"A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius,
and do not harm the oil and wine." — Revelation 6:6 (BSB)
A Quart of Wheat for a Denarius
L. P. Hartley once wrote in The Go-Between, "The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there."
We like to think we've moved on. In our modern age of data, satellites, and instant answers, we walk with the confident gait of the enlightened. We scoff at ancient rituals and mock the gods of the past, shaking our heads at how gullible people once were. But are we so different?
There is a god that has followed us through the ages.
Mamona (מָמוֹנָא), the Aramaic term from long ago, still breathes beneath our economies and ambitions. It doesn’t ask for incense or chanting—it demands loyalty through greed, shortcuts, deception, and exploitation.
We see its influence in the trader who overcharges, the builder who cuts corners, the salesman who promises what he cannot deliver. It's there in the man who robs his own grandmother of her savings, in the corrupt politician whose pockets are full while his conscience is empty, in the corporations lobbying against climate action while the planet burns.
Mamona—money, wealth, greed—has become more than currency. It is a spirit. A force. A false god.
No wonder it’s listed among the great powers that corrupt. No wonder Revelation paints a chilling picture of its grip:
"A quart of wheat for a denarius..."—a day’s wages for a single meal—while the wealthy plead, "Do not harm the oil and wine."
The poor are left to starve; the rich fear for their luxuries.
Is it any different today? We switch on the news and see children with hollow eyes and empty bowls, their faces swarmed by flies. Meanwhile, markets fret over fine wine and artisanal produce. We live in a world where food is a commodity, not a right, and Mamona is the name we dare not speak.
But it’s not too late to think again.
What if we turned our backs on this false god? What if we loosened its grip on our hearts and lifted our eyes to something higher—compassion, justice, mercy? What if, instead of guarding the oil and wine, we poured it out for others?
The past may be a foreign country. But the future is ours to shape. Let us not bow to Mamona. Let us choose love.
Image generated with the assistance of Microsoft Copilot