Matthew 25:14-30
I wonder how you react when you’re caught unawares, or put on the spot.
Some of us come back fighting. Some of us run. Some freeze, crack a joke or burst into tears. Some of us do everything we can to calm the situation. For such a long time, that was my go-to. So perhaps it’s no surprise that these are the words I keep coming back to.
“I knew you were a harsh man … so I was afraid.”
The first two men take what they’ve been given and get to work straightaway. One starts with five talents and makes five more. The other starts with two and makes two more. They bring back different amounts and hear the same words. “Well done … enter into the joy of your master.”
And then there’s the third man. Even one talent was an enormous amount of money, about twenty years’ wages for a labourer. Imagine being handed that much and thinking the safest thing you could possibly do was get a shovel.
So he digs a hole. And when the master comes back, he hands him precisely what he was given. He can account for every penny.
But listen to what he says as he hands it back. “You reap where you did not sow. You gather where you did not scatter.”
Imagine saying that to the man who owns you.
Because these three men are enslaved. Their master can go away and leave them to make his fortune, then come home and take the profits. And this man looks him in the eye and says, in effect, “Other people do the work. You take what they’ve made. We both know how this works.” And then he says, “I was afraid.”
Of course he’s afraid. The man he’s speaking to has the power to throw him out, and he does. I’ve been so busy looking at the hole he dug that I missed the courage it took to open his mouth. He names the whole arrangement to the man who benefits from it. He knows what it could cost him. And he says it anyway. And that makes me wonder, again, why I was so quick to put God in the master’s place.
Last Sunday, we wondered what might have happened if the bridesmaids had gone to meet the bridegroom with their lamps going out. They were so afraid of showing up without oil that they ran in the opposite direction. And I understand that. It takes an awful lot to turn up as you are and depend so entirely on the grace you’re trying your hardest to believe is possible.
So what sort of welcome do we expect to receive when we turn up with our lamps going out or our pockets empty?
Years ago, I heard a preacher say something I’ve gone back to, time and time again. He said, “If it doesn’t look like Jesus, it’s not God.” And yes, Jesus has flipped a table or two. There are definitely tables that need flipping. But the gesture I see far more often in Jesus, the one I’d trust with my life, is this.
[Stretch out arms. Pause.]
Outstretched arms, offering an eternal, loving welcome.
I see those arms on the cross we’ll sing about in a little while. We’ll sing about a love “so amazing, so divine” that it “demands my soul, my life, my all.” The love comes first. Our response is always to the love we have been freely and undeservedly given.
So where’s Jesus in this story? I think he’s just slightly offstage. In the very next verses, which we’ll hear next week, Jesus tells us where to find him. He’s hungry. He’s thirsty. He’s a stranger. He’s in prison. And the people who fed him and welcomed him and went to see him are genuinely surprised. “When did we see you?” They thought they were feeding somebody who was hungry. And Jesus says, “That was me.”
So I still want to imagine what might have happened if that third man had come back empty-handed. Imagine him saying, “You gave me one talent. I bought food for a family who needed it. I helped someone pay a debt. I backed a friend who had an idea I thought might work. It didn’t. And then somebody needed help, so I gave them what was left. And here I am.” I can imagine what the slave master in the story might say. And I can almost hear what Jesus would say. “Well done. Tell me about the family. How are they getting on?” God knows who got fed.
Some people are called to make money and give it generously to God’s work. That is good and faithful work. And all of us are called to be Christ, with skin on, in this generation. We get to turn what we’ve been given into a meal, a visit, a place at the table. And we can be lavish about it. We can offer the kind of welcome that makes someone say, “Really? All this for me?”
I think sometimes we spend so long trying to work out exactly what God wants that we miss the freedom God gives us. The beautiful truth is we can try something and see what happens. Some things will work. Some will go sideways. We can learn and have another go. And we may still feel afraid.
That third man was afraid, and he told the truth anyway. We can feel afraid and not allow it to paralyse us. Fear has had its say. It doesn’t get to decide what we do with our lives. And always, always, God is pouring out grace and mercy. We can loosen our grip and step into that stream.
If we’re wondering where to start, Jesus has just told us where he’ll be. Let’s go and find him. Let’s use what we’ve been given and enter into the joy that’s waiting for us.
Amen.
