Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Matthew 25:14-30
September 21, 2003
When I was a little kid, it was not unusual to receive small amounts of money from relatives. Sometimes folded in a card (like for birthdays), sometimes peeled from a wallet (like after visits). Never in great amounts, mind you. A dollar or two. Occasionally five. Seldom ten. Never twenty. But appreciated at any level.
The best hand-outs were those followed by the words: “Buy something special for yourself.” Which, unfortunately, were seldom heard, compared with the words: “I’m sure you have some special place for this”…..or, even more blunt: “Now go put this in your bank.”
Which I had….a bank, I mean. First, the one on my dresser. Later, the one on the corner. It seems as if I had a savings account at an unusually early age. It was opened at the Bank of the Commonwealth, which I could find before I could spell. But they willingly opened an account for me, complete with a passbook. Each entry was entered in pen, recorded by a teller who stood behind a plate of glass that was at least an inch and a half thick. I had to slip my money under the glass by way of a slot. The teller, as I remember, was at least sixty years old and male….wearing a very dark suit and a very proper tie. Nobody would have mistaken him for today’s version of “your friendly banker.” But he was certainly a trustworthy one.
I did have one uncle….a great-uncle, really….who gave me some stock in the Detroit Edison Company. Which meant nothing to me at the time, given that I could neither see nor spend it. But it made a little (in the form of gains)….and it paid a little (in the form of dividends)….and it laid a little (in the form of foundations). Which was probably what he intended. And for which I probably should have thanked him. But I probably didn’t. Not because I was ungrateful, but because I was dumb.
Bringing me to the Parable of the Talents….which is (or is not) about money, depending upon how much allowance for allegory you give to the Bible. The parable certainly talks about money….a “talent” being a large amount of money. How much money? I’ll tell you how much money. A talent was silver coinage, weighing between 57 and 74 pounds each. One talent was equal to 6,000 denarii, with one denarius representing the average subsistence wage for a day’s labor.
Which means that we’re not only talking a lot of money, we’re talking a ridiculous amount of money. Therefore, don’t look overly askance at the servant who receives one talent to look after. With an equivalency-value of 6,000 denarii, he could have provided for his family for 16 years and still had enough left over for a trip to Hawaii. When the first two servants are told that they have been “faithful over little,” the word “little” is a rather tongue-in-cheek description of their stake. It would be like someone saying to you: “Look, given the great job you did with a mere million, I can see you are ripe and ready for bigger responsibilities.”
What are you supposed to take from this? I’ll tell you what you are supposed to take from this. That though the amounts entrusted to each servant differ, all are lavish. None are paltry. We’re talking major gifting here, even for the short term. The one-talent servant has more than you think. So don’t feel sorry for him if you’re pondering him. And don’t feel sorry for him if you are him.
So, having reviewed what a “talent” is, let’s review what the “action” is. The action of the story, I mean. A man goes on a journey and entrusts his property to his servants. To one is given five talents. To a second, two talents. To a third, one talent. This is one of those “look after things while I am gone” stories. The Bible has a lot of them. But this may be the most famous one. The logical inference being that Jesus is the one off on a journey, and that we, his disciples….or his church….are the ones to whom his gifts have been entrusted. “Look after ’em,” he says. And while they may not be equal, they are sufficient. Better yet, abundant.
Well, you know the rest of the story. The servant with five doubles to ten. The servant with two doubles to four. While the servant with one buries his talent in the ground….gaining nothing….but (then again) losing nothing. Why? Because he is afraid, that’s why. Afraid of what? That’s the wrong question. Afraid of whom? That’s the right question. He is afraid of the master. So, as a result of wanting no part of the deal, he ends up with no part of the deal maker. Which is how the story ends. “Cast him out,” the master says. “Let him grind his teeth in the darkness for all I care. Just make sure you brush the dirt off his money before you give it to the first guy. Who really doesn’t need it. But he’s gonna get it. While this other poor guy may need it. But he’s not gonna keep it. Doesn’t sound right. Doesn’t seem fair. But those are my orders. So carry ’em out.”
