"Parable of the Talents" A. Mironov 2013
‘Well done, good and trustworthy slave!’ (Matthew 25:20)
Back in my misbegotten Hollywood days I worked for a time for a Wall
Street investors relations firm. The LA office hired a bunch of us unemployed
actors because we did most of our business over the telephone and they liked
that we had nice speaking voices and could sound professional. I didn’t know
much about the stock market when I started to work there, but I learned one
important lesson about the securities business—it’s not at all secure. In fact,
I left that office thinking most folks would have better luck taking their
money to Las Vegas than investing it in the market. I like the disclaimer one
brokerage firm tags their TV spots with: “Investments in securities involves
the risk of loss.”
Yup. You can make a fortune trading stock, but you can also lose your butt. An investment in the gospel is also a risky proposition.
The gospel appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary for Pentecost 25,
Year A (Matthew 25:14-30) tells the tale of a rich guy who has made some pretty
shady deals himself and expects his employees to make him even richer than he
already is. This boss is ready to pass out promotions and bonuses to the
workers who show him they know how to turn a profit. He doesn’t appear to be
the nicest guy to work for, nor the most honest, but he seems to have a keen
idea about the abilities of his workforce, and he doesn’t trust his guys with
more capital than he thinks they can handle.
(Fun fact: A “talent” was worth about 6,000 denarii—roughly equivalent
to 6,000 times the average daily pay for a laborer. Multiply minimum wage by
an eight-hour day times 6,000 and you’re talking a lot of cash. I think
Jesus is telling us these guys were entrusted—as we are—with something pretty
darn valuable.)
We don’t want to get too hung up on the profit and loss thing in this
story. Some nitwit TV preacher might tell you Jesus wants you to live boldly and
think positively so you can become filthy stinking rich just like the nitwit TV
preacher. This is not the point. There are plenty of wealthy people in the
world who are really rotten human beings, right? It’s best we look at this
passage in light of the community for whom Matthew wrote it.
Matthew composed his gospel a good four decades after the time of Jesus.
His folks were hoping the Lord was planning a return engagement during their
lifetime, but, like the master in the parable, Jesus seemed to be taking his good,
sweet time about coming back. This was a problem because confessing faith in
Jesus was risky. Both the Jewish community and the Roman authorities were
looking at Christians with a stink eye. It wasn’t all that safe to be a
Christian, so some folks got scared and bailed on the faith.
I think Jesus’ point in this story—and Matthew’s point to his community—is,
however long it may take, some day the boss will be back. He’s going to call
you into his office and ask what you’ve done with the treasure he’s entrusted
to you.
In the Greek, the boss calls the slave who buried his cash in the ground[i] “okneros.”
This word could mean either lazy or timid. Both interpretations could apply. Unlike
that First Century community, we probably won’t be jailed, exiled, or executed
for being Christian, but our work for the Boss still carries risks. If we do
the work of forgiveness, we risk being played for suckers. If we do the work of
generosity, we risk our own resources. If we do the work of cheerful volunteers
for causes we believe in, we risk being disappointed, being taken for granted,
or being taken advantage of. If we do the work of charity, we risk becoming
enablers. If we do the work of exhortation and witness, we risk alienating the
ones we care about.
Investing in Christ involves risk. And there’s no guarantee that you’ll
make a fortune doing it. You will, however, enter into the joy of your master. So keep doing it.
Thanks for investing these few minutes in my blog. It is a joy knowing
you did!
[i] Burying
your treasure in the ground wasn’t uncommon back in the day. This was the First
Century’s version of the safety deposit box.
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