Midas
Stories
In Other Words ...
12 Short Stories Based On New Testament Parables
Parallel Parable: Luke 12:13-21
The Rich Fool
The spirit of the 1980's had penetrated far deeper into the
life style of Americans than even most economists and
sociologists suspected or diagnosed. It was a spiritual disease.
The terrible disease AIDS was the numbing physical discovery of
the 1980s -- a disease that threatened world-wide populations, a
devastating physical malady with no cure in sight. But the
spiritual malady of the 1980s was as devastating in its way as
was AIDS in the physical sense. Especially was this the case in
America. The spiritual disease was called greed.
One of the differences between AIDS and greed is that AIDS is
a relatively new affliction, whereas greed is as old as dirt,
having taken its toll of otherwise well-mannered (and well-
intentioned) humans off and on through the centuries. Although it
is held somewhat in check from time to time by the sensitivities
and teachings of various religions, especially Christianity,
occasionally greed breaks out like a ravishing social epidemic.
Cleverly disguised and enticingly alluring, it thrives in any
culture that holds hard work and free enterprise in high esteem.
Especially in America.
Understandably, greed is seldom called by its real name -- that
would make it too unsophisticated, too taboo. For sophisticated,
cultured, civil people scarcely want to use the word greed -- it
would tend to taint their vocabulary, if not their character,
much like the mere mention of AIDS would appear to contaminate
their social standing.
Instead it is known by much more sophisticated and acceptable
aliases as "taking advantage of the free market economy," or
"making a quick buck." Its aliases are legion. They all sound so
noble and honorable, no one could ever suspect that greed could
be lying close beneath the surface, ready to ravage the
conscience and anesthetize the moral principles of any upstanding
citizen who might fall prey to it.
But let's call it greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. It is
that pernicious and cancerous quality that knows no fulfillment
of its appetite. Gently and subtly it can transmutate even the
noblest among us into numbing and unfeeling monsters, all the
while for seemingly well-intentioned purposes or at least in the
process of rewarding people with a sharp eye for opportunity.
America in the 1980s became a swampy breeding ground for the
mushroom growth of greed in the human community. Encouraged by a
hands-off government which said, "Business will keep watch over
itself," plus a host of other talismans, greed grew like
poisonous mushrooms. Business flourished. High rollers were the
king of the hill. There was no sensible limit to the amount of
money any "enterprising" (read greedy) person could make if
he/she pulled the right strings, knew the right people, made the
appropriate demands at critical moments.
It was called greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. And it
infected America in the 1980s in much the same way as AIDS began
its deadly infestation of the world. The difference was that we
diagnosed AIDS early on in the 1980s, whereas greed went on its
devastating path of destruction undiagnosed. Few of those who
were infected by greed would have known it and even if they
suspected it, would not have admitted it. "Greedy? Who me? No
sir!" For respectable people to admit they were greedy would have
been akin to admitting catching a venereal disease from a
prostitute.
"Greedy? Not me! I'm simply taking advantage of an
opportunity."
Greed infected Greg Haldorson in the epidemic of the early
1980s. Raised in a central Minnesota small town, Greg was fed all
the usual character-building ingredients typical of rural
Minnesota. His hardworking parents were of modest means. Greg
learned early the basic value of honesty, thrift, and making
money the old-fashioned way -- by earning it.
So there was no logical reason for Greg to succumb to greed.
He was as willing as anyone else to share with others.
60
A week at Bible camp in each of three summers confirmed and
uplifted the character values he had learned at home. No one
would have suspected that Greg would be a victim of greed -- least
of all Greg himself.
But then no one would have imagined that Greg's uncle would
die suddenly, when Greg was in his third year of college. Greg's
uncle didn't have any children, and a large chunk of his estate
was left to Greg. Two sections of rich farmland suddenly belonged
to Greg. He had just turned 21. After his senses recovered, he
began to calculate the impact of the gift. It included 1,280
acres of rich farmland -- land with a couple small lakes on it --
land which could command premium prices at a time when that kind
of land was in a seller's market. Without Greg's awareness of it,
greed began its intoxicating dance before his fertile
imagination.
