James McTyre
Trinity Presbyterian Church
August 3, 2025
In my Bible, the title of this scripture is, “The Rich Fool.”
People don’t realize it, but these titles aren’t part of the Bible. The Apostles didn’t write headlines. They didn’t tweet pithy one-liners describing what they’re about to say.
These headers are written by the Bible Editors. And who, you ask, are the Bible Editors? They’re probably nice people. Some of them might be religious. Some might have seminary degrees. I’m betting most of them are English Majors, desperate to find employment after four years of reading Sylvia Plath and attempting to start the Great American Novel with their 22 years of life experience. College graduates, who got Masters’ degrees to make themselves more attractive to employers paying more than public schools. Who are now terrified that their skills are already replaced by ChatGPT and they’ll soon be back, living at home, and working at Starbucks. Who lucked into a job with Zondervan or some other Bible-publishing, Bible-marketing, and Bible-selling corporation. Who, perhaps, are reading the paragraphs of divinely inspired gospel for the first time and wondering who this Jesus guy is.
So, after hours of staring at a blank Microsoft Office screen, finally come up with their one-line masterpiece, which they have test-group workshopped with their partner they’re definitely going to be spending the rest of their life with, their volunteer writing coach, and their cat.
And now, here it is in final, edited form: “The Rich Fool.”
It’s very good. It’s good enough to assist readers, guide believers, inform skeptics, and impress their mothers. Best of all, it will justify their meager publishing house paycheck, pay part of the rent, buy a few beers, in cans, groceries at Trader Joe’s, and provide them half a month more of what we have come to know as a (quote) lifestyle.
The editor whose headline will soon stick like super glue in the minds of a statistically significant sales demographic of Bible-buying readers, scanners, Facebook posters, holds an index finger above the touchpad, takes a breath, and clicks, “Send.”
A day’s work is done. The Slack status is set to “away.” The laptop top of the company-provided computer is shut with pleased sigh.
The tennis shoes are laced, the afternoon run begins, and the world will know the man from Luke 12:16-21 as, “The Rich Fool” for the shelf-life of this edition of this translation of this version of this English-language Bible.
All of this is to say that when you read your Bible, don’t take the headlines as the word of God.
It’s highly likely that these tweetable one-liners are more often written by poor fools than rich ones. People like you and me who just want to get to the next paycheck with health coverage, a little disposable income, and a barn big enough to start a 401(k).
The difference between a rich fool and a poor one is a matter of perspective.
In either case, word of emphasis is “fool.”
The difference between a fool and a wise person isn’t what’s in their wallet, their bank account, or their crypto vault. The fool-meter rises or falls based on the self-awareness in our minds, in our hearts, in our souls, or whatever internal wallet we carry – most often physically located in – where else? Our back pockets.
Our money, our phones, our personal weight rests not where our mouths are, but down and around at the other end.
The Fool is not the rich man in the Bible building barns for his wealth. The Fool is anyone who thinks wealth or its lack determines the value of our souls.
“But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you.”
Night or day, rich or poor, foolish or wise – what's in our wallet isn’t enough to pay life’s rent.
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I was coming out the door of Taco Bell one lunchtime, having enjoyed the richness of a Supreme Gordita, when a man stood waiting for me on the other side of the door.
I thought he wanted to come inside, so I held the door for him.
He started muttering at me.
“Uh, oh,” I thought. I recognized him as one of the street people who I’ve seen walking up and down.
Beard. Wild hair. Pants in various levels of zipped.
I walked on, and figured he’d go on inside, which is what he looked like he was going to do.
On the way to my car, and above all the sounds of the street, I could hear muttering, following me. Real close.
I turned around and there he was, about two steps behind, muttering about how I was coming out of Taco Bell and wouldn’t stop, and he needed a dollar and a quarter.
I stopped carrying cash back in the 1900’s.
So I was being honest when I told him,
“I’m sorry, I don’t have it.”
“Well how about just a quarter, then?” he said.
He was lowering his price, fast.
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” I said to him.
And I got in my car and drove off, the weight of a Supreme Gordita weighing heavy on my stomach as I watched him in my rear view mirror going into Taco Bell, seeking out his next prey.
I hope you don’t think less of me now. I think less of me, because of deeply engrained religious guilt.
Ministers are supposed to know what to do in these situations.
We’re supposed to do the right thing.
I’ve been told that the right thing to do is to say no to handing out money, but to offer to buy a meal for the person.
I could have done that. But I had drank a lot of Baja Blast and needed to be on my way.
What would Jesus have done?
I couldn’t escape the feeling that whatever Jesus would do, I hadn’t done it.
Was it that I didn’t want to spend the money? Was it that I didn’t want to spend the time? Was it lack of concern? Was it selfishness?
Or is handing out money to street people just a bad idea?
Maybe all of the above.
I went back to my office, sat down, and read this week’s lectionary passage.
The one where the rich guy is told:
“You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?”
“Whose value meal will that be after you’re gone?”
Sometimes God has a really nasty way of making a point.
The dilemma of what to do with your money – how to earn it, how to use it, and how to give it away – was as much a part of life in Jesus’ time as it is in ours.
Jesus talked an incredible amount about money, but it’s funny, we don’t read those passages in church very often, except at Stewardship season.
I think the point God might have been trying to make in my life – not at the pearly gate of heaven but at the door of the Taco Bell is the same point Jesus is making in today’s passage.
It’s always Stewardship season.
Every day, we’re faced with the decision:
Am I a rich fool? Or a poor one?
Am I as wise as I think I am? Or am I a fool?
Are the people nearest me rich? Or poor? Or wise? Or fools?
Every day, when our lives are demanded of us, how will we answer the demand?
What’s in YOUR wallet?
And how does it matter?
Does it matter?
Sam Jackson – and maybe Jennifer Garner -- is waiting for our answer.
--
Between me and the man at what we shall euphemistically and generously call, “the restaurant,"
Between him and me, I know which one the people Jesus hung out with most resembled.
And I would imagine the audience would have gotten a good chuckle out the rich fool’s plight.
They might have said something like, “Hey, Elon. Who’s the smart one now?”
“What’s in YOUR wallet, rich boy?”
I think Jesus’s parable would have been comforting.
To them.
To those of us who do have things in our wallet, the story stings a little. Or a lot.
The question isn’t whether we’re rich or whether we’re poor.
The question is whether we’re wise... or fools.
Today and every day, our lives are demanded of us.
Today and every day, our assets are demanded of us.
Are they indexed to the market?
Or are they measured by the generosity, the wisdom, the love, of Jesus?
What does it mean for us to be “rich toward God?”
Today.
Neither Sam nor Jen is asking.
Your conscience is asking.
Your soul is asking.
Your God is asking.
What’s in your heart?
And where is it located?
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