Today’s Gospel reading from Luke (12:32–40) is part of a powerful stretch of Jesus’ teaching - teaching about the need to get our priorities right. Before the passage we heard, Jesus speaks of a rich man who hoards wealth but dies before he can enjoy it. He urges us not to worry about things, but to lay our fears before him. And just after today’s passage, he warns of the unfaithful servant—someone who wastes the opportunities that God places before them.
Jesus wasn’t just speaking empty words or theoretical ideas. He was preparing his followers for a life of real excitement but also potentially real danger—not just the loss of possessions, but the threat of persecution and death simply for bearing his name. They would need hope. This hope couldn’t be the fragile kind that rests on wealth or comfort, but the unshakable kind that is rooted in something eternal. Someone eternal.
Even though they didn’t yet understand it, Jesus was equipping them for a mission that would demand total trust in him. And while our world today looks very different, our need for hope and trust hasn’t changed at all.
Our reading from the letter to the Hebrews (11:1-3,11-16) begins with this declaration: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” That’s the kind of faith Jesus was calling his disciples to. That’s the kind of faith we’re called to today. A faith that sees beyond the visible. A faith that anchors us in the unseen but very real promises of God.
The Greek philosopher Diogenes once said, “The last thing that dies is a person’s hope.” That was over 2,000 years ago, and it still rings true. Everyone needs something to hope for – and, I would add, someone to hope in. Without that, we may be breathing, but we’re not truly alive.
Jesus knew his followers would face struggles. He knew they’d be tempted at times to give up. So, he spoke words that would anchor them in truth: real hope comes from him. Not from things.
Not from status. Not from safety. From him.
Sophia Loren once wept over a stolen necklace, until her husband Carlo Ponti said, “Don’t cry over something that can’t cry over you.” That’s real wisdom. And Jesus echoes it again and again: don’t stake your life on what can’t love you back. Ask yourself—where do you look for hope?
Because hope isn’t just for the hard times. It’s what gives our lives meaning. Legend tells of two men digging rocks. One said, “I’m just digging, making money, biding my time.” The other said, “I’m helping Christopher Wren build a cathedral.” Same task. Different vision. One had hope—and that made all the difference.
That’s the kind of vision Jesus calls us to. A hope that lifts our eyes to something greater. A hope that offers us the chance to shine like stars in the darkness—not just for our own sake, but for the sake of others.
Hebrews 11 also reminds us of Abraham, who “by faith…obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going.” He lived as a stranger in a foreign land, looking forward to “a city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.” That’s the kind of hope we’re invited into - a hope that doesn’t cling to the temporary, but longs for something eternal.
Jesus also speaks of his return. This is something that we talk about as we say our creeds in church, but perhaps don’t think about too much, but it is real... And Jesus urges us to be ready. Not someday. Not eventually. Now. Because we don’t know when he will come. And readiness means living with hope and faith - trusting that in Jesus, we have a foundation that can never be shaken.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn, imprisoned in the Soviet Union, was on the brink of despair. Starving, sick, and exhausted, he stopped working, ready to die. But then another prisoner - a fellow Christian - drew a cross in the sand. Just for a moment, but that was just long enough. In that fleeting symbol, Solzhenitsyn felt the full force of gospel hope flood his mind and body. Nothing around him changed. But everything within him did.
Life will be dark sometimes. It will be painful. But when we look to Jesus, we find strength. We find courage. We find victory—not just over suffering, but even over death itself.
The early disciples, just like us, had doubts. They had fears. They were confused. And Jesus knew that. But he told them not to worry about wealth. Don’t let possessions come between you and me. I will never leave you was what he was saying.
And though they questioned, they believed and they trusted. And through their faith, the Church was born. And the church has grown, it has endured. And today, here in this place, and in so many other places in this diocese and province and throughout the world, we still carry that same hope—because Jesus’ victory wasn’t just for those in the early church. It was for all of us. And he is still with us, still guiding, still strengthening and of course, still loving.
Those early believers had trust and they had a vision, “They were longing for a better country - a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” That’s our inheritance too. That’s our hope. God has prepared a place for us!
So we are called to live as people of hope. People of confidence. People who trust in someone who can never be taken away. And with that hope, we are called to love like Jesus. We are called to offer others the same message: that no one is beyond the reach of God’s love. And if no one is beyond his love, then no one should be beyond ours.
Dwight Moody once said, “To be a star, you must shine your own light, follow your own path, and don’t worry about the darkness—for that is when stars shine brightest.” Some would say that the world today is at quite a dark stage, but into that darkness, God’s love, through us, can shine through brightly.
So, as we gather today, as we go home later, as we go out tomorrow, as we meet others this week—how is our light shining? How is our church shining?
Jesus calls us to get our priorities right. To trust him above all else. To receive his love. To share it. And to be, always, stars that shine brightly in the world. That’s our invitation… Amen.
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