Greed can (and usually does) cause a variety of
uncharacteristic responses in its victims. Greg was not immune to
such responses. One response was that he began spending an
inordinate amount of time thinking and contemplating what he
might do with the hefty amount of money he could get from the
sale of his newly-inherited land, if he were to sell to the right
parties. He could get money for it. Lots of money. He began
reading and studying the Wall Street Journal much more than his
college texts. And in the Journal he kept noticing references to
the ripe opportunities for investors in Austin, Texas. In the
early 1980s that seemed to be the place where smart investors
could put their money, mainly in construction of office
buildings. Greg smelled an opportunity to make big bucks quickly.
And the greed virus caused him to make a decision. "Go after it,"
he said.
Instead of hitting the beaches during spring break, Greg
returned home to tell his parents he would be dropping out of
college after completing his junior year. His parents were
stunned. "Drop out of college? What for?" his father asked in
disbelief.
Mother added, "You're almost through, son ... just one more
year."
"I'm going to sell the land I inherited and turn it over into
bigger money," Greg explained.
"But the land will wait until you finish college, Greg," his
father pleaded. But knowing Greg, he already knew that his
stubborn son had made up his mind. The thing he couldn't begin to
understand was why. "Why the hurry, son?"
"I can finish college later," Greg said somewhat uncertainly.
"The opportunities for investing in some large projects are not
going to be open very long, and I want to get in now while
there's time."
"And what kind of opportunities are there that are so urgent,
son?" his father asked, "And where -- in New York?"
"No, I'm going to move to Austin, Texas, as soon as classes
are over. I've been studying investment a lot the last few
months, and Austin looks like the hottest place in the country to
put some money in the building business. They're building great
new offices down there, and you can make big time money putting
up some of the seed money for these projects."
Mom and Dad were at a loss for words. They didn't know
anything about big-time investment, or any investment for that
matter. They knew about working hard for a modest living and
being content with what your honest labor could produce. The
three of them ate supper that evening under a strange silent
cloud. Not much was said of Greg's plans for the remainder of the
few days he was home on break. Upon his return to college, he
gave only enough time to his classwork to pass finals. He felt he
owed it to his folks not to flunk any courses. But even that was
a long way down from his usual 3.4 grade point average.
Greg didn't have trouble selling his land for high dollars
shortly after classes were over. Developers were quick to pay him
handsomely for the land which had such virgin lakeshore property
waiting for buyers who wanted to build lakeshore cottages. Greg's
move to Austin caused deep sadness in his parents, not simply
because he would be removed from them -- for they realized that
some day he would probably move away anyway. No, they were sad
because of the reason for his
move. "Where did he ever get infected with that obsession to make
so much money?" his mother wondered, to no one in particular.
But Greg was no prodigal son of scripture notoriety. He was
careful with his funds, and did thorough investigating before
committing any to projects. He had been raised carefully by
parents who taught him prudence in financial matters. But he was
right. He soon found out there was money to be made in the Austin
building boom of the early '80s. No matter that already signs of
overbuilding were appearing. As long as building permits were
forthcoming, and he had the right projects into which he could
put some of his money, he could turn it over fast. And he did.
Three years later, as a young 24-year-old, he was probably the
youngest investor in Austin. Not the largest by any means, but
surely the youngest, and one of the smartest. He had learned
fast. And having the large grub stake from his Minnesota land
sale had given him a great start. He wasn't about to call it
quits at any time soon.
True to his upbringing Greg worshiped from time to time at a
Lutheran church and struck up a friendship with the pastor's son.
Tom and Greg enjoyed each other's company. Greg enjoyed being
with someone who had no interest in the world of investing or
high rolling deals, and Tom was fascinated by this young
entrepreneur who resembled a modern day King Midas. "Everything
you put your money into seems to turn to gold," Tom said in
amazement one night when the two of them sat in a corner of a
singles' bar on Sixth Street.
