Hear then, another parable:

There once was a village chief with three daughters.  Each of them had a special ability.  The oldest knew all about raising olive trees.  The second daughter was a shepherd.  The third daughter was a dancer.  Now the village chief had to go on a long journey, so he called his three children together and told them he was depending on them to keep the village prosperous in his absence.

For a while things went well, but then the winter came.  It was a winter like last year in Albany. The snow fell, the wind blew and no one could remember such a bitterly long winter. 

There was an acute shortage of firewood.  Thus the first daughter was faced with a very difficult decision.  Should she allow the people to cut down some of the beloved olive trees for firewood?  When she saw the people shivering with cold, she finally allowed them to do so.

The second daughter was also faced with a difficult decision.  Food became very scarce.  Should she allow the people to kill some of the sheep for food?  When she saw the children crying for hunger, her heart went out to them and she allowed them to kill some of the sheep.

In this way, the villagers got just enough wood for their fires and food for their tables.  Nevertheless, the bitter winter had broken their spirit, so they began to think things were worse  than they really were.  They lost hope, became desperate, and family by family, they deserted the village in search of a better home. 

Then one day the chief returned.  He was terribly sad to find that so many of his people had left.  He called in his children to give an account of what had gone wrong.  The first said, "Father, I hope you won't be mad at me, but the winter was very cold and so I allowed the people to cut down some of the olive trees for firewood."  And the second daughter said,  "Father, I hope you won't be mad at me because when food got  scarce I allowed the people to kill some of  the sheep."

When he heard this, far from being angry, the father embraced his two daughters, and told them that he was proud of them. “But tell me about the missing villagers, what has become of them?”

The two sister’s eyes fixed upon the third daughter, who replied, “Welcome home, father.  We had so little firewood and food while you were away.  It hardly seemed proper to dance during such suffering.  And besides, I wanted to conserve my strength so that when you returned I would be able to welcome you with my talent.”

“Then dance, my child,”  said the father, “for my village is empty and so is my heart.  Fill it with joy and courage once again.  Please, dance.”  But as the third daughter went to get up, she grimaced and fell.  Her legs were so stiff and sore from sitting that they were no longer fit for dancing. 

With so much sadness in his heart that there was scarcely any room for anger, the father said to her, “Ours was a strong village.  It could have survived the want of fuel and food, but not without hope.  And because you failed to use your talent wisely and well, our people gave up what little hope they had left.  Now the village is deserted and you are crippled.  Your punishment has already befallen you.”  And with these words, he embraced his three children and wept.[1]

Those who have ears, let them hear.

* * * * * *

Each of us is always managing resources.  Whether is it olive trees and sheep and a gift of dance, or a household and a checkbook and family relationships, we are all always making choices to juggle the demands of life.  Choices about how and where to invest our time, energy and money. 

I think it is safe to say that most of us in this room are careful, conscientious people. We are responsible with credit; we pay our bills on time.   It’s almost as if we have been taught that carefulness is next to godliness. 

And then along comes this parable – the one told by Jesus as recorded in Matthew.   The master in this parable seems to be anything but careful.  Leaving town for an unknown amount of time, “he turns over to his servants enough of his own wealth to scare half to death even the most confident . . . money manager.”[2]

The word “talent” in this parable refers to a unit of money.  No one seems to know exactly how much.  One scholar says it was 10,000 times a day’s wages.  Another says it was 6,000 times a day’s wages.  Eugene Peterson, the author of the Message translates it as a thousand dollars.  Someone else suggests that a talent would equal about $1 million in today’s money.  The point is that the master entrusted a lot of money to his servants, maybe as much as 5 million to one, 2 million to another and 1 million to the third.

If you and I are the careful, conscientious people I believe us to be, what would we do with that kind of money, that kind of responsibility?  We probably would not bury it in the ground, like the servant who was given $1 million, would we? 

But at that time, given the available options, that was the most careful thing to do.  Rabbinic law said, “Whoever immediately buries property entrusted to him is no longer liable because he has taken the safest course conceivable.”[3]

Eventually the master comes home.  The first servant comes out and says, “you left me with $5 million.  Look, I’ve doubled your investment. I now have $10 million.  And the master says, “Good job. You have done well with something small. Rejoice with me.” The second servant says, “You left me with $2 million.  I also doubled it.”  And the master is just as pleased with him. 

