18th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025

 What will you leave behind? Read more in this week’s homily!

This past week, the world lost four well-known figures:

Malcolm-Jamal Warner, Ozzy Osbourne, Hulk Hogan, and Chuck Mangione. 

Each of them left a mark on the culture — through television, music, sports, and performance. 

For many of us, they were part of the soundtrack or scenery of our lives. 

And when the news broke, social media lit up with tributes and memories, as people recalled what these celebrities had meant to them.

It’s a familiar ritual: someone famous dies, and suddenly we start remembering. 

We replay their greatest hits, quote their most iconic lines, and reflect on the impact they had. 

That’s not a bad thing. 

In fact, it reveals something deeply human: we all long for our lives to matter. Whether we’re famous or not, we hope we leave something behind that lasts.

But it also reminds us of something we too easily forget: celebrities are human. 

They age, they suffer, they die — just like the rest of us. 

Fame doesn’t shield anyone from mortality. Neither does wealth, power, or success. 

The spotlight always fades. The applause always stops. In the end, every one of us stands before God not as a public figure, but as a soul.

That’s the very truth Jesus is teaching in today’s Gospel. 

The rich man in the parable had it made — his land produced a bountiful harvest. He had more than enough. 

So he made plans to build bigger barns, store up his goods, and live a life of ease. 

“Eat, drink, be merry,” he said. 

But that very night, his life was demanded of him. And all his carefully laid plans? All his wealth? All gone. Just like that.

“Thus will it be,” Jesus says, “for all who store up treasure for themselves but are not rich in what matters to God.”

That line — rich in what matters to God — is the key. 

It’s the invitation, the turning point, the deeper question. What are we storing up in this life? Are we investing in things that last only a little while? 

Or are we storing up treasure that lasts forever?

We may not have barns full of grain, or millions in the bank. We may never trend on social media or receive public tributes. 

But that’s not the kind of wealth Jesus cares about. That’s not the kind of legacy God remembers. What matters to God is love — real, generous, self-giving love.

So what should we be storing up?

Store up love. The kind that’s lived out in ordinary, unglamorous ways. The meals cooked, the rides given, the forgiveness offered, the kind word spoken when it wasn’t deserved. These are treasures that do not fade.

Store up mercy. Have we been compassionate? Have we tried to understand others instead of judging them? Have we let go of grudges, or sought reconciliation?

Store up faith. A heart that seeks God in prayer, a soul that trusts even when things are hard — these are invisible treasures that shine brilliantly in heaven.

Store up service. When we help someone in need, when we visit the sick or write a card to someone who’s grieving, when we volunteer without recognition — those things matter more than any accolade the world could give.

Store up hope. In a world that often feels dark, do we speak light? Do we encourage one another? Do we hold fast to the promises of Christ?

These are the riches that cannot be taken from us. These are the treasures that follow us into eternity. 

When our moment comes — as it came for those celebrities this past week — what will be said of us? 

Not how successful we were, not how many trophies we had, not how full our barns were, but how well we loved, how faithfully we served, how deeply we trusted.

God won’t ask for a résumé. He’ll ask for our heart.

So let’s ask ourselves: are we rich in what matters to God? If not, now is the time. Now is the day. Let’s store up the kind of treasure that lasts.

Because in the end, that’s the only kind that truly matters.