When I preached this parable ten years ago, I told you it wasn’t a pretty story. And it hasn’t gotten any prettier in the intervening decade. When Jesus told it, he knew the prevailing sympathy would be with the one-talent man. Because, given the culture of his day, that man did nothing wrong. What’s more, he did much that was good. Sure, he could have invested the money. But assuming he understood his mission to be the guardian and conservator of the funds, he did exactly the right thing by putting them in the ground. In the ancient world, putting money in the ground was the preferred method of securing it. Which is why there are so many references in that era to “buried treasure.” If you placed money underground and something happened to it, you (as its caretaker) could not be held liable. If you placed it on a shelf, in a book or under a mattress and it disappeared, you would be liable. If you gave it to your brother-in-law for safekeeping….the brother-in-law with the black belt in karate….and it was lost, you would be liable. If you wrapped it in your socks and put it in a box (guarding the box with a fox), yet had it stolen, you would be liable. But not if you buried it. Once you put it in the ground, you were deemed responsible.
So color the third servant timid. Color him insecure. Color him cautious and conservative. But in the way of his day, do not color him stupid. There is no fault here. The money is returned, every cent of it. Meaning that no one (hearing Jesus tell the story) would have condemned him. And many would have applauded him. But not Jesus. Isn’t that just like a parable….a little something to offend everybody?
So what’s the point here? Let’s try to find it….starting with this little bit of folk wisdom that we know as “use it or lose it.” This is biblical interpretation at its most elemental level.
Yesterday, we had a wonderful string quartet play at one of our weddings. I loved listening to them, especially the artistic interplay of the first and second violins. All of which led me to think: “I used to do that….play in such a group, I mean.” None of what they did was strange. Much of what they did was familiar. Little of what they did was hard. Once.
But I last played the violin in 1980. And I didn’t touch it much between 1960 and 1980. I had talent once. I don’t have talent now. “I could get it back,” you say. But, truth be told, I probably can’t. And most likely won’t. No one person took it from me. Time took it from me. Every year I didn’t play was a deeper burial of my gift. 1981….one shovel. 1982….two shovels. 1985….five shovels. 1990….a front-end loader’s worth of dirt piled on my talent. Done. Dead. Gone.
By contrast, people often say, after hearing me pray in public: “You know, you have a gift. There’s no other word to describe it. It’s just a gift.” Which may be so. But a part of me wants to say: “Look, I do this every day of my life. I offer some prayer, some place, for somebody. If it’s a gift, it’s a much-used gift….honed and sharpened by years of practice….practice which helps me know both the words and their target.”
Use it or lose it. It’s true of almost every gift we have. Muscle tone. Mental acuity. My jump shot. Right on, Jesus.
But let’s take it up a notch. Isn’t the parable also saying that the faithful should be fruitful? “There is in this, and a host of related texts (says Brendan Scott), a stringent demand on faith to produce an increase or face a tragic judgment.” We may not be saved by works. But works are far from unimportant.
Jesus threatens to wither a fig tree which has no fruit. His friends plead for its preservation. “Give it one more year,” they ask. But the implication is that if it doesn’t (produce, that is), it’ll be kindling before you can say: “Didn’t there used to be a fig tree over there?” I’d rather not report that to you, given that it’s not the most charitable slant on the New Testament you’ll hear from this pulpit. But there are expectations of production.
Doubling isn’t mandatory. But effort is. Notice when the third servant returns his pile of musty money to the master, the master says: “Gee, the least you could have done is taken my money over to Ralph Babb at Comerica or Dave Provost at Bank of Bloomfield. They’d have given you one and a half percent on it. Not terribly fruitful, albeit minimally faithful. But no, you didn’t even go see Ralph and Dave.”
So what does that mean for you and me? I think it means we are supposed to use whatever we have. And I’m afraid it means that we are going to be held to account for what we do with whatever we have. All of us are gifted. Lavishly so. But, where gifts are concerned, we can’t plant them in the dirt or put them on the shelf…..saying that we “did enough before” or that we’ll “do more later.” Neither can we cop a plea that we’re too young for this or too old for that….that it’s “not our job” or that it’s “somebody else’s turn.” We have got to make an effort. No coasters. No freeloaders.
