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We live in a culture obsessed with gaining wealth and accumulating possessions. We even measure success by the cars in the driveway, the size of the house, and the digits in our bank accounts. But what if those things weren't proof of success but evidence of something far more sobering?

Welcome to the Daily. Our text today is James 5:1-3.

Come now, you rich, weep and howl for the miseries that are coming upon you. Your riches have rotted and your garments are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have corroded, and their corrosion will be evidence against you and will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure in the last days. — James 5:1-3

When I was about twenty-five, I stopped at a friend's home in Napa, California. He was a caretaker at a vineyard on a large estate. Hidden in the middle of the property was a large barn owned by a wealthy vineyard owner. This massive storage barn was filled with old cars, like Jaguars, Mercedes, and Rolls-Royces —vehicles the owner had purchased in the forties and fifties. These cars had once been a collector's dream: sleek designs, polished chrome, and leather interiors. But as we opened the barn doors, the sight inside was shocking. The cars that were stacked up in this barn were covered in thick layers of dust, their once-shiny metal frames corroding with rust. Mice had moved in, chewing through the upholstery and nesting in the seats. The air smelled of rot, decay, and oil, a reminder that all treasures eventually rot.

Every time I read this text, I think of that old barn on that estate. James paints a grim picture of riches rotting, fine clothes consumed by moths, and once-prized metals corroding into useless decay. The image is powerful: everything we treasure here on earth will fall apart, rot, and decay. Even worse, it becomes a stack of evidence used against us when hoarded and misused.

But the issue isn't having possessions; it's when possessions have us.

Too many people in this life are possessed by possessions. They spend money on things that don't matter. For example, did you know someone recently purchased a Stegosaurus Skeleton named "Apex?" It sold for a record-breaking $44.6 million. Crazy right? And another person recently purchased two typewritten pages of drafted lyrics, that were discarded by Bob Dylan, from his song "Mr. Tambourine Man." They paid over $500,000 for unsung lyrics.

Seriously! Some idiots bought bones and unsung lyrics? Who cares!

The sad truth is now those things own them, and that's the heart of the issue: the things we think we own often end up owning us. We pour our energy, time, and identity into treasures that fade, thinking they'll give us significance or security. But as James reminds us, these earthly riches don't just rot—they testify against us, revealing misplaced priorities and squandered opportunities to invest in what truly matters.

But the warning James gives here isn't just about the danger of wealth—it's about the urgency of preparing for eternity. We all have barns, full of things we've chased, stored, and idolized, hoping they'll give us meaning. But barns don't last, and neither do the treasures we store in them. What does last is our soul, and the choice we make about who or what we serve in this life.

Jesus offers a different kind of treasure, one that doesn't rot or rust. He said, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth... but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven" (

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