"Well, not everything," Greg pleaded modestly. "I'm making
good money, but I'm not wealthy yet."
"Oh give me a break, Greg. You've got that million-dollar
estate on Lake Travis, and a condo here in town. What does it
take to be wealthy?" Tom smiled in wonderment as he sipped his
marguerita.
Greg took his time responding, although Tom wasn't really
expecting an answer. "This boom isn't going to last forever, Tom;
and I'm going to make the big bucks while it lasts.
In fact, I haven't told you this, but I'm starting to put my
money into antiques."
Tom just shook his head. He couldn't understand the drive that
made Greg turn his wheels. And he didn't understand that
underlying most of Greg's drive for accumulating things was that
spiritual disease known as greed. In Austin, as in most of the
nation in those years, greed had infected a great many people who
had money to invest, as well as quite a few who didn't have any
of their own to invest. It was the spiritual disease of the '80s.
"So what are you going to do with the antiques?" Tom wanted to
know.
"Do with them? You don't have to do anything with them," Greg
answered. "I'm just going to buy them and collect them, because
they are precious. They're valuable. And I want them. And do you
know that Texas is a great place to get antiques? It's a gold
mine out there." He looked across the table at no one in
particular, his dreamy eyes seeming to hold in their vision only
the prospect of getting some more valuables in his house on the
lake.
"I expect that house on Lake Travis is going to hold a lot of
antiques," Tom volunteered, not knowing quite where to steer the
conversation.
"Oh lordy, that place is nearly full already. I'm thinking I'm
going to build an addition onto the house, or maybe another house
on the property just to hold my collection." Greg was consumed.
Tom decided to get philosophical. Or maybe theological, he
didn't care which. He had been to seminary for a year, and
although he decided not to follow in his father's footsteps and
become a pastor, his year in seminary caused him to view some
things through a theological lens. And this seemed to be a time
to use the theological lens, such as it was with him.
"Greg, do you ever contemplate what you're doing with all this
moneymaking and purchasing? I mean, where is it all going to
lead? What's the point of it?" He was kind of sorry he had asked.
He didn't mean to sound like he was preaching, but he wondered if
his question had come off like he was.
Greg was slow to respond. "I don't know. I don't give it much
thought."
"Well do you know what it looks like to me?" Tom was asking.
"Don't get on my case, okay?" Greg started to say.
"But I'm going to get on your case," Tom broke in. "Because
I'm your friend, and I want to see you headed in the right
direction. Look, you don't have any social life to speak of. You
don't have any women friends, you don't have any prospects for
marriage and making a home ..."
"So what? I'm making myself happy ..." Greg's voice trailed
off.
"Yeah, right." Tom replied slowly, "I'll bet you are." He
paused before starting up again. "You know what I think? I think
you're trying to create some kind of heaven here on earth ..."
"Jeez are you getting deep! What turned you into such a
philosopher?" Greg wanted to know.
"Okay, okay, so I'm getting into deep water. But let me
continue. You're not going to live forever -- at least not here in
Austin, or on earth for that matter," Tom continued.
"I know, I know," Greg said somewhat apologetically, "I went
to Sunday school too, you know."
Tom ignored that. "Have you ever thought who might get all
this stuff you are collecting? Your folks surely don't want all
that junk you ..."
"It isn't junk, my friend, it's all expensive stuff," Greg
defended.
"Call it what you will, but you might be living on borrowed
time. We all might be for that matter. And what good is all this
stuff if your life comes to a sudden end?" Tom was a bit sorry he
had taken the conversation that far.
They sat in silence for a while. Tom changed the subject, "You
want to saunter up to the bar and see if we can buy a drink for
those two beauties? They don't look like they're spoken for."
"No. You can if you like. You can handle two. I'm going to
hang it up for the night. I'm not going to stay at the condo
tonight. I've got some things to do at the lake house, and it's
already midnight. See ya, when? Tomorrow night?" And Greg left,
followed soon thereafter by Tom.
The next morning, as Tom gave a quick glance at the morning
paper, his mind froze. The headline read, "Jaguar Misses Curve on
2222, Local Developer Dead." Tom cried all the way to work.