But I have a greater interest this morning in what this text might mean to this church. I mean, when you’re at the top of the talent pool, don’t the expectations just get higher? Does it sometimes seem as if God keeps raising the bar for us….opening new doors to us….making fresh requests of us? It would be so easy to sit on past laurels and attempt no more. But I am not sure that’s the right call right now. I don’t think the talent pool is anywhere near tapped out. I don’t think the people pool is anywhere near tapped out. Nor do I think the pocket pool is anywhere near tapped out. I’ve yet to see the first parishioner enter my office with glazed-over eyes and cry “Uncle.” No, I think God will tell us when, as a church, it’s time to roll over and float on our back.
I got a call from someone (an individual connected to us) early in our campaign for the Christian Life Center. The caller named a struggling United Methodist congregation nearby, suggesting that we shouldn’t do anything more here….accumulate any more people here….raise any more dollars here….but should funnel more of everything there, the better to float them along, taking the edge off their struggle to survive.
And for a few days, I felt guilty (in spite of all we are doing and all the places we are doing it). Then I thought that never once in my ten years here has anybody from that church called and said: “Bill, we’ve got a new vision here….we’re feeling fresh stirrings here….we’re targeting a fresh audience here….we’re launching a new ministry here….let us tell you about it in hopes that you’ll partner with us.” Which we’d do in a heartbeat. But why, in God’s good name, would we put our own dreams and visions on the back burner here, simply to prolong a congregation on life support there?
God expects an increase from his church. And God will prosper those who risk it and (as much as I hate to even think it) give the back of his hand to those who ignore it. To be sure, God loves everybody. And you know that no one says that as strongly (or believes that more universally) as I do. But certain behaviors (personally and institutionally) please God more than others. Which is the way the wind of the Spirit is likely to tilt.
Finally, the one-talent man is the odd-man out in this little parable. Not because he had less. Not even because he did less. But because his fear of the master (“I knew you to be a hard man,” he said) kept him at arm’s length from the master’s gifts, the master’s work and the master’s love. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d have used his one talent and lost it. But he didn’t use it. The master invited him to do business with him….to enter into a partnership with him….to take risks for him….and to have a ball with what he loaned him. All the master asked was to keep things moving….keep things flowing….keep things working. Recall what Jesus said about the gift of forgiveness. Take it in. Pass it on. Use it or lose it. One hears the master saying:
Burying what I gave you was no way to enjoy it. Or no way to enjoy me. I gave everything. You trusted nothing.
Or, as Robert Farrar Capon adds:
The only reason judgment comes into this parable at all is the sad fact that there will always be dummies who refuse to trust a good thing when it’s handed them on a platter. And some of us are those dummies.
Which sets up this (from Fred Craddock). Some of you have heard me tell this before. But since it was the summer of 1993, I am counting on your forgetfulness. Says Fred:
My wife was away some time ago, and I was going to fix one of my big meals. I stopped off at the Winn Dixie to get a jar of peanut butter. I was in a hurry, and those stores are just so huge, and who wants to spend the afternoon looking around? So I saw a woman who was pushing a cart in a kind of stroll, and I thought, She’s comfortable here. I’ll ask her. I said, “Um, lady, could you direct me to the peanut butter?”
She jerked around, stared at me, and said, “Are you trying to hit on me?”
I said, “I’m looking for the peanut butter.” As I backed away from there I saw a stock boy, so I said, “Where’s the peanut butter?”
“Aisle five, I think, way down on the left.”
I went down there, and halfway down on the left were big jars of peanut butter. I took one. As I turned to leave, that woman was there and she said, “You were looking for the peanut butter!”
I said, “I told you I was looking for the peanut butter.”
She said, “Well, nowadays you can’t be too careful.”
And I said, “Lady, yes you can. Yes you can.”
Note: As I explained to the congregation before reading the text, I have wrestled for the entirety of my ministry with the three stories of Matthew 25. All of them are dramatic. Each of them is fascinating. But none is comforting (depending on how the judgment quotient is interpreted). Still, they demand a hearing. So, from time to time, I give them one, bringing the best to them of which I am capable.
Some of the fresh material in this sermon owes a debt of gratitude to Bernard Brendon Scott and his well-received opus, Hear Then the Parable. And, as always, I am rewarded by Robert Farrar Capon’s trio of books on the parables (in this case, The Parables of Judgment).
