Once upon a time, there was a rich man. One year, his land produced a bountiful harvest. The yield was so abundant that he ran out of storage space.
Facing his tremendous success, he concluded: “I shall tear down my barns and build larger ones. There I shall store all my grain and other goods.”
He went on to tell himself: “Now as for you, you have so many good things stored up for many years, rest, eat, drink and be merry!”
But God then said to him, “You fool, this night your life will be demanded of you; and the things you have prepared, to whom will they belong?”(1)
Each of us has a barn.
Every day we work hard to build it up. We store material resources: food, shelter, money, and other tangible things. We also accumulate psychological accolades: fulfillment, recognition, a sense of progress in life. More is better than less, we assume. Ultimately, we hope this barn brings us happiness.
As we age, it’s worthwhile to pause and ask: is this barn serving me, or am I serving the barn? Have we, along the way of life, turned the barn-building into an end itself in an attempt to fill the insatiable desire for happiness?
The danger is that our eyes become fully fixated on the barn itself, rather than living. Attachment to things—the desire to hold onto something forever — is guaranteed to bring dissatisfaction and suffering. Everything we gain merely becomes another source of loss. We then attempt to pacify this anxiety with even more, which leads to a vicious cycle: The more we have, the more we lose.
Perhaps this is why Jesus said, “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed. For one’s life does not consist of possession.” Underneath greed is insecurity, a sense that we are not good enough as we are. When we identify our worth through stuff, or the ephemeral pleasure that stuff brings us, it’s a slippery slope to emptiness, especially given our short life.
We come into the world empty-handed, and we will be the same when we depart.
How else can we view our relationship with the barn? One other option is view ourselves as a tenant, and the barn as a toolbox for peace and tranquility.
A new car, a bigger house, more money in the bank—none of these is necessarily a problem. In fact, they can be wonderful. Resources are important for our well-being. Having a barn can free us from emotional disturbances, so we don’t have to constantly worry about where the next meal comes from or whether we can afford the place we live.
When we are healthy and free of emotional burden, we can be physically and emotionally more available to others: our family, friends, and neighbors in need. We can have the mental space to be creative and do our best work with the gifts we have. We can thrive and feel alive by fulfilling our potential in service of others.
The key is to be detached from the barn. Enjoy it while you have access to it, and be okay even when that access goes away. Strive for equanimity — or what the Greek calls apatheia—so you have freedom from the disturbance of worldly things.
Notes:
(1) Story comes from Luke 6:12-20