The Good and Faithful Servant: A Sermon

This is a sermon that I preached on November 19 at the Pinawa Christian Fellowship, the church where I spent most of my growing up years. It's a special kind of privilege to be welcomed to preach in a congregation full of people who have known you since you were a young girl, and I'm grateful for it! 

(Lectionary Texts: Zephaniah 1:7, 12-18; Psalm 90; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; Matthew 25: 14-30)

It’s always a pleasure to come home and participate in worship with all of you, so thank you for having me here this morning. When the minister emailed me a while back to see if I would be interested in preaching while he was away this month, I was quick to accept his invitation.

Then, I checked the lectionary to see what the texts would be.

And I almost changed my mind.

There is nothing comfortable about the texts that we read this morning. Together, they tell us about the coming of the day of God’s judgment, and warn us to be prepared. They speak of God’s anger and wrath; of punishment, distress and anguish; of darkness and gloom; of destruction; and of the weeping and gnashing of teeth. You’ll forgive me, I hope, if these are not my favourite subjects to preach on.

I will also confess that I’m profoundly uncomfortable with Matthew’s account of the Parable of the Talents that we read this morning. Traditionally, in our preaching on this parable, we tend to relate the talents in the parable to the talents that each of us possess, intended to be used to build up the Kingdom of God. If your talent is to preach—then by all means, preach! If it is to sing and make music—make a joyful noise to the Lord. But whatever you do, don’t take your talents and bury them, failing to use them for the ends to which they were intended. If you do, then you’re in danger of being accused, with the third servant, of being lazy and wicked, and woe to you when the Lord returns to evaluate how we have used the gifts he has entrusted to us.

But if that’s how we read this parable, then I have some serious questions! First of all, what does it say about the Kingdom of God if “whoever has will be given more, and…whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them?” Especially having spent the last few years in a community walking alongside and learning from dear brothers and sisters who have experienced homelessness, who live below the poverty line, who cannot take their next meal or having a roof over their heads for granted, as I always have, I just can’t stomach the idea of my dear friends who do not have getting even what little they do have taken away from them.

Second, how is there anything fair about this system, and in particular about the third servant’s harsh judgment, when each of the servants was given talents in the first place “each according to his ability”? If the third servant had the least ability to begin with, is it fair to judge him so very harshly when he returns to his master what he has been given? He hasn’t lost anything, it could have been worse, so isn’t weeping and gnashing of teeth a bit harsh, even for the harshest of masters?

And that brings me to my third serious concern about this parable: if the master in the parable in fact represents Jesus, as this interpretation of the parable suggests, what are we to make of the extremely harsh language used about the third servant—who is called wicked, lazy, and worthless, and who is ultimately cast out into the darkness, everything having been taken from him, left to the weeping and gnashing of teeth?

And I could go on.

Added up, I’m just not sure of how I feel about being part of the Kingdom of God if this is what that looks like. And I’m really not sure that I can stand up here this morning and preach that message to you, proclaiming it to be “good news.”

So what on earth are we to do with this puzzling little parable???

Well, I want to invite you to an experiment with me this morning—an attempt to hear this parable with fresh ears, to see it anew, and to examine it without holding back or stuffing down our uncomfortable questions.

There is a man who has three servants. And a whole lot of money.

The kind of talents that we’re talking about in this parable are not the kind of talents that we’re used to talking about these days—they’re not the equivalent of being a talented piano player or a talented woodworker. A talent in Jesus’ day was an extremely large sum of money, the equivalent of the wages that a day labourer would earn in 20 years of work.

The wealthy man starts his journey by dividing 8 talents among his three servants—5 talents to the first servant, 2 talents to the next, and 1 talent to the third. In total, the wealth he entrusts to these three servants amounts to what it would take a single labourer 160 years, or several lifetimes, to earn. We are talking about unimaginable wealth, for most people in Jesus’ day.

This man is obviously extremely wealthy—one of the elite, powerful ruling class in Jewish Palestine in the time of Jesus. He is one of the few, who sits at the top of a pyramid, above the merchants, and priests; above the peasants who worked land belonging to absentee landowners; and above the ‘least of these’—the unclean and expendables who, most numerous of all, make up the base of the pyramid.

