“That’s how it is with the one who stores up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” Luke 12:21
When I was a little kid, bubble gum was a big deal. From the things we learned about him in those little one-page comics neatly tucked inside each chew, Bazooka Joe® was as important to us as any political leader or sports hero.
Maybe one of the reasons bubble gum was so appealing was that, for all intents and purposes, we were strongly discouraged from chewing it—“strongly” as in, the federal government “strongly” warns you not to ignore those notices you get from the Internal Revenue Service. My mother told us that when she saw a kid blowing bubbles, “It looks like their insides are coming out.” And since she didn’t want her own children publicly displaying their entrails, she told us not to chew it. So we didn’t chew bubble gum. Mostly.
One day my brother Ken happened into a bunch of money. He lost his good sense and walked to the corner market for the purpose of buying a handful of bubble gum. His plan was to spend all his money on gum, then “chew it all on his walk back home.” He couldn’t risk having the contraband in the house, so he knew he had to return to the house with no remaining evidence.
Having successfully completed his unauthorized purchase, he began slowly walking back home. One by one, he carefully unwrapped the pieces of gum, perusing so many Bazooka Joe® comics that he could have counted it as his summer reading. Ken was in heaven—reading, chewing, and blowing bubbles. Each time he unwrapped another piece of gum, he would cram it into his mouth seriously hoping to find room in there for just one more delicious piece.
As he walked, it slowly began to dawn on him that all this gum in his mouth was making his jaw sore. The horrendous glob was even beginning to gag him. Nonetheless, he tried to push through these contrary feelings and continued his homeward trek.
And then, one block from home, it happened: just as he was blowing another gigantic bubble, our mother drove by. Imagine the terror of this moment. There he was, his guts spilling out of his face. Ken should have known better. Parents always show up.
When is enough, enough? When will we be satisfied with what we have, content to enjoy what God has provided, without continually pushing for more? I know this sounds un-American, but why am I so dissatisfied with things whose only flaw is that there are newer models on the market? Why do I so often find myself comparing my stuff with guys who have better stuff?
Jesus’s words took aim at a lesson from a man who had had a superior year in his business. Not content with a full barn, he tore it down to build a bigger barn—more room for the glut. In the process, this successful man became self-sufficient. “I don’t need anything—or anyone,” he must have told his adoring, coveting friends. “I don’t even need God.”
Just then the sovereign Lord of the universe drove by. The foolish man met his Maker. The party was over. The barn and its contents were sold at auction, and everyone forgot this great man—now dead broke. Somehow he had forgotten that when he got home, his pockets would be empty anyway. Foolish man. He should have known better. God always shows up.