Lectionary
readings: 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11 and Matthew 25:14-30
Our
Gospel reading today is commonly referred to as the Parable of the Talents. It
is, I think, a relatively well-known parable, and it is usually taken as a
story to illustrate that God has given talents to each one of us, and expects a
return on his investment. I do believe that God has given each one of us gifts
with which to play our part in making the world more harmonious, or at least no
more chaotic than we found it. And I do believe that God does, and will, hold
us accountable, and that it will not do to say, “we never asked for such
responsibility in the first place”. I believe these things based on all manner
of stories that I read in the Bible, but not on the basis of this
parable of a harsh and unjust ruler who sees people as fundamentally wicked,
lazy and worthless unless he profits from them. I want to suggest, instead,
that this is a parable of the darkness of the world into which God is about to
act decisively. It is preceded by the parable of the wise and foolish virgins,
in which the bridegroom is delayed and some of those awaiting his arrival find
themselves unprepared; and followed by the parable of the sheep and the goats,
a parable of judgement on the nations surrounding Israel for how they have
treated God’s people, who are identified as the marginalised (though note
that though the relationship between the symbol and the signified is not wholly
arbitrary, they are not interchangeable: those who are marginalised are not, automatically,
the people of God).
There
is, in these three parables, a progression or development of idea: prolonged
unfulfilled expectation, set against deepening darkness; the apparent rewards
of pursuing wealth and power, or deeds done in the darkness; and a coming light
that brings judgement to the deeds done in the darkness. The parable in the
middle is a parable told to encourage those who are fearful—who are afraid of
the dark—to hold on a little longer, because divine judgement and, crucially,
their divine vindication, is now imminent.
This
is the good news: that we are not forgotten, even when the powers of this world
have written us off. As the story continues to unfold, we discover that God,
who in Jesus will identify with the discarded, will, in this same Jesus, establish
a reign of justice and mercy. But that is to jump ahead of ourselves. Here,
with this parable, Jesus, the master storyteller, is building up the dramatic
tension. As we pause at the end to catch our breath, we want to know what
happens next: what will happen to the man removed for disloyalty? and who, if
anyone, can outsmart the tyrant?
Advent
is an annual season of preparing our lives for Christ’s return, to judge the
living and the dead. Today is the Second Sunday before Advent: a moment for
adjusting our eyes to see in the dark. Stand outside in the evenings at this
time of year, in a place where there are no streetlights, and you will know
that after some minutes what was pitch dark and disorienting becomes
more recognisable and, with care, navigable.
In
light of this reality, Paul writes to the saints in Thessalonica, ‘therefore
encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing.’ Specifically,
he speaks of putting on the breastplate of faith and love, and the helmet of
hope of salvation. Choosing to respond to the state of the world in faith and
love protects our hearts, our choice-making. Choosing to hold out hope protects
our minds, the thoughts and feelings that affect our choice-making.
In
light of the story by which Jesus locates us, in which light Paul invites us to
orientate and reorientate our lives, I shall end on this: what would it look
like, to ‘encourage one another and build up each other’ today? Discuss.
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