Treasure
January 17 is the feast day of Antony of Egypt, a fourth century hermit and founder of an early monastic community. Following the death of his parents, Antony and his younger sister inherited a large estate. One day during worship he heard the gospel reading about the rich man who asked Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” (Mark 10:21) For the rich man, this exhortation feels impossible. Mark tells us he “went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” (Mark 10:22)
Antony had the opposite reaction. According to the brief biography in Lesser Feasts and Fasts, the lectionary for the commemoration of saints in The Episcopal Church, Antony gave his land to villagers, sold most of his possessions, and gave the proceeds to the poor. Later, reflecting on Jesus’ teaching not to worry about tomorrow (Matthew 5:34), he sold his remaining possessions, placed his sister in a “house of virgins,” and became a solitary ascetic. [Side note: House of virgins?! I wonder what the sister’s choice would have been if she’d had the freedom to choose.]
Antony is not the only person in the history of the church to take so literally the invitation of Jesus to sell all possessions and give the proceeds to the poor. St. Francis of Assisi comes to mind as another example. Most Christians — which is to say almost all of us — have not and will not live up to this standard. We will not sell all we own, nor do we think, based on our actions, that Jesus actually expects us to do so.
My take on this? Jesus’ primary concern in Mark 10 is not wealth but our relationship with our possessions. Reading about Antony’s life brings to mind my mother, not because she freely gave up her possessions but because she did the opposite. In the last years of her life she did not have much. But what she had, she held onto as if her life depended on it. Her assisted living apartment was cluttered with boxes, bags and overflowing drawers. Every corner and nook had something in it. Every cabinet was full. She didn’t even know what was in most of the boxes.
My intention is not to be critical. My mother didn’t hold onto things to be selfish or to ensure her own financial security. Her possessions had little real monetary value. She held onto things as a way of managing her anxiety and insecurity. Keeping everything — and stopping my attempts to sort through the stuff — was her way of asserting some control in a life that she otherwise experienced as out of her control. Sadly, her attempts to control only left her more anxious. She worried every day about her inability to sort through the clutter that surrounded her, but she had no energy or real desire to do anything about it. In a way, her possessions possessed her more than she possessed them.
We do not need to follow Antony’s example in order to respond faithfully to the invitation Jesus offers the rich man. We might instead ask ourselves some questions. Do my possessions liberate me to live a life of abundance? Or do they bind me to a life of scarcity? Do my possessions inspire and equip me to share generously? Or do they create anxiety which pushes me to hold and hoard for myself?
Most importantly, where is my treasure? Answering this question will tell us if we are ready to say yes to Jesus. As he said, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21)