The Rich Fool
The spirit of the 1980's had penetrated far deeper into the
life style of Americans than even most economists and
sociologists suspected or diagnosed. It was a spiritual disease.
The terrible disease AIDS was the numbing physical discovery of
the 1980s -- a disease that threatened world-wide populations, a
devastating physical malady with no cure in sight. But the
spiritual malady of the 1980s was as devastating in its way as
was AIDS in the physical sense. Especially was this the case in
America. The spiritual disease was called greed.
One of the differences between AIDS and greed is that AIDS is
a relatively new affliction, whereas greed is as old as dirt,
having taken its toll of otherwise well-mannered (and well-
intentioned) humans off and on through the centuries. Although it
is held somewhat in check from time to time by the sensitivities
and teachings of various religions, especially Christianity,
occasionally greed breaks out like a ravishing social epidemic.
Cleverly disguised and enticingly alluring, it thrives in any
culture that holds hard work and free enterprise in high esteem.
Especially in America.
Understandably, greed is seldom called by its real name -- that
would make it too unsophisticated, too taboo. For sophisticated,
cultured, civil people scarcely want to use the word greed -- it
would tend to taint their vocabulary, if not their character,
much like the mere mention of AIDS would appear to contaminate
their social standing.
Instead it is known by much more sophisticated and acceptable
aliases as "taking advantage of the free market economy," or
"making a quick buck." Its aliases are legion. They all sound so
noble and honorable, no one could ever suspect that greed could
be lying close beneath the surface, ready to ravage the
conscience and anesthetize the moral principles of any upstanding
citizen who might fall prey to it.
But let's call it greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. It is
that pernicious and cancerous quality that knows no fulfillment
of its appetite. Gently and subtly it can transmutate even the
noblest among us into numbing and unfeeling monsters, all the
while for seemingly well-intentioned purposes or at least in the
process of rewarding people with a sharp eye for opportunity.
America in the 1980s became a swampy breeding ground for the
mushroom growth of greed in the human community. Encouraged by a
hands-off government which said, "Business will keep watch over
itself," plus a host of other talismans, greed grew like
poisonous mushrooms. Business flourished. High rollers were the
king of the hill. There was no sensible limit to the amount of
money any "enterprising" (read greedy) person could make if
he/she pulled the right strings, knew the right people, made the
appropriate demands at critical moments.
It was called greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. And it
infected America in the 1980s in much the same way as AIDS began
its deadly infestation of the world. The difference was that we
diagnosed AIDS early on in the 1980s, whereas greed went on its
devastating path of destruction undiagnosed. Few of those who
were infected by greed would have known it and even if they
suspected it, would not have admitted it. "Greedy? Who me? No
sir!" For respectable people to admit they were greedy would have
been akin to admitting catching a venereal disease from a
prostitute.
"Greedy? Not me! I'm simply taking advantage of an
opportunity."
Greed infected Greg Haldorson in the epidemic of the early
1980s. Raised in a central Minnesota small town, Greg was fed all
the usual character-building ingredients typical of rural
Minnesota. His hardworking parents were of modest means. Greg
learned early the basic value of honesty, thrift, and making
money the old-fashioned way -- by earning it.
So there was no logical reason for Greg to succumb to greed.
He was as willing as anyone else to share with others.
60
A week at Bible camp in each of three summers confirmed and
uplifted the character values he had learned at home. No one
would have suspected that Greg would be a victim of greed -- least
of all Greg himself.
But then no one would have imagined that Greg's uncle would
die suddenly, when Greg was in his third year of college. Greg's
uncle didn't have any children, and a large chunk of his estate
was left to Greg. Two sections of rich farmland suddenly belonged
to Greg. He had just turned 21. After his senses recovered, he
began to calculate the impact of the gift. It included 1,280
acres of rich farmland -- land with a couple small lakes on it --
land which could command premium prices at a time when that kind
of land was in a seller's market. Without Greg's awareness of it,
greed began its intoxicating dance before his fertile
imagination.
