In our Gospel Jesus couldn’t be clearer about one characteristic of human nature. That what we treasure shapes our lives. Last Sunday we heard about the rich man whose treasure – his wealth – was so great that it couldn’t be contained. He had to build new barns to house it all. This week Jesus continues this teaching with further reflection on treasure and what it means. Jesus could hardly speak more plainly: ‘where your treasure is, there your heart will be also’.

We seem to live in a culture that is fascinated by this kind of treasure. The TV schedules are full of programmes about what motivates people and their ambition to find the Holy Grail of whatever it is that motivates them. The perfect food; or house; or journey.  The question Jesus is asking us in today’s Gospel is about our desire. About what we value and set our hearts upon.

The poet RS Thomas captures this experience in his poem ‘The Bright Field’. According to Thomas what matters in our life’s journey is to be alert and ready for that moment when we encounter our true treasure. And we can only do that if we stop worrying about the past and give up our fantasies about the perfect future. What matters is ‘now’; and being ready to see the everyday miracles that God brings into our lives. Of course, for Jesus, this treasure is about more than the ambition to possess a ‘thing’, however perfect. Because all things ‘wear out’. Nothing we can possess or attain in this life lasts forever. Jesus wants us to seek what won’t wear out, or rust, or decay.

There’s a story told about a very wealthy man who dies and goes to heaven. When he arrives St Peter greets him and asks an angel to take the man to his heavenly dwelling. As they set out they pass many palatial homes, but the angel says that his home is further on.

The wealthy man thinks that his home must be even more magnificent than these houses, because on earth he was a very important person. However, as they go on the houses become less magnificent. He begins to get worried. From handsome large dwellings they move into an area with shacks and very basic accommodation. The angel then points to one of these and says: ‘there – that is your home for eternity’. The man is indignant. He shouts: ‘How on earth can this be right?’. The angel paused before replying, ‘but we aren’t on earth’.

The problem, as the angel went on to say, was that they could only build with the material the rich man had provided. And, in heaven, that material is the substance of our generosity on earth.

Unfortunately, despite his wealth, the rich man had given away very little.

Jesus reminds us that all our treasures on earth eventually wear out.  The things we try to possess rust and decay. Shrouds don’t have pockets. ‘We brought nothing into the world, and we take nothing out’.

Living with the reality of our humanity is the calling we each face, and we have choices. The question Jesus puts with complete clarity asks each of us to consider what constitutes our treasure. What stirs us to move mountains, or spend all our strength and determination?

These are big questions.

In fact, they are dangerous questions.

Writing some years ago Rowan Williams quoted the author Annie Dillard. Dillard compares the church to a cruise ship, but one where everyone is having a nice time and not worried too much about where the boat is heading. On this ship she finds that Christians are not ‘sufficiently aware of the conditions’.

And goes on to write:

Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we blindly invoke? … The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, gently stirring elements they don’t fully understand.

It is madness to wear straw hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may awake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us to where we can never return.

‘Where is your treasure?’ is not a small question.

Being alert and ready is not a small calling.

We do not worship a small God.

Amen.