I am not rich.

I tell myself this at least once a day, perhaps once an hour on a good day. I take pride in the fact that I am not rich. A dark, spiritually ominous pride, but pride nevertheless. It is easy for me to tell myself that I am not rich.

It is easy because I compare myself to my friends. Some of my friends are rich. Way rich. They are rich because I have decided that they are rich. They’ve climbed really, really high on the economic ladder, and although they are Christians just like me, they have more stuff and bigger stuff and newer stuff and faster stuff.

That, of course, does not make them rich in my eyes: what makes them rich is that I want that stuff, too, but I can’t afford it.

So, I conclude, they are rich.

Don’t misunderstand me: I am not envious. No, I am far too spiritual for something so base. I remind myself of passages in the Bible like,

“For there are no pains in their death, and their body is fat. They are not in trouble as other men, nor are they plagued like mankind. Therefore pride is their necklace; the garment of violence covers them. Their eye bulges from fatness; the imaginations of their heart run riot.”

. . . which, of course, is from Ps 73, a psalm that reminds us of the ultimate fate of the wicked. Deep down in a place I don’t want to admit even exists, I regard rich Christians as wicked. I don’t dwell on it long because I don’t want to be unkind – even if only in my own mind – to people that I might need some day. Instead, I think of

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

. . . and I tell myself that I will use my considerable riches in heaven (and what has to be a huge, huge dwelling place – Jn 14.2) to be nice to all these foolish friends of mine. I’ll be magnanimous, even in heaven. Then my friends will see how wise I was. Then who’s gonna be looking up the ladder, huh?

This humble attitude also works for me when I go to places like Austin or Houston, where I am routinely accosted by homeless people who want me to give them money for food. I tell myself, “O, beloved lost soul, if I had the money, if I were rich like so many of my friends, I’d give you everything you needed and help you tremendously. But, as God would have it, I am not rich, so please get away from my car and don’t try to make eye contact with me.”

It even works when I see starving people in other parts of the world, and people that don’t have proper shelter or medicine. And when there’s a catastrophe, like a typhoon or earthquake or psychopathic warload, my heart really goes out to them, although my billfold doesn’t go out at all.

But why should it? After all, I don’t have a plasma screen TV, jet ski, or iPod; my SUV is almost 5 years old! two of my three computers (not counting my laptop) are more than two years old! and my mp3 player only holds about 250 songs at a time!

And I do give money away. A lot. Like when some client of mine can’t pay their bill, and they haven’t responded to statements with “PAST DUE” stamped on the envelope (I’m hoping that shame will overwhelm them, now that several postal employees know that they owe me), and they have not been frightened by my letters threatening legal action – even after all of that, if they still don’t pay their bill, then I send them a final statement, write the Greek word for “It is finished!” (teleo – one last shot: maybe they’ll feel really guilty about how godly I am because I know a little Greek), and I FORGIVE THEM. This is my wonderful obedience to Mt 6.12: “And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.”

At least I forgive the financial part of it. But they better never try to make another appointment with me, that’s for sure. I have a good memory for people like them. Of course, I also pray for them. I pray, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Lk 23.34).

I have a verse for almost everything.

I am obviously in no position to be giving money to needy people. It is clear (to me) that I am one of the poor but (probably due to my obedience to God), one who has been entrusted with just enough to keep me from living in the box that my last new appliance came in or from driving the latest four-wheeled model from Kroger.

What I don’t want to think about, of course, is that while I’m looking up the economic ladder at all my rich friends there are a lot of people – like, conservatively, 99% of the world’s population – who are looking up at me and thinking, “If only . . . “

Because if I looked down the ladder, I might be concerned about how far I could fall. Worse, I might stop to consider that maybe James was talking to me when he said, “You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter” (Jas 5.5). It’s not just the fattest turkeys that wind up in a small room at 350 degrees for four hours.

Or I might pause for a moment and consider that – maybe, just maybe – Paul had someone like me in mind when he said,

“Instruct those who are rich in this present world not to be conceited or to fix their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly supplies us with all things to enjoy. Instruct them to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share” (1 Tim 6.17).

No, I don’t do any of that. I don’t ever look down. I don’t ever look down because I am fully committed to obeying Paul’s command to “keep seeking the things above . . . Set your mind on the things above” (Col 3.1-2. OK, so I didn’t include the whole verses, but I DID include the really important part.).

And when I seek the things above, and when I set my mind on the things above, I see my rich friends inhabiting the rungs above me. I see all their stuff. New, big, fast, more stuff than I have.

And that’s what I keep seeking, because that’s the kind of humble, obedient Christian I am.


2 Cor 1:13