Twenty-sixth Pentecost
I Thess. 5:1-11, Mtt. 25: 14-30
Imagine you’ve just won the lottery. What would you do
with it? Actually don’t start to imagine that— because if you do I’ve
just committed sermon suicide. Imagine it later today if you will. It’s
a topic of conversation at our house—especially when we’re struggling
to find things to discuss that will capture our children’s imagination
beyond their normal grunts and grumbles. What would you do if you won the lottery?
Andrew always has the same answer—He’d buy a truck; then he goes on
to tell us all the things he’d do to fix up this truck. We really crushed
him not long ago by saying but “if you won the lottery you could get all
the things you want done with your truck special order.” I think he realized
that it wasn’t so much the truck he wanted as the fun of fixing up a truck.
So—the lottery. An amazing amount of money. In some congregations I would
say an inconceivable amount of money—but here—well I know better.
Found money, fun money, money you haven’t worked for or earned and certainly didn’t expect. In my family we call it grace money. The odd ten you find in the pocket of jacket you haven’t worn for a long time—the twenty you have zippered into a purse compartment not opened since last season. Grace money, but not ten or twenty, more than you could earn in fifteen years. That’s how much money we’re talking about in our parable today. One talent according to the footnotes in my Bible is the equivalent of over fifteen years of labor. That’s a bunch of money. Figure it up, even at minimum wage that’s over $100,000. Take your earnings for the year and put a zero on the right hand side. That’s ten times. Make it fifty per cent greater than that. Not bad. And that’s what the one talent man got. So much for feeling sorry for him for his one, measly talent.
Now about this master—What kind of a guy is it that has that much money. And what kind of a guy turns that much money over to his slaves for safekeeping. I find it hard to believe that a master who turns that kind of cash over to slaves is as harsh and grasping as the one talent man portrays him. Frankly I don’t think it’s too much of a leap to imagine that Jesus is talking about God. This parable comes toward the end of the gospel of Matthew. The events of Jesus life have led him to this point and he sees the end, the cross in sight. He’s going on a journey and the treasure he has will have to be turned over-- –to whom? He’s talking to the disciples; he’s talking to us. We’ve been entrusted with this enormous gift, with this unbelievable good news.
Now what? Some will use the gift. Some will not. The one talent
man buries it! He might have done what the other two did and invested it all.
He might have split it 50-50, used half, kept half safe. He might have taken
ten percent and invested it and buried 90, if he wanted to play it really safe.
But-- he was afraid. He was afraid.
We’ve all been afraid. The trick to fear is sorting out the true fears
from the perceived fears. I’m afraid of heights. Not pathologically, but
I’m just not fond of heights. On the Outer Banks—we’re climbing
the lighthouse. Around and around and around to the top where you can step out
on the catwalk and can see for miles and miles. What is there to be afraid of?
You step out, you look, you climb down. But in my perception, you step out and
a powerful gust of wind propels all 100++ lbs of me to the ocean below. A perceived
fear. Or riding the ferris wheel at Navy Pear. Looks safe enough—but you
know those seats can be slippery, what if there was a sudden jerk and I slipped
off the seat and out the door. Splat! A perceived fear.
So the one talent man says, “I knew you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow and gathering where you did not spread seed.” Is this a real or a perceived fear? The argument all boils down to what we think, what we know about God. How can he have misjudged the master so completely? Why didn't he talk with the other two laborers about their investment plans, and catch their enthusiasm and trust? Didn't he know how little was expected of them all: simple interest? Why can't he see that it's the trusting master who is the true risk taker? Why can't he hear the master's boisterous joy and delight in those servants who were willing to risk all for his sake? And doesn't the fearful servant also yearn for that joy that couldn't be desired or deserved without the master's original generosity and willingness to trust?
The answers to these questions lie in our own experiences, for we too are entrusted with wonderful treasures as God's creatures. And while little is expected in return, God rejoices most when we extend, employ, invest and enjoy these treasures to the fullest. Yes, we are to enjoy God's gifts, without fear. For fear steals us from the present, and fear places our value in the opinions and judgments of others: teachers, classmates, friends, colleagues, family. Fear destroys our insight and our trust to the point that God begins to look like a vengeful, unfair, judgmental and greedy master, and we are blind to the loving, forgiving, life-giving creator who entrusts so much to us, so that we might become masters in JOY.
I’ll grant you there’s a lot of bad theology out there. There’s a plentiful body of material that portrays God as vengeful and vindictive. Some of it based on texts like the one we have—where the slave gets sent to outer darkness where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth. But it does seem that the only time God is seen really getting perturbed is when people don’t trust or believe in his goodness. The Bible as a whole however is at great pains to show that God is merciful, caring and abounding in steadfast love. God wants us to be healthy and to live together peaceably and to understand that we are not the center of the universe but God is.
In a flight of fancy it would be interesting to know what
would have happened to this one talent slave if he had taken his one talent
and squandered it on parties and loose living. What would the master have done?
I don’t think we have to speculate very far to be absolutely certain of
what would have happened. Jesus tells us a parable about a son who squanders
his entire inheritance in loose living and when he comes home penitent, the
father runs to embrace him and falls on his neck weeping for the sheer joy of
his return. So what if the slave had lost it all…what would have happened?
I feel confident that when the servant comes clean the master would have dealt
with that, would have forgiven him, would have given him what was left to do
better with.
I’m seeing this parable as having not so much to do with the talents and
money and resources at all, but rather as having to do with knowing and trusting
God. We’re afraid. We’re afraid of all kinds of things. But the fear
we have is a perceived fear because we do not love and trust God with all our
heart and soul and mind.
The Thessalonians were afraid. What’s going to happen when the “Day
of the Lord” comes? Paul says to them, “You don’t have to be
afraid. You are children of the light and of the day, God has destined us not
for wrath but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
During the Middle Ages, as the story goes, there was an old woman who spent her life wandering all over Europe carrying a bucket of water in one hand and a flaming torch in the other. She vowed to travel far and wide until she had quenched the fires of Hell, and burned down the towers of Heaven. "Why are you doing this?" the people asked her. "So that you might love the good Lord for Himself alone," she replied, "and not for fear of Hell or hope of Heaven." That story was heresy in its day, and still leaves us uncomfortable when our relationship with God is rooted in fear and distrust, controlled by the solitary desire to save our own souls and escape punishment. But when we love a living God, present and astonishingly generous, the holiness of the old woman's journey becomes clear.
When I started out in chaplaincy work I was taught early on that you don’t promise what you can’t deliver. You don’t create or allow false hopes because when they don’t happen you lose the trust of the person you’re dealing with. You don’t allay the fears of a person facing a dangerous operation by saying that it’s not dangerous. You don’t promise that God will cure every disease because sometimes those diseases don’t get cured. There are things you can’t say, but there are things you can say with absolute and complete confidence “Whatever happens it will be okay.” “Whatever happens it will be okay.’ We’re not storming heaven and we’re not running from hell. We’re putting all our trust and faith just exactly where it belongs—with a loving and caring and compassionate God who calls us to get in the game, who wants us to boldly use our talents, to step out of our fear and use the blessings, the gracious gifts with which we’ve been entrusted.
Thanks to Rev. Elizabeth Claiborne Jones—The Protestant Hour for the Medieval Story
Amen.