A Homily for the Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sunday, August 3, 2025
Ecclesiastes 1:2; 2:21-23; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14 and 17; Colossians 3:1-5, 9-11; Luke 12:13-21
Audio Recording
In our first reading today from Ecclesiastes, Qoheleth declares with striking bluntness: “Vanity of vanities! All things are vanity!”
He’s not saying that life itself is meaningless, but rather that when life is lived only “under the sun” — with no reference to God — everything we chase after eventually slips through our fingers. We work, we plan, we store, we save, we stress… and yet, as he says, the fruit of all our labor will one day pass to someone else.
He describes the person who works hard, plans carefully, and builds a life… but is constantly burdened with “toil and anxiety of heart.” Even at night, his mind cannot rest.
Doesn’t that sound familiar? We’ve all had those nights where our heads hit the pillow, but our thoughts keep racing. We rehearse conversations, imagine worst-case scenarios, or keep crunching numbers in our heads. And in the end, nothing changes — except we’re more tired the next day.
This is not a new problem. Human beings have been losing sleep over their worries for thousands of years. And if you think about it, worrying is one of the most unproductive activities we can engage in. It takes a toll on our bodies, clouds our judgment, and robs us of joy — but it never actually changes the outcome of events.
Jesus Himself asks in Matthew’s Gospel: “Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life?” The answer is obvious — no. In fact, medical science tells us the opposite: worry can shorten our lives. And spiritually, worry is a thief. It steals our peace and our trust in God.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus warns against greed, but His parable also speaks to the illusion of security we so often chase. The rich man had a bumper crop. He could have used it to bless others, but instead he thought only of himself: “I will tear down my barns and build larger ones.” His dream was to reach a point where he could finally “rest, eat, drink, and be merry.”
Notice — his goal wasn’t evil in itself. Rest and joy are good things. But his mistake was thinking they could be achieved by stockpiling enough “stuff.” He believed his future was guaranteed because of his possessions. Yet that very night, God said to him, “You fool! This night your life will be demanded of you.”
What a sobering truth. The man’s barns were full, but his soul was empty.
This is where our second reading from Colossians speaks directly to us: “If you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated… Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.” That doesn’t mean we stop caring about daily responsibilities — it means we hold them lightly, knowing they are temporary. Our permanent home is heaven, and that’s where our eyes must be fixed.
Psalm 90 says, “Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain wisdom of heart.” When we remember that life is short, we stop wasting energy on fruitless worry. We stop clutching at things we cannot keep.
Here’s an image that might help. Worrying is like carrying a heavy backpack full of rocks. Each time we think about the “what ifs” — What if the test comes back bad? What if I can’t pay this bill? What if I lose my job or my source of income? What if I lose my spouse? — we add another rock. Eventually, the weight slows us down, steals our strength, and makes our journey miserable.
Now imagine bringing that backpack to the foot of the Cross and saying, “Here, Jesus, this is Yours. I can’t carry it anymore.” That’s what prayer does. It doesn’t magically make the problem vanish, but it transfers the burden to the One who can carry it.
But here’s the part we so often get wrong: We give our problems to Jesus, leave them there for a day or two… then we quietly pick them back up. We take them back from God, as if we can somehow solve them better or faster than he can. When we don’t trust that he’s got it — he’s working it out for us — the weight returns.
This is why trust in God is so essential. Trust means not only giving our burdens to Him, but refusing to take them back. It means believing that He is working even when we can’t see it.
Saint Padre Pio put it simply: “Pray, hope, and don’t worry. Worry is useless. God is merciful and will hear your prayer.” Those words are not naïve optimism — they are the wisdom of a man who lived through war, sickness, and opposition, yet kept his heart anchored in Christ.
Now, I’m not saying this is easy. Anxiety is part of our human condition, and sometimes it feels automatic. But we can train our hearts to respond differently. Here are a few practical steps:
1. Name your worry in prayer. Don’t just say, “Lord, I’m stressed.” Tell Him exactly what is weighing on you.
2. Offer it consciously. Imagine placing it in God’s hands, or setting it at the foot of the Cross.
3. Redirect your thoughts. When you catch yourself picking the burden back up, say a short prayer like, “Jesus, I trust in You,” and let it go again.
4. Focus on eternity. Ask yourself, “Will this matter in a year, in ten years? Will it matter in eternity?” If not, don’t give it power over your peace today.
Imagine for a moment: if tonight the Lord called us home, would the things that kept us awake last night matter at all? Or would the only thing that mattered be whether we had been “rich in what matters to God” — faith, love, generosity, and forgiveness?
That’s why Jesus tells us to store up treasure in heaven. Treasure in heaven can never be taken from us. It’s built by the love we give, the prayers we offer, the service we do for others, the trust we place in God when life is uncertain.
So, the next time anxiety starts to creep in — and it will — remember this: worry steals, heaven gives. Worry empties the heart; heaven fills it. Worry keeps our eyes on problems; heaven lifts our eyes to Christ.
Let’s make a choice this week to put down our heavy backpack, leave it with Jesus, and not take it back. Let’s live lightly, trust deeply, and keep our eyes fixed on our eternal home.
Because when our hearts are anchored in heaven, nothing in this world — not even the storms of life — can take away our peace.
God bless you.