Greed can (and usually does) cause a variety of
uncharacteristic responses in its victims. Greg was not immune to
such responses. One response was that he began spending an
inordinate amount of time thinking and contemplating what he
might do with the hefty amount of money he could get from the
sale of his newly-inherited land, if he were to sell to the right
parties. He could get money for it. Lots of money. He began
reading and studying the Wall Street Journal much more than his
college texts. And in the Journal he kept noticing references to
the ripe opportunities for investors in Austin, Texas. In the
early 1980s that seemed to be the place where smart investors
could put their money, mainly in construction of office
buildings. Greg smelled an opportunity to make big bucks quickly.
And the greed virus caused him to make a decision. "Go after it,"
he said.
Instead of hitting the beaches during spring break, Greg
returned home to tell his parents he would be dropping out of
college after completing his junior year. His parents were
stunned. "Drop out of college? What for?" his father asked in
disbelief.
Mother added, "You're almost through, son ... just one more
year."
"I'm going to sell the land I inherited and turn it over into
bigger money," Greg explained.
"But the land will wait until you finish college, Greg," his
father pleaded. But knowing Greg, he already knew that his
stubborn son had made up his mind. The thing he couldn't begin to
understand was why. "Why the hurry, son?"
"I can finish college later," Greg said somewhat uncertainly.
"The opportunities for investing in some large projects are not
going to be open very long, and I want to get in now while
there's time."
"And what kind of opportunities are there that are so urgent,
son?" his father asked, "And where -- in New York?"
"No, I'm going to move to Austin, Texas, as soon as classes
are over. I've been studying investment a lot the last few
months, and Austin looks like the hottest place in the country to
put some money in the building business. They're building great
new offices down there, and you can make big time money putting
up some of the seed money for these projects."
Mom and Dad were at a loss for words. They didn't know
anything about big-time investment, or any investment for that
matter. They knew about working hard for a modest living and
being content with what your honest labor could produce. The
three of them ate supper that evening under a strange silent
cloud. Not much was said of Greg's plans for the remainder of the
few days he was home on break. Upon his return to college, he
gave only enough time to his classwork to pass finals. He felt he
owed it to his folks not to flunk any courses. But even that was
a long way down from his usual 3.4 grade point average.
Greg didn't have trouble selling his land for high dollars
shortly after classes were over. Developers were quick to pay him
handsomely for the land which had such virgin lakeshore property
waiting for buyers who wanted to build lakeshore cottages. Greg's
move to Austin caused deep sadness in his parents, not simply
because he would be removed from them -- for they realized that
some day he would probably move away anyway. No, they were sad
because of the reason for his
move. "Where did he ever get infected with that obsession to make
so much money?" his mother wondered, to no one in particular.
But Greg was no prodigal son of scripture notoriety. He was
careful with his funds, and did thorough investigating before
committing any to projects. He had been raised carefully by
parents who taught him prudence in financial matters. But he was
right. He soon found out there was money to be made in the Austin
building boom of the early '80s. No matter that already signs of
overbuilding were appearing. As long as building permits were
forthcoming, and he had the right projects into which he could
put some of his money, he could turn it over fast. And he did.
Three years later, as a young 24-year-old, he was probably the
youngest investor in Austin. Not the largest by any means, but
surely the youngest, and one of the smartest. He had learned
fast. And having the large grub stake from his Minnesota land
sale had given him a great start. He wasn't about to call it
quits at any time soon.
True to his upbringing Greg worshiped from time to time at a
Lutheran church and struck up a friendship with the pastor's son.
Tom and Greg enjoyed each other's company. Greg enjoyed being
with someone who had no interest in the world of investing or
high rolling deals, and Tom was fascinated by this young
entrepreneur who resembled a modern day King Midas. "Everything
you put your money into seems to turn to gold," Tom said in
amazement one night when the two of them sat in a corner of a
singles' bar on Sixth Street.
"Well, not everything," Greg pleaded modestly. "I'm making
good money, but I'm not wealthy yet."
