Why Do We Keep It?

Where are you keeping your treasure?

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
Psalm 50:1-8, 23-24
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
Luke 12:32-40

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

“Why do we keep it?”

 

That question—posed by David McElroy—has lingered in my spirit this week. It floated into our weekly Bible Study like a wisp of incense and stayed there, hanging in the air and in my heart.

 

Why do we keep it?

 

The box of mismatched A/V cords in the drawer. The dusty kitchen gadget we swore we’d use. The clothes that no longer fit. The stacks of papers, just in case. The inherited china we don’t like, but feel guilty giving away.

 

Why do we keep it?

 

Perhaps that’s the very question Jesus wants us to ask ourselves today—not just about our closets, our garages, or our family estates, but about our hearts. “For where your treasure is,” he says, “there your heart will be also.”

 

But Jesus doesn’t come at us with guilt or shame. He isn’t yelling from some mountaintop, wagging his finger. He speaks tenderly: “Do not be afraid, little flock…” In the Greek, it’s even sweeter, translating to something like: my little flocklet. My dear ones.

 

In this passage, we observe a trend persisting in Luke. Jesus continues his teachings on possessions, anxiety, and faithfulness. And he offers not just advice, but a reorientation. A new direction for our hearts.

 

“Sell your possessions, and give alms,” he says. But this isn’t only about money. This is about anything that has a grip on us. Anything we cleave to more tightly than we cling to God. This is about the things we’ve made into idols—comfort, control, prestige, self-image, and security (just to name a few).

 

In last week’s reading from Colossians, Paul called greed a form of idolatry. And it’s true: when we grasp so tightly to our stuff, our power, or even our public image, we place ourselves in the position of God. Or, we take things—possessions, accomplishments, people—and use them as if they exist for our gain. We use people and love things instead of loving people and using things.

 

But Jesus is not inviting us to deprivation. He’s inviting us into liberation. He’s beseeching us to let go—so we can receive.

To let go of scarcity and fear…
To let go of pride and performance…
To let go of fool’s gold, so we can make room for treasure that truly lasts.

 

That’s what he means when he tells us to make “purses that do not wear out”—to store up unfailing treasure in heaven. That fortune isn’t tucked away in some far-off realm. That reward shows up here and now:
– in the love of family and friend
– in acts of justice and mercy
– in moments of wonder, awe, and compassion
– in giving away the gifts that the ego so desperately tries to hoard
– in the light of God’s image shining in the face of someone we used to overlook.

 

This is the good stuff—the kind of treasure praised not just by Jesus, but also by the Torah, the Prophets, and most every world religion: lifting up the lowly, caring for the vulnerable, honoring the present moment, living in love.

 

But it’s hard, isn’t it?

Hard to let go.
Hard to trust.
Hard to stay attentive to this work.

 

That may be why Jesus shifts his metaphor so quickly in this Gospel passage. One moment he’s talking about treasure; the next he’s urging us to gird our loins and keep our lamps lit, like servants waiting for the master to return.

 

It may seem like a narrative jump, but I think Jesus knows how easy it is for us to fall asleep to the truth. To numb ourselves with stuff. To be lulled by comfort. To keep quiet instead of confronting injustice. To walk right past the God who comes to us disguised as those ones who irritate us the most.

 

The hard truth is this: Jesus talks about money, wealth, and greed more than almost any other topic in the Gospel accounts. And yet, in the Church today, we’re often hesitant to talk about it at all.

 

Why? Maybe because we know he’s right.

 

We’ve created whole systems that reward greed and punish poverty. We elevate wealth as a virtue, as if it proves someone’s worth. We baptize comfort and crucify sacrifice. And all the while, we make idols of ourselves.

 

But Jesus says, Stay awake. Watch for the places where God is showing up—in the neighbor who annoys us, in the person who needs us, even in the shadowy parts of ourselves that we’re scared to examine.

 

This is no passive waiting. It’s an active, hopeful, humble vigilance.

It reminds me of a lesson I learned the hard way. A few years ago, I crashed while biking. More than once, actually! And each time, it was because I got fixated on the pothole, the rock, the thing I didn’t want to hit.

Turns out, if you focus on the obstacle, that’s exactly where you’ll end up.

But if you focus on where you want to go—on the clear bit of road—you’re far more likely to get there.

 

Jesus wants us to fix our eyes on the real treasure. To stop obsessing over the potholes of fear, greed, and ego. And to aim our hearts toward what lasts. Now let me tell you about someone who knew about what truly lasts.

 

Yesterday, some of us from Holy Apostles traveled to Hayneville, Alabama, for the 29^thannual Jonathan Daniels pilgrimage. For those who don’t know, Jonathan Daniels was a young White seminarian from New Hampshire who, 60 years ago, came down to Alabama during the Civil Rights Movement after he heard the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior’s plea for clergy to help with the integration. Jonathan was arrested for protesting segregation, and shortly after being released from jail, he was shot and killed while shielding a young Black woman named Ruby Sales. The pilgrimage re-membered Jonathan, honored him, and inspired us to follow his witness because…

Jonathan was awake. He was focused on the treasure that lasts. He gave his life not for fool’s gold, but for the eternal treasure of solidarity, justice, and love.

Now, we may think we’re not capable of such courage—and on our own, we’re not. But the good news is that we’re not on our own.

Where we are weak, God is strong.
Where we are fearful, God is faithful.
Where we are asleep, the Spirit stirs us.

 

There is no “I” in church, but there is a you. There is a we. There is the Spirit. And there is the invitation to join in God’s healing of the world—not someday, but today.

 

So, on this day, as we bless backpacks and feast together at our back-to-school cookout, let’s ask ourselves again:
What are we keeping? And, why do we keep it? 

What is keeping us? And, what might happen if we dared to let go, to live more freely?

 

Let us stay awake to what really matters.
Let us fix our eyes on the road ahead.
Let us build up one another, serve the poor, care for the sick, tend to the children, love our neighbors, love ourselves—and yes, even our enemies.

Let us become one Body, rich in the treasure that never fades.

For where your treasure is,
there your heart will be also.

 

Amen.