God gives us what we need to prepare for joy – Matt 25:14-30

 33rd Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year A; Basilica of the Sacred Heart.

Video (Homily starts at 13:56)

How would you like to be given $217,500?  Or, more precisely, to be trusted with $217,500 of someone else’s money?  That’s fifteen years worth of full-time minimum wage employment in Indiana.  And that’s what a talent was. That unit of currency was a huge sum of money. A ‘talent’ was a unit of currency worth 15 years’ worth of day laborer pay.  That’s what the least trusted servant is entrusted with: $217,500, one talent. When the master we hear about in the gospel is doling out these sums of money, it’s not always clear to us what meaning they actually carry.  And going back and doing a little economic history this week wasn’t just me indulging my geeky side, but a step in appreciating the grandeur of God’s grace.

Of course, that means that the other two servants get entrusted with $435,000 and $1,087,500 respectively, 2 talents, and 5 talents.  But that’s not what we’re meant to focus on.  In fact, the parable shows us it’s ruinous to focus on what others are entrusted with, at least when it distracts us from marveling at what we’ve been entrusted with. God invites us to recognize first what we’ve been given, to come to appreciate how absurdly valuable all we’ve been given is, and grow in wonder, love and awe at the one who bestowed it upon us.

 

Our rector in the seminary would often tell us that the 11^th commandment really should have been “thou shalt not compare.” Once we start comparing, relationships that could be beautiful become instead zero-sum, win-or-lose games. Either we notice that we have more than someone else (we “win”), and we end up feeling prideful, or we notice that we have less than someone else (we “lose”), and we end up feeling jealous. Either way, we lose. The opposite of this is gratitude. Gratitude that starts by marveling and giving thanks for what we have and that maybe, if we build this foundation strong enough, can extend to then looking at what others have been gifted with and being grateful for how gifted they are.

 

The third servant in the parable can’t do this.  He looks at the $217,500 he’s been entrusted with and sees only what it’s not: not a million, not even four hundred thousand.  $217,500 becomes measly in his eyes because of jealousy.  And so he responds with fear.  His image of his master becomes plagued by fear of his imagined wickedness, and he buries, he hides, he takes the fortune he’s been entrusted with, and puts his lamp under a bushel basket.  Worse than laziness, he succumbs to fearful inactivity. He’s like the foolish virgins from last week’s Gospel, who had access to enough oil, but refused to go get it and burn it. But this parable goes a little deeper into the characters’ psychology than last week’s. All we hear about the foolish virgins is that they’re foolish. With his servant, we learn more. We learn that he was afraid, and we learn that he was afraid because he was insecure and jealous.

 

He has not heard, do not be afraid. And lest we simply end up chiding him, shaking our heads, and moving on, let’s remember that he’s a character in one of Jesus’ parables. He hasn’t heard the Gospel. He hasn’t heard the good news. He hasn’t heard the Sermon on the Mount. We have. We’ve heard, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” We’ve heard Jesus’ assurance that God will comfort those who grieve. And that assurance, that promise of divine help for those who are suffering, is also a prompt, or a prod for those who hold back, for those who don’t invest their love in anyone else out of fear that their loved ones will let them down, or suffer or die and cause them grief. Jesus bids us live lives of daring love, not because love never causes us pain, but because every tear stain becomes a place of tender embrace as God wipes it clean.

 

The most precious gift we have been given, far more valuable than $217,500, is the capacity to love and be loved. We were made from and for love. And loving is risky. And fear and jealousy and pride and insecurity can lead us to put up the walls and not risk it. Jesus speaks with one voice in the beatitudes, in last week’s parable, in this week’s: Risk loving, risk letting your light shine, invest the gift that you are in a daring life of virtue, not because that’s easy, not because that’ll be free of suffering, but because God’s got you. There is, in the end, nothing to fear. And how do we get there? How do we get to that place of trust where we can give thanks for our gifts by using them? I think we build up our trust for the future by building up our gratitude for the past, bringing to mind times when we know God took care for us.

 

This might sound very complicated, very grandiose, for people much more special than us. But it’s very simple. The image that’s been coming to my mind this week as I’ve prayed with these readings is a memory of back when we could still visit each other’s home, and I could see kids playing. I see two children repeatedly run to the edge of their porch and leaping off into their father’s arms, who caught them every time.  There was no fear, there was no comparing who could jump further or higher, who was held tighter or longer; there was only joy shared, and trust enough to take a leap of faith.