen.