Reflection: October 10, 2026
The gospel chosen for Thanksgiving Sunday seems a bit surprising. Here it is in its entirety.
‘Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (Matt 6:19-21)
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In many ways we live in a blessed time and place. We have treasures on earth. The technologies we take for granted that make life comfortable and entertain us were unimaginable when Jesus lived... refrigerators and stoves, medicines, cars, televisions, planes, cell phones, personal computers... the list can go on. We can even “attend church” via YouTube on Sunday mornings without leaving home.
Here, in southern Ontario, we live in a benign climate...especially these early Fall days... where the Great Lakes moderate the temperatures, the sun shines often, and we rarely see extreme weather events like hurricanes or tornadoes. The province is prosperous.
These gifts extend to our wider church community. In Toronto, we live in one of the largest, best-endowed dioceses in the Anglican communion, with strong leadership at every level. (I have served on several diocesan committees, and I am continually impressed by the wise and Spirit-led qualities of these committees.) This giftedness extends to our own church of St. Aidan’s, where we are blessed by the generosity of many talented and skilled people.
Relatively speaking, we live in a virtual Eden. We recall these blessings and remember them this Thanksgiving Sunday.
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Yet we are mindful of the gospel’s message... Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and thieves break in and steal. We also live in a state of material and social precarity. The impact of tariffs, job losses, the growing number of homeless and destitute people on our streets underline the fragility of our collective wealth.
We may live in the richest city, in the richest province of one of the world’s wealthiest countries, but we still worry about unemployment, the quality of education, crime, congestion, the impact of drug abuse, access to healthcare and the threats of the malignant narcissist who runs the country next door. The same technologies that make life more convenient expose us to fraud. International travel means that pandemics can spread more quickly. Algorithms addict youth to social media and compromise their intellectual and emotional development.
We worry that the “solutions” planned to address our economic vulnerability – more development of tar sands, more pipelines, exploitation of the Ring of Fire minerals – will expose us to more climate damage and further harm our relationships with our First Nations’ relatives, in whose territory many of these projects are planned. Our very riches make us vulnerable.
Within the wider Anglican communion, some national churches have threatened to break away, rejecting the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Most Reverend Sarah Mullally, because she is a woman.
Our sense of riches and blessedness is shaky.
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Jesus addresses this malaise with his elusive instruction,
store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Jesus reminded people of the impermanence of much earthly wealth. He urged them to think of a more enduring kind of treasure. This goal will direct one’s activity.
One may wish for more clarity about what he meant by storing up treasures in heaven. In medieval times and even later, people interpreted this as saying many prayers, giving generously to the church and doing good works. Each of these activities was thought to have an implicit value, and the value was added to a heavenly “bank account” that was somehow opened when one was baptized. It was also individual. Reaching heaven depended on one’s own efforts.
But the premise behind the “bank account” assumed that we could earn our way into heaven and that there was some kind of minimum treasure that had to be achieved before the heavenly gates would open for us. This interpretation missed the point that heaven is a gift, not something we earn. Moreover, it emphasized the individual rather than the salvation of the whole community.
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Jesus articulated building up treasure elsewhere in the gospel. Jesus said, ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’ Matthew 19:21. His instruction was profoundly social in giving to the poor and in following Jesus.
Jesus also said, I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.’ John 13:34-35. Love is a communal act and orientation, mirroring the love of Christ in his self-giving. It is other-directed and reciprocal.
Perhaps the strongest statement about the communal nature of heaven comes from Paul’s letter to the Romans: For as in one body we have many members, and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another. (Rom 12:4-5)
Whatever heaven is like, it will be a festival of mutual affection and care.
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· Do you feel blessed? Do you have a sense of well-being in your personal circumstances? Does this cause you to thank God? (The medieval theologian Meister Eckhart said: “Gratitude is the most basic form of prayer.”)
· What else do you need to feel fulfilled—financial security, health, intellectual growth, deeper spirituality, stronger relationships? Something else?
· What is your idea of heaven? Is it based on relationships with Christ and with others? Will it be a time of reunion with people you have loved but who have died? Will it be a chance to meet saints and great figures of old? Or, is it a more elusive idea?
Happy Thanksgiving,
Deacon Michael