Parable of the Talents

Matthew 25: 14-30

July 14, 2019

We began wrestling with this middle section of Matthew 25 last month, and we’re going to pick it up again this morning beginning with a lectio divina. I invite you to listen for a word or phrase the shines out, that shimmies in your mind, that takes your imagination for whatever reason. Listen, then, for a word from God for you:

‘For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. After a long time the master of those slaves came and settled accounts with them. Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, “Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.” His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.” And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, “Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.” His master said to him, “Well done, good and trustworthy slave; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.” Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.” But his master replied, “You wicked and lazy slave! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. As for this worthless slave, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

*****

As I read and reread this passage, the word that jumped out at me was “journey.” It sets the whole story in motion – a man is going on a journey. Where did he go? Why did he go there? What did he see along the way? What did he do? What happened to him? Did the journey change him in any way? Did he meet interesting people, hear great music, see compelling art? Did it rain? A lot?

None of that is included in the story, of course, and whatever the purpose or interpretation of the parable may be, it seems that the information my questions seek is irrelevant. So be it. Although, just now, I think the question about rain is always relevant!

Nonetheless, I think my questions are reasonable responses to the text, if for no other reason than this: they point toward a deeper question. Who is this guy?

We touched on that a bit when we talked about the story last month. Various interpretations offer different takes on his identify: evil master/bad guy in the story according to one interpretation; God almighty in a completely different reading. Take your pick.

The simple fact that reasonable and reputable Biblical interpreters offer compelling readings so utterly at odds with one another leads me, ultimately, to ask a slightly different question … and to pose it first and foremost to myself:

Who are you in this parable?

That is to say, which character most resonates with you? And, if by “you” I mean “the church,” then what is the word that this parable speaks to the church today?

Parables are endlessly fascinating precisely because if we allow them to compel us to honesty, then we must confess that we can usually find something of ourselves in every character.

Can I be the harsh man, reaping where I did not sow and gathering where I did not scatter seed? Surely I can be. After all, I am a straight, white, cis-gender, educated, middle-class man, who is a citizen in a society where each of those is a mark of unearned privilege. I reap the benefits of that privilege without having sown a single seed of it. I sometimes gather the benefits with nary a thought about reparations for those who have born the costs. Yeah, I can see myself in the master, and, yes, I hope you heard the intention in that word “reparations” with all that it demands of us in this particular moment.

I can also see myself in either of the first two slaves: toiling along in the given economy, doing my job without rocking the boat, happy with whatever reward comes my way while I turn a blind eye to ICE raids in the community, and keep silent about climate change even when it’s flooding my own community. I’ve certainly been there, occupied that social space sometimes.

The third slave? The one who speaks his truth, speaks it to power, and gets tossed into the outer darkness? Well, I don’t know about you, but he’s not a model I have the courage to follow very often.

The extent to which we can see ourselves in the various characters of parables is probably a measure of the honesty of our confession. Indeed, in our prayer of confession this morning we alluded to the story of the Good Samaritan. Don’t we all want to see ourselves as the Samaritan in that story? As the one who stops to care for the beaten man? Or, at the very least, as one who will hear the story and then “go and do likewise”?

But, if we’re honest, we’ll see ourselves most of the time as one crossing to the other side to avoid dealing with situations that are frightening or confusing or beyond our pay grade or expertise.

And, if we’re really honest and deeply self-reflective, we’ll see ourselves most often as the one beaten, left by the side of the road, and relying on the least likely hero to come to our aid and restore us to wholeness. We really don’t want to see ourselves like that. We’d rather see ourselves as thoughtless than as powerless. We want to be the heroes of our own stories. Right?

I began with the word that shimmied for me: journey. Both of these parables are journey stories, in some sense. We don’t want our journeys to be derailed. We want to be in charge, to choose the destination and the route that will take us there. We’d also be super happy if someone else would take care of our responsibilities while we’re away. We certainly don’t want to find ourselves left by the side of the road, empty and aching and dependent upon the kindness of strangers.

But what if figuring out how to dwell in that reality is the call to the church today? That is to say, what might it mean to reject the culture of rugged individualism that celebrates independence and become a community that is learning how to practice radical interdependence? What if, instead of insisting on our own individual power, we found healing and wholeness as community through the ministrations of the marginalized? What would that journey look like? How would we come to describe ourselves as characters in such a story?

What if all of these stories are trying to tell us something new about incarnation, about how the holy becomes present in our lives in and through our brokenness? What if this – this gospel, this good news, this story about Jesus – is an invitation to live lives of radical interdependence creating a new community modeled on service as disciples? What if it all really is an invitation as simple as, “will you come and follow me?”

Now that would be a journey story worth telling to the world. Amen.