At first glance, this past Sunday’s readings seem to focus on wealth and goods in the context of memento mori. The farmer blessed with a bountiful harvest gathers his grain into his newly-built and expanded barns, convinced he has ensured his long-term security. But his “security,” i.e., his life, does not extend through the coming night. Qoheleth’s famous refrain, “vanity of vanities,” crowns the parable, reminding hearers of the paradox that one man diligently sows while another, putting no labor or effort into it, reaps the benefits.

We can translate this into our own day: The retiree, who lifelong diligently saved, has a solid 401(k) plan and a comfortable monthly social security benefit, who perhaps decided to defer collecting the latter until he reached 70 and would gain a 25% additional windfall suddenly dies, leaving his 401(k) to somebody else and his Social Security to our only nondeductible and non-dissociable relative: Uncle Sam.

I always admired how goods are presented in the late medieval English morality play, “Everyman” (see here). Everyman stands on the brink of death, the edge of the grave, looking for someone to “accompany” him. Among those he invokes are “goods,” which refuse for two reasons. One, goods are just too heavy to stir, never having been lightened by being given away in charity. (Having just completed a house move, the “heavy” is on my mind). Two, goods are something like a mistress: they seduce but they have no fidelity. Their momentary possession is but a vamping until a new victim comes along. (We lost something when our humanities canon ceased requiring educated people to read “Everyman.”)

But while Sunday’s readings at first glance might focus on goods, a Carmelite friar I heard this weekend underscored the other “commodity” at stake in the readings: time.

Fenelon once remarked that the one thing God is not generous with, the one thing he rations, is time. Yet time — in its limited and fixed duration — is what makes (or breaks) unlimited eternity.

The rich farmer reckoned with his wheat, but not with his days, even hours. He counted on those goods serving him for “so many years,” not on his heart giving out “this night.” The Gospel calls him a “fool,” and not simply because it’s a term we’d use in English. In the Bible, “wisdom” and “foolishness” are terms applied to those who know how to live rightly versus those who don’t — and, for Israel, living rightly means above all living in right terms with God.

The question, however, is: which God? Because, as the Psalmist reminds us, “the fool has said in his heart: ‘there is no God’” (Ps 14:1). The truth is, however, that there is also no atheist. Everyman has his ‘god’ — true or false — the supreme principle to which everything else in his life is ordered. That is why our foolish farmer is better described by St. Paul: “whose end is destruction, whose god is their belly, and whose glory is in their shame — who set their mind on earthly things” (Phil 3:19).

The transitory nature of human life is underscored in the other readings. Ecclesiastes describes the lot of the man whose preoccupation with earthly goods so consumes him he has no rest: his “days are sorrow and grief,” his nights restless. (The man might have benefited from reading Charles Peguy’s masterful poem “Sleep,” here).

The Responsorial Psalm also addresses time, in two ways. First, it underscores the contrast between our days and God’s, “for a thousand years in Your sight are as yesterday, now that it is past.” Man, on the other hand, is like the leaves of grass: here in the morning, gone in the evening. Second, and perhaps even more importantly, is the conclusion to be drawn: “if today you hear His voice,” do something! As Paul observes, “now is the acceptable time! Now is the dawn of the day of salvation!” (2 Cor 6:2).

Anglo-American thought tells us to seize the moment because there’s no guarantee opportunity will knock twice. Now is the kairos — the moment of opportunity where God’s grace calls you. Respond not like Augustine did for most of his life: “convert me, Lord — tomorrow!” The Ave Maria speaks of the two moments we are guaranteed: “now and the hour of our death.” And both grow ever closer.

With the asset-driven model of this past Sunday’s Gospel, consider this quote, attributed to time management guru Edwin Bliss: “Yesterday is a cancelled check; tomorrow is a promissory note. Today is ready cash — use it!”