One of the beloved pastors in my life I met in college.  She led me on my first international mission trip, opening my eyes to the realities of ethical living and our responsibilities to what scripture would define as the “least of these.”  She introduced me to the Episcopal Church in a subtle way that left me intrigued and wanting to know more.  She taught me about radical hospitality, as her family of five were constantly welcoming wandering students into their home.  And she introduced me to the Cathedral where I would ultimately experience a call to ordained ministry.  To say she played a formative role in my faith journey is an understatement.

What I knew as a loving pastor, a model Christian, and an inspiring mentor, though, had another side.  After college, I decided to volunteer for a year:  a noble endeavor, to be sure, but also an endeavor that left me with very little to spend on housing.  This pastor offered to let me live in the guest quarters of the Episcopal Center on campus in exchange for being the building’s caretaker:  cleaning it weekly, making sure the building was shut down and locked after group use, being on hand with any repairmen or women who needed access to the building.  It was a dream job, but it came with a cost.  No longer was my pastor my pastor – she was my boss.  And my pastor as a boss had a very different way of being than my pastor as a pastor.  She was firm, curt, and had little tolerance for anything other than excellence.  Gone were the niceties and loving nature, and in their place was an all-business task master.  It took me several weeks to figure out how to switch hats with her:  when to know we could be loving and playful and when to know we were being focused and task-oriented. 

The contrast between my mentor and pastor reminds me of the contrast we have seen in Jesus in these last several weeks of Matthew’s gospel.  First, we got the wedding host who seemed to be generously welcoming all to the party, only to cast someone out who wore the wrong clothing.  Then we got the feuding bridesmaids who refuse to care for one another, and the bridegroom who has no patience for a lack of preparedness.  And then we get today’s parable with the affirming, encouraging landowner and his harsh treatment of the tentative servant with his one talent.  If we simply had just today’s instance of God’s harshness or unjust judgment, we could say the parable is an anomaly, a strange outlier.  But given the repeated telling of scary-ending stories, we are cued into the idea that something else is going on in Matthew’s gospel.  Indeed, all these unsettling parables are what we call eschatological parables – stories about the end times.[i]  At this point in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is approaching the end of his life.  Instead of continuing to heal, preach, and lovingly teach his disciples, he starts getting real.   I am reminded of one of the first reality television shows that ever aired, MTV’s The Real World.  MTV would pair seven very different individuals and make them live together for a few months.  The tagline of the show was, “This is what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.” 

Understanding that Jesus is facing his immanent death is critical to understanding what is going on with Jesus in these parables.  Any of us who has journeyed with someone who is dying knows that at some point, they stop being polite and start getting real.  This is their last chance to tell others the essentials:  the life lessons learned, the love they want to share, and the stern encouragement they want to give.  Although this landowner seems harsh or even irrationally mean, what he is doing is communicating ultimate significance. 

Let’s go back to that third servant in today’s parable.  We know what the third servant does is not all that bad.  He does not squander the entrusted wealth, or act rashly.  He is conservatively prudent and, perhaps based on his skill level, wise to restrain himself.  But ultimately, the landowner is not upset about what the servant does.  The landowner is upset about the servant’s motivation:  fear.[ii] 

Now fear can be a very healthy thing, indeed.  Healthy doses of fear can secure survival and safety.  But fear can also be dangerous.  Fear can distort every good thing about our nature.  Fear can cut off creativity.  When we are overcome with fear, we cannot be imaginative and playful, coming to new solutions and ways of being.  Fear can mess with our sense of trust.  When we are overcome with fear, we forget the goodness of others, our previous examples of how things have gone well, or even the bold support of our God.  Fear can diminish our confidence.  When we are overcome with fear, all the good, powerful, and holy parts of us get riddled with self-doubt and inaction.  And finally, fear hinders with our willingness to take risks.  When we are overcome with fear, we cannot do the things that will lead to great payoff. 

Fear in the abstract is a normal reaction in life.  But we have to remember what Jesus is talking about in this parable to understand why the landowner is so harsh about fear.  You see, talents are not just metaphors for the thing things we are good at or even for the money we have in life.  Talents are metaphors for the vocations we each have.[iii]  Each person in this room has a calling.  Some of us are called to particular jobs or courses of study.  Some of us are called to particular roles within families or groups.  Some of us are called to use our gifts in particular ways.  We all have a call, a vocation in life.  And our vocation is affirmed by the skills or materials we are given to live out that call.  The problem with the third servant is that he is given what he needs in abundance – that single talent represents about twenty years of pay![iv]  The landowner affirms him, trusts him, and gives him space and time to live out his vocation.  But the third servant allows himself to be so overcome with fear that he does not live out his vocation.  He shuts down creativity, trust, confidence, and risk-taking all because he is afraid.  And that is the ultimate sin for God. 

What this parable invites us to do today is not to see this landowner – this stand-in for God – as a mean, cruel, reactive God that punishes.  Quite the opposite, the parable today invites us to remember that our God is trusting, discerning about our gifts, confident in our abilities, and joyful in our obedience.  God gives each person in this room a vocation, a purpose, in this world, gives us the gifts and encouragement we need to fulfill that vocation, and, ultimately, expects us to go out into the world and boldly take the risk of doing what God has already enabled us to do.  No one likes being thrust out of the nest, having to use our wings to sustain us.  But our parable reminds us we can do what we need to do.  We have beautiful wings and our flying will help others, will bring blessing to the world, and will bring us great joy.  Getting scared when God stops being polite and starts getting real is normal.  But letting fear overpower our beauty is not what God desires for us – because God knows you can do it.  God knows your willingness to live out your vocation means great things for the world.  You can do it – and you will, because the world needs you.  Amen.

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[i] Mark Douglas, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 4 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2011), 308

[ii] Douglas, 312.

[iii] Idea presented by Matthew Skinner in the podcast, “SB570 – Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Ord. 33)” November 11, 2017, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=948 on November 17, 2017.

[iv] Debie Thomas, “The Good Kind of Worthless,” November 8, 2020, as found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2814-the-good-kind-of-worthless on November 17, 2023.