There’s a quiet kind of wealth that doesn’t show up in net worth. It doesn’t sparkle or accrue interest. It won’t impress your neighbors or trend on social media.

Paul calls it contentment.

It’s what happens when godliness finally settles into the soul like sunlight on still water. It’s a kind of inner peace that comes not from owning more, but needing less.

He says, “Godliness with contentment is great gain.”
Not just gain—great gain.
More than promotion. More than possessions. More than the praise of men.

We brought nothing into this world. And we won’t take anything out. Paul doesn’t say that to depress us. He says it to free us. To break the chain of “more” before it drags us under.

And isn’t that the warning?
“They that will be rich…”
Not the rich themselves, but the ones who want it, will it, need it.
It starts with a longing. Then a compromise. Then a trap.
And before you know it, your heart is tangled in the snare, gasping for air.

Paul doesn’t use soft language here. He talks about drowning in desire. He warns of “destruction and perdition.” He says that some, in their craving, have pierced themselves through with many sorrows.

Not just sorrow. Many sorrows.
Not just wounded. Pierced.

The image stings. But it should. Because the love of money doesn’t just detour us—it destroys us. It can take a tender soul, once shaped by grace, and bend it until it breaks.

But Paul offers a better way. He offers food. And covering. And contentment.

He offers a life that’s full, not because our hands are full, but because our hearts are.
He offers godliness—the kind that doesn’t need applause or advancement.
The kind that knows what we already have in Christ is enough.

More than enough.