It is human nature to collect and store. At times we collect out of fear—fear we might run out—fear tomorrow will not provide. Other times, we stockpile for a rainy day, slightly different from hoarding out of a spirit of fear, but, in the end, in a vain attempt to be good stewards, we still bury our wealth. Then there are moments when—thinking ourselves pure-hearted and with the best of intentions—we stockpile so we can help others. Finally, there is the darkest period of all, though we shudder to admit, in which we store our wealth, our commodities, our knowledge, and our so-called wisdom, so we can appear superior to our neighbor.
The void is within us all, and we seek to fill it in any way possible. The motive varies, the stockpile changes shape, but the scurry to seek out store remains the same. So, like busy little squirrels, we scamper around collecting and burying in hopes that whenever the winter falls, we will have what we need to survive, or remain superior, for at least another day.
Capitalism baits us to store up material wealth, while false religion begs us to hold the word of God. All the propaganda of man pleads with us to collect. But what can we truly hold and what in the end is really ours? Moths will eat away at anything we laid claim to, and our wealth will not cross into death with us.
As Christians, we often feel superior to the collections of man. As ludicrous as it sounds, instead of storing up material riches, we are so often solicited to store ‘God’ within our feeble minds. It is the laws of God we scurry around to collect, the scriptures, the rituals, the sacrifice, and the suffering, we bury in vain. Out of a spirit of fear, or preparation, or stewardship, or comparison, we work tirelessly to fill our void with knowledge, often without ever seeking to center ourselves in wisdom. If we do, by some circumstance, stumble upon the Word of God in all its glory, we pile it away as well. But shame on us all— hoarded manna rots.
Habitually, we distribute our collections with unadulterated intentions. Like the Pharisees, we publicly display our wealth of knowledge, openly flaunting our piety—its mere presence setting others in their place. We dig out our rotten manna, no longer fresh and pure, gone stagnant from its separation from God, and we serve it to our neighbors. While the moths have staked their claim to the treasures of this world, maggots writhe in our storehouses.
To attempt to hold the word of God is to attempt to hold running water. Perhaps we could collect it for a moment, bottle it up and use it to nourish ourselves and others, but as time passes the water will grow stale and slimy, bacteria will begin to cultivate and what once cleansed and nourished us will now become a distasteful poison.
What can we truly hold? There is a profound spiritual difference between knowledge—in which we seek to judge our brothers in a spirit of comparison, and wisdom—in which we stand in love and unity with the Creator. While knowledge inspires collections, wisdom never shifts its gaze from Christ. With our eyes fixed on Christ, we can find ourselves full, capable of distributing gifts, we have enough for a rainy day, and never have to submit to the shame and humiliation of comparison.
How are we full if we cannot store water? We stand rooted in the river of love and let the running water fill us to the brim. It fills us to the top and overflows into the vessels of our brothers. We don’t clasp our fingers tightly around the water; instead, we open our palms and let the river pass through. We take in cleansing power with every breath, as we are connected to the source. We never thirst, yet our water never grows stagnant or moldy, never turns distasteful, and never becomes toxic. It is a love we allow to fill us then pass simultaneously and continuously through us.
This treasure of heaven is ours to share. It is infinite, so there is no need to hoard it greedily. We may rest because there is not a moth, a maggot, or a power in hell strong enough to subdue the river.
