Today St Paul gives us Abraham as a model of faith:

“He never doubted God’s promise, but was strengthened in faith, giving glory to God.”

And in the Gospel, Jesus warns us about a man who trusted not in God but in his possessions.
The two men stand in opposite directions:
one builds barns on earth,
the other builds trust in heaven.

Abraham had every reason to doubt.
He was old, his wife barren, his future uncertain — yet he believed.
He didn’t see proof, he heard a promise.
And that was enough.

Faith, says St Paul, means trusting not what we see, but Who we believe.
Abraham’s eyes saw wrinkles; his heart saw God’s word.
And because he believed, God counted it to him as righteousness.

That’s the whole Christian story:
we don’t climb to heaven by effort —
we’re lifted there by faith.
Faith is not wishful thinking; it’s confidence in God’s faithfulness.

Then Jesus tells a very different story — about a man who thought he was secure because his barns were full.
His crops came in, his money piled up, and he said,

“Soul, you have plenty laid up for years to come; eat, drink, and be merry.”

But that very night God said,

“Fool! This very night your life will be demanded of you.”

He wasn’t evil — just blind.
He thought life was about storing, not sharing.
He prepared for everything except eternity.

The tragedy wasn’t his wealth — it was his forgetfulness.
He remembered his barns but forgot his soul.

That parable could have been written yesterday.
We live in a world that worships “more” —
more money, more fame, more stuff.
But no matter how much you pile up, you can’t store peace.
You can’t bank forgiveness.
You can’t hoard love.

Jesus doesn’t condemn possessions — He condemns possessiveness.
The problem isn’t having things; it’s when things start having us.

The rich man looked around his barns and said, “I’m set.”
Abraham looked up to heaven and said, “I’m in Your hands.”
That’s the difference between a fool and a saint.

Faith changes how we hold everything —
our money, our plans, our time, our very lives.
The person of faith learns to say,
“Lord, all I have is Yours. What do You want me to do with it?”

That’s freedom.
The rich fool could not let go —
and so his riches became his prison.
Faith opens the hands and says, “Take, Lord, receive.”

That’s why Paul insists that Abraham’s story isn’t just ancient history:

“It was written for us too, who believe in Him who raised Jesus from the dead.”

Faith is not nostalgia; it’s resurrection trust.
We believe in a God who brings life out of death, hope out of emptiness, and meaning out of mess.

Each of us is building some kind of barn.
For some it’s money or reputation.
For others, resentment or fear.
Jesus asks us: what are you storing?
Is it things that perish — or grace that endures?

Faith stores grace.
Prayer stores peace.
Mercy stores treasure in heaven.

When you forgive someone, you’re investing in eternity.
When you give to someone in need, you’re making a deposit in heaven’s account.
When you come to Mass, you’re feeding on what money can’t buy — Christ Himself.

Jesus ends the parable with the line that hits hardest:

“So it is with the man who stores up treasure for himself and is not rich in what matters to God.”

That’s the heart of the Gospel.
He doesn’t say, Don’t be rich.
He says, Be rich in what matters to God.

What matters to God?
Faith, mercy, generosity, love.
The things you can’t measure, but that last forever.

Abraham shows us faith that gives glory to God.
The rich man shows us faith that dies with the lights on and the soul empty.
The choice is ours every day: barns or belief, greed or grace.

When you come to this altar today,
remember: this is the one treasure that never runs out.
You can’t buy it, you can only receive it —
and it fills what no bank account ever could.