Tom was a dutiful businessman who worked tirelessly. He had nothing growing up but through shrewd decisions and early investing, he had amassed a bit of a fortune. He was by no means unselfish; he faithfully gave to different causes, and even committed to giving well over 10% of his yearly earnings to his church, where he served on various committees and helped with events and in worship.
One day, an angel appears to him with a battered leather case and says, “You can bring this case to heaven with whatever you want inside.” He thinks for a while and realizes all the good he does is because of his wealth, so he fills the case with gold bars. When he finally dies years later, he arrives at the pearly gate, and the leather case is with him. St. Peter greets him then peers inside. He chuckles: “You brought paving stones?”
We scramble to secure our future with money, but in God’s kingdom, all the wealth we cling to turns out to be nothing more than paving stones. The very thing we treasure here is so insignificant in heaven that we walk on it. Gold, elevated here as glorious, becomes nothing more than street material there—practical, trampled, and, if we are honest, often dirty, cracked, and full of potholes like the ones in Fitchburg. What if we acted with the same urgency and shrewdness about eternal things as we do about money? What if we lived with the fierce urgency of now when it comes to God’s kingdom?
This parable isn’t exactly a preacher’s dream. Jesus tells a story about a dishonest manager who cooks the books, and at the end the master praises him. We want Jesus to scold him, to point out the lies, to call him out. But that’s not the move Jesus makes.
The point isn’t that dishonesty is good. The point is that this man saw the crisis coming, and he did something about it. He had the nerve to act. And Jesus says, imagine if the children of light had that same kind of urgency. Imagine if we saw the stakes of the kingdom with eyes as sharp as this man saw the stakes of his job. Imagine if we embraced the fierce urgency of now instead of waiting for some later, safer moment.
In the first century, a steward like this often padded the accounts he managed, adding hidden commissions. When he slashed those bills, he may not have been cheating his master at all—he may have been erasing his own cut. It was survival, yes, but also clever. The book of Proverbs has a line: “The clever see danger and hide; the simple go on and suffer for it.” The Bible doesn’t despise shrewdness—it prizes it, even when it comes from unexpected places.
And if you listen to the prophets, you hear the economic backdrop. Amos thundered against those who fixed the scales and rigged the market to trample the poor. That was the world of Jesus’ story—a world where money and power often meant injustice. Yet Jesus takes this corrupt picture and flips it: Look at how urgent people can be about saving themselves. Now imagine being that urgent about God’s kingdom.
It’s not hard to see ourselves in this story. We scramble, too. We maneuver, scheme, and worry to secure a future.
Older adults check their retirement accounts every morning, wondering if the nest egg will last. Medical bills pile up. The fear of being a burden keeps them awake.
Middle-aged parents juggle the mortgage and the kids’ tuition at the same time. They save what they can, but it never feels like enough—especially when they’re also caring for aging parents.
Young adults take on side hustles, patching together work to make rent, staring at loan balances that feel like they’ll never end.
Teenagers lie awake wondering if they’ll measure up. They scroll through feeds, chasing an image, terrified of being left out, of losing face before they’ve even had the chance to begin.
Every generation has its own anxieties, but it’s the same story. “What has been will be again,” the teacher in Ecclesiastes declares. “What has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” We’re scrambling, maneuvering, trying to secure what can’t really last. That’s a reality that stretches back to our paleolithic origins. And here’s where Jesus pulls the lens back again. He takes that scrambling we know so well, and he turns it upside down.
The steward scrambled to survive. Jesus says: What if you scrambled for the kingdom?
If you can track the stock market with such care, imagine if you tracked your neighbor’s well-being with the same precision.
If you wouldn’t dare miss a monthly bill, imagine treating reconciliation with the same urgency—picking up the phone to forgive a sibling, not waiting until it’s too late.
If you can rearrange your life to get your child on the right team, imagine rearranging your life to make sure the food pantry never runs dry.
If you can’t sleep at night over a market dip, imagine losing sleep because someone else is hungry or grieving.
Jesus is challenging us to see urgency differently. To take the same energy we spend on self-preservation and spend it on mercy, justice, and love. To treat mercy and forgiveness with the fierce urgency of now.
That’s what discipleship looks like. Not hoarding. Not scrambling for scraps that vanish. But living as if the reign of God is real—today.
We’re disciples called by love, fed by Word and Sacrament, and sent into the world. Every relationship is an opening for reconciliation. Every dollar in our wallet is a chance for generosity. Every day we live is another chance to embody Christ’s love.
That’s what shrewdness for the kingdom looks like. Not clever manipulation, but intentional, urgent faithfulness.
Think back to Tom and his battered leather case. He thought the good he did was because of his wealth. He filled it with gold and carried it to the gate. And Peter looked inside and laughed: “You brought paving stones?”
The truth is this: the good we do isn’t because of our wealth, or our power, or our cleverness. All that is God’s blessing. The good we do is because of God, and our relationship with him through Jesus Christ.
The challenge for us is to live like we know that. To live urgently. To live faithfully. To live as if the kingdom of God is real. Not scrambling for what crumbles, but building with what lasts—love, mercy, justice. To embrace the fierce urgency of now, because tomorrow is not promised and today is already charged with God’s call.
Because in the end, the gold we guard so tightly will pave the streets of heaven. There, it is beneath our feet—walked on, worn, and ordinary.
But the true riches of heaven are not metal or stone.
The true riches are the fullness of the kingdom, lived together with all the children of God, in the presence of Christ forever.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Rev'd Daniel W. Spigelmyer, Jr. 