The man, much like an absentee landowner might, is ‘going on a journey,’ and so he entrusts his wealth to his three servants—the most money to the one with the most ability, five talents; to the next, two talents; and to the third, a single talent—a mere 20 years worth of a day labourer’s wage, remember.

The first two servants go ‘at once and put his money to work.’ Doing what, we’re not told. But clearly, they have some impressive tricks up their sleeves, for both of them manage to double their money, earning a total of 7 additional talents, or 140 years wages, for their master. I don’t think it’s out of line for us to wonder at this point about how they managed to do this. Was it possible to make this unimaginable kind of return on investment in Jewish Palestine without doing so at someone else’s expense? And, even if it was, what advantage is it to this man to have so very much wealth to call his own? Is there a point at which extravagant wealth becomes excessive—especially when surrounded by so many peasants and outcasts who are struggling simply to survive, to feed their families, to acquire the bare necessities of life?

Do economics have anything to do with the Kingdom of God??? Or perhaps we might want to wonder about it this way—what do the economics of the Kingdom of God look like?

And what about the third servant? We are told that he is afraid of his master and knows that he ‘harvests where he has not sown and gathers where he has not scattered seed’—that the master is known to accumulate wealth on the basis of the hard work of others. So, instead of multiplying the wealth he has been entrusted, he simply buries it for safekeeping in the ground, and leaves it there until the master’s return. Is he, in fact, lazy, as the master accuses? Or could he be trying to envision a more just way of being in the world, by refusing to participate in a system in which the extremely rich become even richer? Could it be that he is protesting injustice in the only way that he can think to do, by not following the example set by his harsh-yet-wealthy master? Is this complacency? Or might it, in fact, be justice?

In this text, who really is the good and faithful servant? And what does it really mean to enter into our Lord’s happiness? I want you to hold onto those questions with me—we’ll come back to them in a few minutes. Who really is the good and faithful servant? And what does it really mean to enter into our Lord’s happiness?

The prophet Zephaniah, in today’s Old Testament reading, also warns about the coming day of judgment hinted at in the gospel reading. The day of the Lord is near, the prophet warns. A day of reckoning is on the horizon. Zephaniah issues a strong warning to those who are complacent, thinking that the Lord isn’t paying attention to their good or bad deeds.

Zephaniah warns about the carefree accumulation of wealth without seeking of the Lord or inquiring of him: For “their wealth will be plundered, their houses demolished. Though they build houses, they will not live in them; though they plant vineyards, they will not drink the wine.” “Neither their silver nor their gold will be able to save them on the day of the Lord’s wrath,” warns the prophet.

For God is not complacent, nor is he oblivious to the people’s failure to follow in the ways he has taught them.

Jewish political activist Elie Wiesel has said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” Zephaniah’s warnings of judgment are a wake-up call designed to warn the people of God lest we become complacent, thinking that God doesn’t notice if we fail to seek the Lord or inquire of him, if we ignore justice and fail to do what is right. How we live does matter, more than we might have imagined that it does.

So, what happens if we return to the Parable of the Talents with the words of the prophet Zephaniah in mind—what happens if we bring these same questions of complacency, justice, and faithfulness in seeking God to this parable? If we do that, who really emerges from the story as the good and faithful servant? And what does it mean to enter into our master’s happiness, if we remember which master it is that we’re called to seek?

It’s also interesting to me that Matthew 25, as a full chapter, consists of three passages all centered on themes of judgment and the last days. It begins with the parable of the ten virgins, which you will have read last Sunday--five wise virgins who take extra oil for their lamps when they go out to await the bridegroom’s arrival, and five foolish virgins who don’t—and who run out of oil. It’s a parable about keeping watch, about being prepared.

Then comes the parable of the talents that we’ve been discussing this morning.

And immediately following this morning’s passage is this parable of the sheep and the goats:

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.”

It’s interesting to me that the preceding two parables each in their own way also address a separation of sheep and goats—the five foolish virgins from the five wise virgins, and the good and faithful servants from the wicked servant.

Who are the sheep, and who are the goats? Those who are blessed by God—the sheep—are the ones of whom the King can say, “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me…Truly I tell you, whatever you did to the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

Conversely, for the goats who have failed to do these things, it is eternal punishment that awaits, not eternal life.

