Paul N. Merideth

Amor Towles has become my favorite modern historical fiction author. His style has a special charm, especially in his complex A Gentleman in Moscow. I am intrigued by the novel’s subtle theme on the role of possessions in our lives. The story tells of Count Rostov, once a man of mansions, reduced to a single attic room in the Metropol Hotel. As an ousted aristocrat, the Bolsheviks sentenced him to hotel incarceration. Stripped of most of his worldly possessions, he refuses to descend into despair and instead discovers that even the smallest possessions carry immense weight. A chair, a desk, or a well worn book becomes a doorway to memory. They anchor him to relationships, laughter, and beauty. Objects, for Rostov, evolve from trophies to be hoarded into vessels of story, grace, and continuity in a world turned upside down. As one myself who often sits at a desk, I love his observation: “A king fortifies himself with a castle,” noted the Count, “a gentleman with a desk.”

It makes me wonder, what do our possessions say about us? We often cling to them as if they grant us security, but Jesus warned otherwise: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth… but store up treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19-20). Things break. Moths chew. Rust corrodes. Yet when received rightly, even the ordinary becomes extraordinary. A family Bible marked with fingerprints, a chipped mug from morning prayers, a beloved pencil used to journal, these are “Metropol moments,” everyday objects carrying spiritual meaning.

The same is true in the church. The wood of a pulpit, the worn pew where generations have prayed, or the baptismal waters, these are not sacred in themselves, but they bear witness to God’s grace at work in ordinary settings. Much like Rostov’s desk or books, they anchor us not to a fading past but to the eternal promise of God.

As the apostle Paul reminds us, “Godliness with contentment is great gain” (1 Timothy 6:6). In other words, hold things lightly, let them prompt blessed memories, but cling passionately only to the one treasure that cannot be lost. Towles shows us through fiction that even when stripped of much, life can still be full. The gospel goes further: “as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, yet possessing everything” (2 Corinthians 6:10). Our anchor is not a desk, a mug, or even a cherished family heirloom, but the Lord Himself. And unlike every object we can touch, He will never fade, rust, or be robbed away.

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