Sermon: "Greed is good?" - August 3, 2025

The Eighth Sunday after Pentecost, Luke 12:13-21

The Rev'd Ezgi Saribay Perkins, Rector 

Transcript

When I was in college, I took an economics class that introduced me to Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations. Some of you might recognize the name. He’s known as the father of capitalism. In that book, he says something that stuck with me, even though I didn’t fully grasp it at the time. He writes:

“It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest.”

At first, I thought, “Huh… well, that sounds a little cold.” But what he meant was that people looking out for their own livelihood can, in a way, benefit the whole community. Self-interest, when kept in check, can do some good.

But somewhere along the way, that idea got twisted.

Fast forward to 1980s Hollywood, and you’ve got this slick Wall Street character named Gordon Gekko. He stands up in front of a room full of businesspeople and says, “Greed is good.” That’s the actual quote. Greed is good. Greed motivates. Greed builds. Greed works.

And people eventually bought into it—not just in the movies, but in real life. Somewhere along the way, we stopped being cautious of greed… and started admiring it. Greed is an undeniably powerful force behind our world economy today. 

John D. Rockefeller, one of the wealthiest men in American history, was once asked, “How much money is enough?” His answer was: “Just a little bit more.”

But Jesus contradicts that logic in today’s Gospel. He teaches: Greed is not good. In fact, greed can make us miss what really matters. Greed can build barns, sure, but it can’t build a soul.

And maybe, just maybe, he is inviting us to a different kind of economy.
 One where generosity, not greed, is the true measure of a life that’s rich toward God.

I think our text centers around this idea: Prosperity tests our character, but our character’s true value is revealed in our generosity toward God. Let me say that again: Prosperity tests our character, but our character’s true value is revealed in our generosity toward God.

First, Jesus teaches that we ought to be mindful of where prosperity results in greed in our lives.

A man from the crowd calls out to Jesus: “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” We don’t know the full backstory whether the man had been cheated or simply felt entitled to more, but we do know Jesus’ answer. He declines to intervene, saying, “Who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?”

At first, that might strike us as cold. And on the surface, the man’s request sounds like a fair one, doesn’t it? Maybe his brother was holding out. Maybe he just wanted what was rightfully his. Likewise, I have seen people act like vultures after a funeral. Even before a person’s body has turned cold, the question becomes: Am I going to get my fair share of the estate?

But Jesus perceives that the issue isn’t just about justice. It’s about the man’s heart. The problem isn’t what he’s owed; it’s what he desires. So Jesus responds, not with legal advice, but with a warning to everyone listening: “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

That moment reframes the entire parable that follows. Jesus isn’t just telling a random story about money, and he’s not condemning wealth in general. He’s holding up a mirror to that man, and then to us.

We may not be fighting over an inheritance, but we know what it is to want more than we have. Just look near an Apple store at a busy mall. What you’ll see isn’t just consumerism. It’s a glimpse of what greed looks like when it’s dressed up as excitement. I was just at a large Apple store a few days ago, I wanted to look at new items and whisper: My precious! It was intoxicating.

But what exactly is greed? St. Augustine once said: “Greed is not merely a desire to have more, but a failure to love rightly: it prefers things to persons, self to others, and gain to God.”

However, greed is not always obvious. It doesn’t always show up as extravagance or hoarding. Often, it wears the face of fairness. It sounds like: “I just want what’s mine.” It can be cloaked as prudence, or planning. It might even hide behind prayers for “financial security.”

Jesus warns us not just about greed in general, but about all kinds of greed. Remember that he also said: “The love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.” Greed has layers, faces, and disguises and when left unchecked, it begins to corrode our hearts from the inside out.

The parable shows us what happens when indulgent desire becomes corrosive greed. Have you noticed? The rich man, blessed with an abundant harvest, begins speaking only to himself: “What will I do? I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones.” He is saying in essence: My precious! He doesn’t speak to God. He doesn’t speak to his neighbor. His whole future is imagined in a kind of narcissism with no one else in the picture. His vocabulary is filled with the words “I” and “my.” And he concludes: “Now I can relax, eat, drink, and be merry.”

 And so, Jesus invites us to reflect: Where is greed present in our life? What have we begun to believe will save us, if we can just get more of it?
Where do we notice the words I, me, my family, or my legacy repeated too often in our thoughts and concerns?

This leads us to our second point: Greed can tempt us to seek false security in a world we perceive as scarce, but is, in fact, held in God’s abundance.

If the first man in the story reveals the pull of family inheritance greed, the rich man in the parable shows us where it leads into a life built entirely around imagined safety.

After the blessing of an abundant harvest, he isn’t joyful or grateful. He’s anxious. “What should I do?” he asks. “I have no place to store my crops.” He clearly has not been around a perfect little American town like Meridian, where it seems there’s a new storage unit built every few weeks. Aren’t they sometimes a clear visual example of what greed looks like today? But do we have enough grocery stores, oh no! Nearly one in eleven Americans pays monthly for storage—even when many can’t park in their garages including me because of clutter.