Then comes the third servant.  Notice what he says in verse 24, “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow. . . . So I was afraid and went and hid your money in the ground.”  Or “Master, I know you have high standards and hate careless ways, that you demand the best and make no allowances for error.”

It’s interesting that the third servant seems to know something about the Master that the first two don’t know.  He believes that the Master is harsh.  If we only knew the story of servants one and two, we would only have the idea that the master is trusting and generous and willing to reward people.  But this servant expects something different.  He is afraid and he expects to fail, to displease his master.

I can sympathize with him, can’t you?  Who wants that kind of responsibility?  Maybe he just couldn’t handle the pressure.  Maybe he was sure he would lose the money,  that some con artist would talk him out of it, that no matter how carefully he investigated, he would put it in a place where it would be lost.  So he did the most careful thing, the legally responsible thing and buried it.

And I think that’s why the master is angry. The master is angry because the servant does not trust him.  He thinks that if he loses the money, the master will be angry. He does not trust the master to be fair and generous.  I also think that the master is angry because the servant is too careful, too fearful, so afraid of failing that he does not do anything.  He didn’t squander the money, but he did squander this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. 

* * * * *

I promised to talk about money today.  So let me be more clear.  I am suggesting that this parable is about taking risks, about being courageous.  And I would also suggest that for many of us, giving our money away is a risky business that involves faith and courage. 

This month, we are being asked to consider what we will give to God through this church in the next year.  We are careful and conscientious people.  We want to do this right.   We want to give enough to make a difference, but we have our own bills and responsibilities.  What if the economy gets worse instead of better?  What if the weather is even worse this winter and our heating bills go through the roof? What if we try to increase our giving, but find we just can’t do it?    It might be easy to become the 1-talent servant, to ask so many what-if questions that we become too careful and don’t invest ourselves at all. 

One day in a church not very different from this one, a woman stopped by the pastor's office and delivered a check for $5,000 "to further the congregation's ministry."  Wanting to be prudent, the congregational council put the money in the bank to save it for a rainy day.  Several months later, the woman stopped by to see the pastor and to ask what the congregation did with her gift.  When the pastor told her that the council put it in the bank to save for the future, the woman responded, "I'm sorry to hear that.  I wanted that money to make a difference, and I was going to give you another check.  But I can keep my own money in the bank."  And the woman went away disappointed.[4]

We are careful, conscientious people, but honestly, I don’t think we are like the 1-talent servant.  Emmanuel has a track-record of taking risks.  Today’s Emmanuel is the result of at least 2 church mergers.  Many attempted mergers don’t work, so it’s a risky thing to do.  You declared yourselves to be a Welcoming and Affirming Congregation where everyone is welcome and loved.  That is not a status-quo position.  You removed the beautiful and stately pews from this beautiful and historic sanctuary.  That risk resulted in more intimate and participatory worship.  You raised $325,000 for the first phase of the renovation, including borrowing $80,000 from the endowment which three years later, you have almost paid back completely with interest, For each of these decisions, there was risk.  Some folks said it couldn’t be done, and some folks chose to leave rather than to be part of that risky business.  But in spite of the nay-sayers, in spite of whatever fear you might have felt, you went ahead and did it anyway.

It is that same spirit that we see in the first two servants, their willingness to take a risk for their master. Bible scholar James Alison says that the first two servants trusted that their master was the sort of daring fellow who would do rash and crazy things for which there was no script, would dare, would experiment, would risk losing things and so would end up multiplying things greatly.  In other words, they perceived their master’s regard for them as one of liking them enough to be daring them and encouraging them to be adventurous, and so, imagining and trusting that abundance would multiply, they indeed multiplied abundance.[5] 

Giving our money away, even when we are giving it to God, can be a risky business.  Let us trust that God is not a harsh master, but a fair and generous one, who wants to see us succeed beyond our wildest dreams. Trust that God has already given us more than we can ask or imagine.    Trust Jesus who risked his own life for us in order that we have might have life and have it abundantly.    Trust that that abundance will multiply in us.  Amen. 

 

Benediction

Trusting the love of God in Christ Jesus, Live dangerously. 

Risk it, for God’s sake!