There’s a man, a rich man, whose land produces abundantly. He’s not portrayed as wicked. He doesn’t cheat anyone. He doesn’t exploit his workers or seize land from the poor. He simply has a very good year. And in response to his success, he thinks to himself, “What should I do? I have no place to store all this bounty.” And so he reasons, “I will pull down my barns and build larger ones… and then I’ll say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years. Relax. Eat. Drink. Be merry.’”

It’s an internal monologue, you notice. There’s no one else in the story. He speaks to no one but himself. He listens to no one but himself.

And then, unexpectedly, God speaks: “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared—whose will they be?”

It’s a sobering punchline. The man who thought he had mastered time, who believed he could secure his future with storage and surplus, is called a fool—not for being wealthy, but for believing that wealth could guarantee his soul’s peace.

The parable doesn’t say that possessions are evil. That’s not the point. What it warns us about is the danger of believing that what we own is what ultimately matters.

I think often about the first word of the Rule of St. Benedict. It’s a simple word: “Listen.” Before anything else, before action or obedience or prayer—listen. The life of faith begins not in doing, but in hearing.

But the rich man in the parable isn’t listening. He’s talking—to himself. He has no reference beyond his own inner voice. And that, Jesus seems to say, is the deeper poverty.

When we become preoccupied with our possessions—when our material wealth becomes our only security—it becomes harder to hear anything beyond ourselves. We start to believe that we are omni-competent, self-made, self-sufficient. And once we lose the capacity to listen—truly listen—to God, to neighbor, to the needs of the world, then our selfishness begins to run amok.

You can watch the full sermon by following this link.