"Oh give me a break, Greg. You've got that million-dollar
estate on Lake Travis, and a condo here in town. What does it
take to be wealthy?" Tom smiled in wonderment as he sipped his
marguerita.
Greg took his time responding, although Tom wasn't really
expecting an answer. "This boom isn't going to last forever, Tom;
and I'm going to make the big bucks while it lasts.
In fact, I haven't told you this, but I'm starting to put my
money into antiques."
Tom just shook his head. He couldn't understand the drive that
made Greg turn his wheels. And he didn't understand that
underlying most of Greg's drive for accumulating things was that
spiritual disease known as greed. In Austin, as in most of the
nation in those years, greed had infected a great many people who
had money to invest, as well as quite a few who didn't have any
of their own to invest. It was the spiritual disease of the '80s.
"So what are you going to do with the antiques?" Tom wanted to
know.
"Do with them? You don't have to do anything with them," Greg
answered. "I'm just going to buy them and collect them, because
they are precious. They're valuable. And I want them. And do you
know that Texas is a great place to get antiques? It's a gold
mine out there." He looked across the table at no one in
particular, his dreamy eyes seeming to hold in their vision only
the prospect of getting some more valuables in his house on the
lake.
"I expect that house on Lake Travis is going to hold a lot of
antiques," Tom volunteered, not knowing quite where to steer the
conversation.
"Oh lordy, that place is nearly full already. I'm thinking I'm
going to build an addition onto the house, or maybe another house
on the property just to hold my collection." Greg was consumed.
Tom decided to get philosophical. Or maybe theological, he
didn't care which. He had been to seminary for a year, and
although he decided not to follow in his father's footsteps and
become a pastor, his year in seminary caused him to view some
things through a theological lens. And this seemed to be a time
to use the theological lens, such as it was with him.
"Greg, do you ever contemplate what you're doing with all this
moneymaking and purchasing? I mean, where is it all going to
lead? What's the point of it?" He was kind of sorry he had asked.
He didn't mean to sound like he was preaching, but he wondered if
his question had come off like he was.
Greg was slow to respond. "I don't know. I don't give it much
thought."
"Well do you know what it looks like to me?" Tom was asking.
"Don't get on my case, okay?" Greg started to say.
"But I'm going to get on your case," Tom broke in. "Because
I'm your friend, and I want to see you headed in the right
direction. Look, you don't have any social life to speak of. You
don't have any women friends, you don't have any prospects for
marriage and making a home ..."
"So what? I'm making myself happy ..." Greg's voice trailed
off.
"Yeah, right." Tom replied slowly, "I'll bet you are." He
paused before starting up again. "You know what I think? I think
you're trying to create some kind of heaven here on earth ..."
"Jeez are you getting deep! What turned you into such a
philosopher?" Greg wanted to know.
"Okay, okay, so I'm getting into deep water. But let me
continue. You're not going to live forever -- at least not here in
Austin, or on earth for that matter," Tom continued.
"I know, I know," Greg said somewhat apologetically, "I went
to Sunday school too, you know."
Tom ignored that. "Have you ever thought who might get all
this stuff you are collecting? Your folks surely don't want all
that junk you ..."
"It isn't junk, my friend, it's all expensive stuff," Greg
defended.
"Call it what you will, but you might be living on borrowed
time. We all might be for that matter. And what good is all this
stuff if your life comes to a sudden end?" Tom was a bit sorry he
had taken the conversation that far.
They sat in silence for a while. Tom changed the subject, "You
want to saunter up to the bar and see if we can buy a drink for
those two beauties? They don't look like they're spoken for."
"No. You can if you like. You can handle two. I'm going to
hang it up for the night. I'm not going to stay at the condo
tonight. I've got some things to do at the lake house, and it's
already midnight. See ya, when? Tomorrow night?" And Greg left,
followed soon thereafter by Tom.
The next morning, as Tom gave a quick glance at the morning
paper, his mind froze. The headline read, "Jaguar Misses Curve on
2222, Local Developer Dead." Tom cried all the way to work.