It seems to me that we need to consider the larger context in which Matthew relates this parable. Perhaps, then, the lesson for us might be this: Beware which master you’re listening to—for although earthly masters may applaud the increase of wealth no matter what the cost, although earthly masters may be unconcerned with the poor and the needy around us, although it may be easy in the heat of the moment, with a hard master breathing down our necks, to think that God is complacent and doesn’t notice our day-to-day transactions, we serve another master who is paying more attention than we might think. A master who notices how we feed the hungry and offer the thirsty something to drink, how we clothe the needy, offer hospitality to the stranger, care for the sick, and visit the prisoners.

Perhaps the warning is to beware which voices we are listening for when we decide how to invest our time and money, and who it is that is calling us a good and faithful servant.

Who really is the good and faithful servant, and is that the example that we’re imitating?

And which master have we given our allegiance to?  What does entering into our master’s happiness look like?

It’s these questions that the Parable of the Talents ultimately demands that we pay attention to.

Because the stakes are high, and if we’re listening for the wrong voices and seeking the wrong wisdom, we might be in for a great shock.

Do It Anyway?

A while back, on my Facebook page, I shared a link to an article by the Junia Project: "And If They Don't Affirm You? Preach and Pastor Anyway." In it, the author writes, "God called me to preach and pastor long before I knew that God's call and peoples' opinions don't always jive. Before I knew that many people feel preaching and pastoring are not roles women can hold." After sharing some of her story, the author suggests six steps for women who find themselves in the very difficult position of living with a calling that has been rejected on the basis of their gender, which can be summarized by this closing advice: "Look at the work God has done in you and through you and continue to preach and pastor anyway."

A friend responded to my Facebook post, rightly questioning whether in fact anyone should proceed to preach and pastor if their calling is not affirmed by their church community.

This is a completely legitimate concern. Particularly in Mennonite circles, theology and practice have affirmed that a call to ministry must be discerned in the context of the faith community, and that a call to ministry must consist not only of the inner call felt by the person, but also by the affirmation of their community. Without both the inner and outer aspects of a call, the call is not considered valid.

I agree with this. My thesis research affirmed the importance of both the inner call and its affirmation by the faith community.

And, at the same time, I have often found myself in the very difficult situation that the author describes--God's call and people's opinions don't always jive.

In seminary, some of my male classmates were frequently invited to preach at churches looking for interim pulpit supply. One of them asked me if I would be open to preaching from time to time, finding himself with more opportunities to speak than he really wanted or needed. But the truth was that because of my gender, most of those churches wouldn't ever invite me to preach, regardless of my giftedness, or lack thereof. He continued to preach almost weekly. I, on the other hand, can count the invitations I received to speak at other congregations during those three years on one hand, with several fingers to spare.

One day in the foyer at church, during coffee hour, an older woman whom I admired stopped me to tell me that she didn't believe that women should lead from the pulpit, because if women stepped up to preach or lead worship, men would not take up their God-given leadership roles. The implication was that I was doing harm every time I exercised my gifts in preaching or leading worship. The words were delivered with sugary-sweetness, but landed like a lead balloon in my gut.

Years ago, after I had graduated with a degree in youth ministry and was trying to discern whether God was calling me to more than a role as a volunteer youth leader in my church, someone told me of a conversation in which someone had called him asking of whether they knew of anyone gifted for a role as a youth pastor. He said that he immediately thought of me, but that he couldn't suggest me because the congregation would only consider males for the opening.

I could give many, many more examples.

None of these are pleasant experiences, but people won't always like you or agree with you in life. Conflict and differing opinions are part of reality. Why is this such a big deal?

It's a big deal because God's call is a big deal. It is painful when something that is so very much a part of who you are is debated as an "issue of theology," as a largely academic or intellectual question, without the recognition that it is deeply personal, something that is deeply entwined with my identity as a human being created in the image of God.

I still remember my very first sermon, which I preached with great reluctance and only after much, much prodding and persuading on the part of our youth pastor. What stands out to me the most, to this day, is the fact that when I got home from church the only thing I could think about, the only thought running through my head, was "What if I never get the chance to do this again?"

