There is a popular saying: “Money makes money.” There is some truth in it. If you already possess land, savings, education or useful connections, it is usually easier to create further wealth. Yet money alone does not secure a flourishing life. Many people have received large sums of money and quickly lost everything because they lacked the vision, wisdom or discipline to use it well. And there are people who possess very little money but carry within themselves a remarkable vision. They see possibilities where others see only problems. They recognise opportunities where others see closed doors. They may begin with almost nothing, but they do not believe that nothing is the whole story. This must be said carefully. Poverty is not always caused by a lack of vision. People may be kept poor by injustice, corruption, discrimination, war, illness or an economic system weighted against them. A hungry person cannot feed their children with vision alone. The Church must never romanticise poverty or blame people for circumstances beyond their control. Money matters. Fair wages matter. Education, healthcare, housing and justice matter.
Nevertheless, both materially and spiritually, there is another kind of poverty that money alone cannot cure: the poverty of believing that nothing can change. In our Old Testament reading, a widow approaches the prophet Elisha in desperation. Her husband has died, the creditors are coming, and her sons are about to be taken as payment for the family’s debt. She is not experiencing an imaginary problem or a minor shortage. She is facing economic ruin and the destruction of her family. Elisha asks her a curious question: “Tell me, what do you have in your house?” She replies, “Your servant has nothing there at all—except a little oil. “That sentence reveals the struggle within her: “I have nothing—except…” Sometimes our future is concealed within the word except.
“I have nothing—except a little experience.”
“I have nothing—except a small piece of land.”
“I have nothing—except an idea.”
“I have nothing—except a gift for cooking.”
“I have nothing—except the ability to listen and care.”
“I have nothing—except my faith.”
What the widow dismissed as insignificant became the place where God began. Elisha did not magically drop a bag of gold into her lap. He helped her to see differently what she already possessed. He instructed her to borrow empty jars from her neighbours—and not merely a few. She then poured her little oil into them. The oil continued flowing until every jar was full. She sold the oil, paid her debts and lived on what remained. Notice the partnership. God provided the multiplication, but the widow had to gather the jars. She had to close the door, begin pouring, sell the oil and settle the debt. The miracle did not make her passive; it restored her agency. I can imagine the neighbours asking, “Why does this woman want all our empty containers?” She might have replied, “I cannot explain everything, but I am making room for something.” That is vision: making room today for what God may do tomorrow.
Many people ask God for more oil while keeping no empty jars available. We pray for opportunity but refuse to learn anything new. We pray for employment but do not prepare ourselves. We pray for the church to grow but leave no room for new people, new ideas or new forms of ministry. We ask God to fill us while presenting him with lives already crowded by fear, resentment and comfortable habits.
Vision begins when we bring God an empty vessel and say, “Lord, there is room here for you to work.” In the Gospel reading, we meet Bartimaeus, a blind beggar sitting beside the road. Materially, he is poor. Socially, he is marginalised. Physically, he cannot see. Yet in another sense, Bartimaeus sees more clearly than many people around him. When he hears that Jesus is passing by, he cries: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” The crowd attempts to silence him. Perhaps they have grown accustomed to seeing him beside the road. To them, he is simply part of the scenery: the blind man, the beggar, the unfortunate one. They have decided where he belongs. But Bartimaeus refuses to allow the crowd’s limited vision to become his identity. He cries even louder. There will always be voices saying, “Stay where you are. People like you do not move forward. Do not expect too much. Do not disturb Jesus.” Permanent poverty begins when those voices move from the crowd into our own hearts.
Jesus stops and asks Bartimaeus: “What do you want me to do for you?” At first, that sounds like a strange question. Surely it is obvious what a blind man wants! Yet Jesus invites Bartimaeus to name his desire. Vision is not merely knowing what we dislike about the present; it is being able to describe the future for which we hope. Bartimaeus answers simply, “Rabbi, I want to see.” He does not ask merely for a larger donation. A few more coins would have helped him through another day, but restored sight would open an entirely new future. Money might temporarily improve his position beside the road; vision would enable him to leave the roadside altogether. That is the difference between relief and transformation. Sometimes we ask God only for enough grace to remain comfortably within the condition from which he is calling us. We ask for a few coins when Christ is asking, “Do you want to see? Do you want to stand? Do you want to follow me along the road?
Spiritual poverty is not the absence of religious activity. A person may attend church, know every hymn and quote Scripture, yet possess no expectation that God can transform anyone or anything. A congregation may have money in the bank, a beautiful building and a full diary, yet still be spiritually poor because it has no vision beyond maintaining what already exists. Conversely, a church may possess modest resources but be spiritually rich because it sees its community through the eyes of Christ. It sees lonely people who can become friends, neglected children who can flourish, strangers who can become family and wounded people who can discover healing.
Vision does not mean dreaming grand dreams merely to make ourselves important. Christian vision is learning to see what God sees and then having the courage to act upon it. The widow had to see that her little jar of oil was not nothing. Bartimaeus had to see that his place beside the road was not his destination. One discovered that God could use what remained in her house; the other trusted that Christ could open a future beyond his present darkness. So perhaps the most important question is not, “How much money do I have?” but: What do I see? Do I see only my limitations, or also the grace of God? Do I see only what has been lost, or also what remains? Do I see myself permanently beside the road, or following Jesus along it?
Money can purchase many things, but it cannot purchase purpose, courage, wisdom, hope or spiritual sight. Without vision, money may be consumed without creating a future. With God-given vision, even a little oil can become the beginning of restoration. May Christ therefore ask us again, “What do you want me to do for you?” And may we have the honesty and courage to answer: “Lord, open our eyes. Help us to see what you have placed within our hands, what you are doing around us, and where you are calling us to go.” Amen.