The Lure of Wealth
Sermon by the Rev. Hannah Wilder preached on July 12, 2026 at St. Paul’s, Year A, Proper 10.
Jesus tells a strange story today.
A farmer goes out to sow seed. He doesn’t measure it out carefully. He doesn’t test the soil first. He doesn’t maximize his return on investment. He just throws seed everywhere—on the path, into the rocks, among the thorns, and on the good soil.
By every agricultural standard, this is a terrible business plan.
But maybe that’s the point.
The kingdom of God has never operated according to the logic of efficiency.
I love this image because it reminds me that our job is not to decide who is worthy of an invitation. Our job is simply to keep scattering seeds.
Sometimes I catch myself deciding for other people. “Oh, they’re too busy. I shouldn’t ask them to help.” “They probably wouldn’t be interested.” “They’re new.” “They’ve got enough going on.”
But who am I to make those decisions?
I don’t know the condition of another person’s heart. I barely understand my own. I don’t know whether someone is in a rocky season or a thorny season or whether today might be the very day the soil has become ready for something new.
The irresponsible thing is not scattering seed too generously. The irresponsible thing is withholding it.
But today, what really caught my attention wasn’t the sower. It was the thorns.
Jesus says, “The cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word.”
The lure of wealth.
That phrase stopped me in my tracks.
Jesus talks about money more than almost any other subject, but I had never noticed this particular warning tucked into the Parable of the Sower.
The Greek word translated “lure” carries the sense of deception. It’s not simply that wealth is attractive. It’s that wealth makes promises it cannot keep.
Think about a fishing lure. It looks like food. It promises life. But it delivers a hook.
That’s what Jesus says wealth does. Not money itself—but the belief that if we just had a little more, then we’d finally be safe. Then we’d finally relax. Then we’d finally be enough.
The deception is that wealth promises abundance while quietly leading us away from the very place abundance is found. And Jesus says that deception chokes the Word.
Interestingly, the word translated “choke” isn’t just about strangling. It literally means to press in from every side.
Don’t we know that feeling?
Pressed in. Crowded. Overwhelmed.
Always one more thing to do. One more payment. One more upgrade. One more promotion. One more achievement. One more reason to believe that life will finally begin once we’ve secured enough.
The pressure presses in until we have no room left to breathe.
And here’s what strikes me. Jesus places “the cares of this age” right alongside “the lure of wealth.” I don’t think those are two separate things.
Much of the anxiety we carry comes from living inside an economy that constantly whispers that our value depends on our productivity, our possessions, and our financial security. The hustle becomes our spirituality. Our calendars become our liturgy. Our bank accounts become our hope. And before we know it, we’ve been crowded out of the very life God is trying to give us.
The irony is heartbreaking. We chase wealth because we want security. But often the wealthier people become, the smaller their world becomes. They trust fewer people, need fewer neighbors, and live increasingly isolated lives. The promise was abundance. The result is constriction.
That’s the chokehold Jesus is describing.
And then Isaiah speaks into that constriction with a completely different vision.
God’s word is like rain. Rain doesn’t negotiate with the ground. It simply falls. It waters. It gives life. It accomplishes its purpose. The trees clap their hands. The hills burst into song.
This is not a picture of scarcity. This is abundance overflowing.
The kingdom of God has always operated on abundance, not accumulation. Enough for everyone. Grace without calculation. Invitation without prerequisites. Seed scattered everywhere.
This weekend, St. Paul’s begins an external financial audit. I’m genuinely grateful for that. Audits aren’t about shame. They’re about truth. They’re about asking honest questions so we can become more faithful stewards of what has been entrusted to us.
Churches need that. Individuals need that too.
Every once in a while it’s worth asking ourselves: What story is my money telling?
Not because God wants something from us. Because God wants something for us.
Freedom.
Jesus isn’t trying to make us feel guilty for having possessions. He’s trying to free us from being possessed by them. He’s trying to free us from believing the lie that abundance is something we purchase instead of something we practice.
The good news is that none of us is permanently one kind of soil. Sometimes we’re hard. Sometimes we’re shallow. Sometimes we’re crowded with thorns. Sometimes we’re ready.
The condition of our hearts changes. God keeps working the soil. God keeps watering. God keeps sowing. And God never seems to run out of seed.
So, St. Paul’s, scatter generously. Trust extravagantly. And whenever you hear that familiar whisper—”If I just had a little more…”—remember that it’s only a lure.
The kingdom of heaven isn’t waiting for you on the other side of enough money. The kingdom of heaven is already here, growing quietly, breaking through the soil, bearing fruit thirtyfold, sixtyfold, a hundredfold—not because we accumulated enough, but because, at last, we trusted that God already is enough.