I scroll through my online newspaper, and see a pop-up ad that asks, “Can you retire on five million dollars?” I start to panic. I don’t know if I can retire on five million dollars. I didn’t think I needed five million dollars to retire, but I do now, thanks to the marketers who know my age demographic.

As I stress about this hypothetical five million dollars, I wonder what happened to my wide-eyed innocent eighteen-year-old self—the one who, when asked how she planned on paying for her college education, replied cheerfully, “I don’t know, but I was accepted.”

The finance office was clueless to the treasure my widowed mother had given to my sisters and me: trust the heavenly Father and his care for birds, flowers, widows and the poor. The office, however, was looking for more tangible treasure from me when it came to paying my school bill at this fine Christian institution.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is clear about treasure. If it were a pop-up ad, perhaps it would ask, “Is your treasure on earth moth-eaten and corroded? In danger of being stolen?” I can imagine anxious people clicking on the ad, but what would they do with Jesus’ reply: “Do not lay up for yourself treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure it, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21)

The word “treasure” is both a noun and a verb. The noun is the treasure chest overflowing with sparkling coins and possessions; the verb is what we hold as dear or cherished—relationships, children, grandchildren, status, country, achievements, ourselves.

Both reveal hearts still tethered to storing up treasures on earth, even though we know that stuff fades; cars die the first sub-zero day of winter; old oak trees fall on houses; relationships get messy; children wander as adults; achievements have a shelf life.

Instead of hoarding all our treasures, what if we emptied the treasure chest, singing as we did:

Riches I heed not, nor vain, empty praise;
Thou mine inheritance, now and always.
Thou and thou only, first in my heart,
High King of Heaven, my treasure thou art.

And the next time a retirement pop-up ad asks me if I can retire on five million dollars? I will reply cheerfully, “No, and I don’t need to.”

So much for that five million dollars.