Normally at this time of year, there is already a thin layer of snow covering the ground, in these parts.
When I was walking in the Arnprior Grove last week – a protected conversation area which boasts Ontario’s tallest Eastern White Pine tree – it dawned on me that by now I should be hearing the crunch of snow underfoot. I also would not be scrambling down the steep ravine to the banks of the Ottawa River. The snow and ice on the hill would prohibit such a daring descent.
So, I counted my blessings at being able still to enjoy where my feet were taking me, stepping directly on the ground. With this awareness I noticed the thick layer of fallen leaves blanketing the trail in spots—usually not far from the base of a bare, skeletal frame of a maple, walnut or oak tree.
I reflected again on how these trees must have felt, doing what they do. They are alive, after all, even without leaves on branches. They are alive, after all, creatures like you and me designed by the Creator’s imagination and love.
Something very normal was happening again in the cyclical rhythms of the seasons. Once again, they had to let go of their leaves—the leaves which had been such an important part of their identity, their purpose and function. Their leaves had provided other creatures around them with pleasure to behold their colourful beauty and offer protection and comfort.
The trees had to let go of them. And not just once in a lifetime, but every year.
Letting go of something important is part of the normal rhythm of life on earth. Similarly, it is something important for people of faith, as Christ-followers especially, to learn how to let go as we grow and mature over the years.
What must we learn to let go of, as we age? For each of us, it will be different, as unique as each leaf is to each tree: Certain ideas, attitudes and beliefs that once made sense but no longer help, now; certain goals, dreams, aspirations, desires; certain relationships, social status, privilege; material wealth, employment, security; physical health; etc. Not bad things in and of themselves, even good.
Good news and bad news. Good news is that today we receive the last parable of Jesus from Matthew this church year! (It’s good news because these parables from Matthew are tough! They are hard work). The bad news is that we still have to wrestle with this one, today.
The good news is that again, like last week, there really is some good news in this parable, but not from what appears on the surface. The bad news is that in order to uncover the good news we need to let go of some familiar and easy explanations associated with this parable of the talents.[1] We have to practice letting go, even in our reading of the bible.
To begin, the parables of Jesus, in general, are not easy-to-read policy manuals or employee handbooks on ‘how to live your life of faith’. They are not instructions for good living. It’s easy, admittedly, from a policy-instruction-manual-approach to take-away from this parable that we are to invest aggressively in the markets of our lives to yield a maximum return. Just like the two servants did with their talents.
Those who risk it all and participate fully in the economy of competition and profit-making will be rewarded. And that’s our three-step stewardship program for the year!
But would you be shocked to learn that the parable of the talents is not a lesson in stewardship?[2] So, you ask: If parables aren’t meant to be dissected and decoded for a moral lesson, what is their purpose?
Any interpretation falls short when it overlooks the context of this Gospel, and its Christ-centred meaning. I’m taking my cue from 16th century reformer Martin Luther who advocated an approach that first seeks Christ in the reading of any scripture.
And I found that this parable of the talents happens to be the last parable Jesus tells, in Matthew’s Gospel, before being arrested and put on trial. The largest section of each of the Gospels for that matter—Mathew, Mark, Luke and John—is the passion narrative. The suffering of Jesus is the longest and most developed plotline in the entire Gospel. Christ’s passion demands our attention in reading the Gospels.
We need to read this parable from the perspective of Jesus’ passion.
In telling this parable, Jesus is first naming the truth that salvation is not about a transaction that takes place in the market economy of our lives. Just hours before the crowds will turn on him, just before Jesus will be arrested, tried and executed, Jesus tells his disciples that faith is not about proving our value to God by our efforts alone, our own good works.
Let’s admit it, money is a powerful symbol of our efforts, our deserving, our reward, our work. Money is a powerful symbol for defining our self-worth, our value.
And Jesus turns this symbol on its head.
Faith isn’t about material accumulation and earning your way to heaven. Faith isn’t about a prosperity gospel that says the measure of our faith is how much money you have. The quality of your faith is not equated with the size of your nest egg.
Faith is about the trees. Living a faithful life is learning, season after season, how to let go of what is important, a letting go whose natural outcome is experiencing the grace and mercy and forgiveness of God. It is God who gives freely, who is abundant in generosity and grace. Before a beautiful, new thing can happen in our lives, we need to let go of that ‘something’ that once gave us much joy and meaning.
So, the second thing Jesus is doing here was preparing his disciples, and us, for letting go. It was the passion and death of Jesus where he let go of all the security and defenses, where he became fully vulnerable to the pain of the human condition which was his. Here, on the cross, Jesus introduced his disciples to embrace a life of what it means to let go[3]—a life of practising forgiveness, a life of sacrifice. Jesus was preparing his disciples, and us, to embrace a God of mercy and faithfulness instead of a God of wrath.
Looking at the world can lead us every easily to embrace a false image and perception of God. The master in this parable is not God. The master demonstrates what the world values and how the world operates. So, who does the master represent, specifically?
This parable was written to the Messianic Jews after the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 70AD. The Christian minority was being persecuted by the Roman Emperor Vespasian. They were violently forced to let go of all the symbols of their religion and literally the building blocks of their identity.
This parable displays for its original listeners in the first century how destructive and wrathful the “master” of the Roman Empire was, where there was indeed “weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
And in Matthew’s Gospel this wrathful image is set alongside the image of a suffering Christ. Early Christians had to make difficult decisions. Who were they going to trust? Who were they going to follow? The master of the world, or the suffering servant? They were encouraged to embrace the new reality with hope, trusting that as Christ suffered loss and found new life, so too their loss would lead to a joyful new beginning.
Which is it, for you? Which image and perception of God dominates your imagination? Because how you perceive God is very likely how you respond in your life of faith.
If God is vengeful and retributive in judgement, then we will, like the servant, “be afraid”. If, on the other hand, we know God to be a God of compassion who is faithful to the end even through all the letting go, how will our actions demonstrate this quality?
In the Epistle for today from First Thessalonians, we read “For God has destined us not for wrath but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live with him. Therefore, encourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing!”[4]
Jesus showed us to let go, and trust God to do the work of salvation for us. Our job, in every season of life, is to learn and practise letting go as painful and difficult as it is. Because on the other side, there is a great promise. On the other side, there is joy indescribable. Even during our lives on earth, as it is in heaven.
[1] Matthew 25:14-30
[2] Erik Parker, The Millennial Pastor blog (2017)
[3] See Philippians 2:6-11; and, Joyce Rupp, Praying our Goodbyes; A Spiritual Companion through Life’s Losses and Sorrows (Notre Dame, Indiana: Ave Maria Press, 2009), p.34-35.
[4] 1 Thessalonians 5:9-11
Raspberryman 