Preaching, leading worship, providing pastoral care to God's people--these things are so deeply part of who I am. I feel God's pleasure when I exercise these gifts in the context of the church. I feel most fully alive when given the opportunity to serve in these ways. I don't quite know what to do with myself when I'm told that I can't possibly be called to those roles because of something as fundamental as my gender. It feels like being asked to rip yourself it two.

And yet, as a Mennonite, I agree that we need to discern a call to ministry in community. As someone once put it to me so beautifully, "Nobody wants to be that person who thinks they have a call, all the while everyone around them is thinking that they just don't see it."

So, what do you do? Do you preach and pastor anyway, in spite of the lack of affirmation (or, in many cases, the mixed responses) of God's call? Or do you suppress the call, try to live around it, out of respect for the collective wisdom of the body of Christ?

All I know for sure is that it's hard to ignore the joy, the hope, the right-ness of using the gifts that God has given you, of taking advantage of the doors that do present themselves as open, of exploring what it feels like to be a person fully alive.

Even if it means grieving at the same time the fact that in a perfect world the inner and outer aspects of a call would be aligned with one another. And praying that one day the pieces would align, one way or another.

On Leaving the Nets...

One day as Jesus was walking along the shore of the 

Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers--

Simon, also called Peter, and Andrew--

throwing a net into the water, for they fished for a living.

Jesus called out to them, "Come follow me,

and I will show you how to fish for people!"

And they left their nets at once and followed him.

Matthew 4: 18-20

I have long been uncomfortable with this particular passage of Scripture. My beef with it can be boiled down to two little words: "at once." As in, "they left their nets at once and followed him."

I do not have an "at once" bone in my body. I'm typically a careful, deliberative person--weighing major decisions and running pro and con lists in my head until I can't think straight, seeking out advice from trusted friends and family, and taking lots of time to be sure that I'm making a decision that I am comfortable with. 

So, when Simon and Andrew leave their livelihood as fishermen to follow Jesus and take up the dubious new occupation of "fishing for people"--well, that's a pretty big leap as it is, and the fact that they make this leap "at once" is nearly incomprehensible to me.

I could better wrap my mind around this passage if it read, "And they took some time to talk with their family, wrap up their business commitments, and thoughtfully consider Jesus' invitation, and then they followed him."

I'd like to think that my more deliberative path usually arrives at the same outcome as the immediate response of those first disciples of Jesus--that we both arrive at "followed him" one way or another--but would I be a more faithful disciple if I could become an "at once" person?

I'm mulling this over this week-end, as once again this week brought me to a "come, follow me" moment--a decision point requiring me to renew my commitment to leaving my nets to pursue Jesus' invitation to fish for people.

I once thought that following Jesus was essentially a one-time decision that, once made, simply had to be lived out. (As if following Jesus could ever be "simply" lived out!) But the more life I live, the more I recognize that following Jesus requires a series of "yeses" to this fundamental invitation--small yeses that go almost unnoticed in the daily rhythms of life, and bigger yeses that require a deep breath and a recognition of the magnitude of the choice being made, of the two roads diverging and the one that will, ultimately, be not taken. 

And so I find myself thinking once again about the magnitude of the decision faced by Simon and Andrew--after all, leaving their nets meant leaving their livelihood, their family and friends, and all the things that represented security for  the unknown adventure of following Jesus in his puzzling invitation to "fish for people." And the fact that they did so without the advantage we as readers have of knowing who exactly this man is who is issuing the invitation, and where this adventure will lead them is mind-blowing to me!

Perhaps even more mind-blowing to me is the fact that there is something so compelling about the call of Jesus that I'm also prepared to release my death-grasp on my nets, and accept Jesus' invitation to follow him to destinations yet-unknown. There is just something about the One who issues the invitation, something that seduces even me, careful and deliberative though I want to be, to lay down my nets and take the risk, that says that giving up safety and security is worth it to explore what may lie ahead as I respond once again to the invitation to "Come, follow me!"

I may not be an "at once" person. But nonetheless, even as I take my deep breath and take one last look down the road that will not be taken, this week I choose to let go of my nets one more time, and set off down a different path, not knowing where it will lead, to explore this astounding invitation, following in the footsteps of those who have gone before, and knowing that this is not likely to be the last fork in the road or the last time I say "yes" to the call to follow Jesus without fully understanding what it is that I'm saying "yes" to.