I once wrote in If Money Were a Person that I’d still let them in—
but I’d keep one eye on the door.
I’d thank them for what they gave me,
but the moment they tried to define my life, I’d let them go.
That reflection taught me to see my own relationship with money—
how it can be a guest, a tool, a voice that sometimes speaks too loudly.
And then, the spark revealed itself.
It happened during the children’s service.
The teaching was on God’s earthly and heavenly gifts.
The kids were asked to sort different objects into two baskets—earthly treasures and heavenly treasures.
When money came up, most children placed it in the earthly basket.
Then it was suggested it belonged in both—because money can facilitate benevolence.
It was a kind answer that made me curious:
If I’ve spent my life hearing that wealth can be a sign of God’s blessing, why can’t I recall a single moment where Jesus treated it that way?
How the link between wealth and God’s favor grew
This idea didn’t appear out of nowhere.
In ancient Israel, prosperity was sometimes seen as a sign of God’s blessing for covenant faithfulness (Deuteronomy 28)—though always with warnings against idolatry, oppression, and forgetting the Giver.
By the time of Jesus, that covenant lens had merged with a Greco-Roman patron–client culture, where wealth signaled honor and influence. The mix blurred into theology, making riches seem like divine endorsement.
Centuries later, parts of the Protestant Reformation reframed material success as evidence of being among God’s elect.
By the 20th century, the prosperity gospel fused capitalism with Christian language, turning financial gain into a public proof of God’s favor.
Against this long drift toward wealth-as-blessing, Jesus lived—and taught—another way.
How Jesus actually lived
When He spoke of treasure, it was usually to redirect desire: “Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven…” (Matthew 6:20)—not coins or possessions.
When taxes were due, He told Peter to find a coin in the mouth of a fish (Matthew 17:27)—meeting a need without hoarding a purse.
When a poor widow dropped two small coins into the temple treasury, He called it more valuable than all the large offerings given that day—because it was given out of lack, not surplus (Mark 12:41–44).
When a rich young ruler asked how to inherit eternal life, Jesus told him to sell everything and give to the poor—not because poverty was holier, but because wealth was in the way (Mark 10:17–22).
When He entered the temple and saw merchants turning worship into commerce, He overturned the tables—not just to protest greed, but to restore the space to its purpose (John 2:13–16).
And when thousands were hungry, He received a boy’s small offering of loaves and fish, blessed it, and multiplied it to feed everyone (John 6:1–14). He didn’t reject resources—He transformed them when placed in God’s hands.
In every encounter, Jesus treated money and material goods as tools—things to meet a need in the moment—but never as proof of God’s favor.
He measured treasure not by what it could buy, but by what it could free.
The baskets we carry
The next time the choice presents itself to place money between heavenly and earthly, I’d want to share this:
Money can sit in the earthly basket.
Heaven’s treasure is what you do with it once it’s there.
Because whether we mean to or not, our baskets are always visible—to God, to others, and to the ones quietly learning which treasures we value most.
It’s the same reckoning shown in the final scene of Schindler’s List, when Oskar Schindler looks at his possessions and weeps—realizing each watch, each ring, each car could have bought one more life.
The question lingers: When my time comes to look back, will I wish I had kept more, or given more?
So when money comes to your door, may it be a welcomed guest who helps you serve—not a voice that decides what matters.