Jesus frequently taught using parables—his preferred method—not by laying down rules and regulations, but by inviting us to ponder. No commandments here, just stories with hidden depth. As if to say: "Here, reflect on this. Consider your own life. What do you see?" These parables often draw on ordinary, earthy moments: a shepherd searching for a lost sheep, a woman sweeping for a lost coin, a merchant seeking fine pearls, a farmer sowing seed.

Today’s Gospel parable is unique. It is one of the few in which God appears as a character and even speaks. That alone should make us pause. God is speaking—so we must listen carefully.

Act One:

A man comes to Jesus with a legal concern. "Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me." Did he think Jesus was a lawyer? A judge? Or perhaps just one of the rabbis well-versed in the Law? Maybe he hoped for a wise ruling. But Jesus sidesteps the request, as if to say, "There are courts for that." Still, he seizes the moment to teach. A parable follows, giving us a chance to reflect on our values, our priorities, and how we perceive life.

"There was a rich man whose land produced a bountiful harvest…"

Act Two:

The story begins well enough. Who wouldn’t want to be in the rich man’s shoes? Security, abundance, prosperity. Picture his ample table, laden with food, surrounded by important guests. Picture his vast estate. His biggest problem? Where to store all his grain. Who wouldn’t want such a problem? It’s like winning the lottery—and now you have to decide how to spend it.

But here comes the turning point: Just when we are lulled into comfort and admiration for this successful man, the parable turns. A verdict is delivered—harsh and sudden. God speaks: "You fool, this very night your life will be demanded of you. And the things you have prepared—to whom will they belong?"

Note: It doesn’t say that God takes his life. Who will? A jealous relative? One of the poor peasants longing for a better future? Riches attract envy—and sometimes worse. Think of Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, who dies and is stripped of everything by those who once served him.

What matters is this: In the midst of comfort and self-congratulation, the man’s life utterly collapses. All is lost.

Why? What caused his downfall?

One striking detail: He speaks only to himself. "What shall I do?" "I will tear down my barns…" "I will say to my soul…" There is no one else in his world. No wife. No family. No mention of neighbors, friends, workers—or God. He is a man wrapped in his own echo chamber. He consults no one but himself.

God calls him a fool.

We are not made to live alone. We are part of a community. Our decisions affect others. As the poet John Donne reminded us, "No one is an island." Were his employees struggling? Could they have shared in his abundance? He doesn’t ask. He is governed by no sense of limit. How much is enough? How much is too much?

He is deluded by his possessions. He calls them "good things." Today, we might say "blessings." "I’m so blessed," we say in comfort. But if we equate possessions with God’s favor, what does that say about the poor—those who lack such "blessings"? What of their place in God’s sight?

Let us remember: this man’s logic earned him God’s rebuke—"You fool."

In the light of this parable, being "rich in what matters to God" means something deeper. It means not making life’s big decisions in isolation. It means discerning what God desires. It means praying—and listening. It means asking, "What next?"—and inviting others into the conversation, especially those whose lives are affected by our choices: spouses, families, colleagues, communities.

So what does it mean to be "rich in what matters to God"?

It means not trusting in things that cannot last.

It means viewing our possessions in light of others’ needs.

It means asking, "How much do I really need?" It means recognizing the real blessings in our lives: our relationships, our capacity for compassion, the gifts of creation that nourish and sustain.

Each of us can make our own inventory:

Who or what do I treasure?

What makes me rich in God’s sight?