The man in the story, like many of us, is not in need. He has more than enough. But it’s not satisfaction that arises in him, it’s worry. And worry quickly becomes a building project: “I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones.” Not so he can be generous. Not so he can enjoy what he has. But so he can relax. So he can feel safe. So he can say to himself: “Soul, you have ample goods stored up for many years. Eat, drink, be merry.”

It sounds like peace. But is it really?

This isn’t greed as luxury, it’s greed as fear. The kind that says, “What if I run out?”
The kind that believes the future is uncertain, and the best thing to do is build walls around ourselves and take comfort in how much is stored away. Greed often looks like self-protection. But underneath, it’s fear.

The tragedy is that even after the barns are built and the goods stored, the man is still talking to himself. Still managing. Still imagining his future… alone.
 He believes that full storage equals a full life.
 But God speaks abruptly and clearly: “You fool. This very night, your life is being demanded of you.”
And just like that, the story he’s told himself falls apart.
Many of us know what it is to measure our worth by how prepared we are—to feel a little bit safer when there’s a cushion in the account, a plan in place, a backup option just in case.

In the early second century, Roman Emperor Hadrian ordered the construction of a massive stone wall across the northern frontier of Britannia. It stretched nearly 80 miles from coast to coast, an astonishing feat of Roman engineering. Its purpose? To mark the edge of the empire and keep out the “barbarians” to the north. Hadrian thought he could hold off the uncertainties of life by building a wall.

But you and I know: fear and greed often work together like that.

That’s the illusion Jesus exposes. That enough barns, enough planning, enough accumulation, enough walls can quiet our fear of the other.
 But that’s not where true security comes from.

Greed, especially quiet, defensive greed can feel like wisdom. But Jesus offers another way.
He reminds us that the world is not ruled by scarcity. And that our lives are not held in barns. They are held in the providence of God.

He says in the later in Luke, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”

That’s the counter-voice to the man in the parable who says, “You’ve got many years.”
What we have is a Father who gives.
Who holds our life, not just our future. And once we begin to believe that, we’re released from fear.

There’s a wonderful promise in AA that assures recovering alcoholics:
“If we are painstaking about this phase of our spiritual development, we will be amazed before we are halfway through. We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. The fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.”

That promise is true for us Christians, too.

The man in the crowd asked Jesus to divide the inheritance.
 But Jesus came to offer something far greater: an inheritance of mercy, grace, and eternal life.
 That can’t be divided. It can only be received… with a trusting generous heart.

This leads us to our final point: Material possessions are impermanent objects we can’t take with us from this world as tokens of a truly godly life, but our generosity is.

At the close of the parable, Jesus doesn’t offer a neat moral. Instead, he gives a sharp contrast:
“So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”
That’s the real question in this story. Not just whether we are successful or secure, but whether we are rich in the ways that matter most to God.

There’s an old Turkish saying I grew up hearing: “The burial shroud has no pocket.”
 It means you can’t take anything with you. While that might sound like a grandmother’s way of telling you to be generous, it’s also true. We leave this world the same way we entered it: empty-handed.

And if that’s true, then we have to ask: What does come with us? What will follow us into eternity?

Jesus’ answer is clear: being rich toward God. But what does that mean? Not in the abstract, but within the Christian tradition?

In the Catholic tradition, richness toward God is often tied to the corporal and spiritual works of mercy which are: Feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, forgiving wrongs, praying for the living and the dead. To be rich toward God is to reflect God's mercy in tangible, sacrificial ways.

In the Orthodox tradition, the answer is not only about what we give, but how we are transfigured. They say wealth becomes dangerous when it bends the soul inward when we curve in on ourselves. But when wealth is poured out in love through almsgiving, hospitality, or liturgical offering, it becomes a means of communion with God and others. Orthodoxy teaches that we become more fully human by being generous toward God.

And in our Anglican tradition, to be rich toward God is to live not for ourselves alone, but as stewards of his grace, using whatever we’ve been given for the good of the world and the glory of God. Perhaps a great example of this is found in the very walls of our churches.
Look at the plaques that adorn so many gifts here. They often begin with: “Given to the glory of God and in loving memory of...” Our sanctuary preaches generosity.

The man in Jesus’ parable wasn’t a villain. He wasn’t a thief. He was just someone who mistook abundance for permanence. He believed that building more storage was the same as building a full life.

But Jesus calls us back reminding us that the only things that endure are the things rooted in love. In mercy. And In self-giving.

And perhaps, on the day we too are called home, what God will see is not the size of what we saved, but the breadth of what we gave.

Prosperity tests our character. But our character’s true value is revealed in our generosity toward God.

The burial shroud, after all, has no pocket. But the heart that loves, that shares, that trusts in the Giver. That is currency God accepts as the precious treasure.

And here, if I may, is my version of the 90s Mastercard commercial:

Storage unit rental: $100 a month.
 Custom-built closet organizers: $2,400.
 Climate-controlled basement renovation: $18,000.
 Letting go of what no longer serves our soul—and sharing it with another: Priceless.