"The Light of Christ": A Homily for the Great Vigil of Easter

Deacon Dorothy Budd carries the Paschal candle at the Great Vigil of Easter at the Church of the Incarnation, Dallas, Texas (Photo: Richard Hill)

Dear brothers and sisters, tonight is the night when Christ Jesus tramples down death by death.[1] This is the night when the light of Christ shines in the darkness; when the darkness of death is overcome by the gladdening light of the resurrection; when the dayspring from on high gives light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.

Tonight we began in darkness. Darkness that recalls the darkness of a world devastated by sin and under the dominion of death. It's darkness like that of the “shadowed forest” in which Dante begins his journey in the Inferno. “In the middle of the journey of our life,” the poet writes, “I came to myself in a dark wood where the straight way was lost.”[2] Tonight’s initial darkness dramatizes the condition of creation damaged by sin: the inky blackness shows that we, like Dante, live beset by death and with vision obscured by the deception of sin.

And more concretely the darkness recalls the darkness of a tomb outside Jerusalem, the darkness that covered the Light of the World as he lay in the tomb until the third day. Darkness that seemed absolute.

But, dear friends, the darkness could not overcome that Light! And tonight--beyond hope, beyond apparent defeat--the Light shines in the darkness. And we sing with joy when we see the Light of Christ. We exult because "darkness has been vanquished by our eternal King."

The light of the Paschal Candle points to the resurrection of Jesus, to the dawning of the new creation. For Christ, says Pope Benedict, "is God's new day."[3]
On the first day of creation, God said, "Let light shine out of darkness." And today--the eighth day--the same God has raised Jesus from the dead. And he is "the bright morning star" who says, "Behold, I make all things new" (Rev. 22:16; 21:5). The Light of Christ shines in his decisive victory over the power of death, and heralds the coming Day when all in Christ shall be made alive and "death is swallowed up in victory" (1 Cor 15:22, 54). The light of the Paschal Candle symbolizes the hope of the Resurrection, and the good news that Christ Jesus has delivered us from death.

The God we know in Christ Jesus is in the rescue business. He specializes in delivering his people just when things seem hopeless. Unexpectedly, he provides.

Out of nothing, he calls all creation into existence. On the mountain when Isaac was bound, he provides a ram. At the Red Sea, when Pharaoh's army was marching after the people of Israel and they were terrified, the Lord leads them through the midst of the sea on dry land. When Israel was scattered in Exile and they lamented, "Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are clean cut off," then the Lord God says, "Behold, I will open your graves, and raise you from your graves, O my people, and I will bring you home into the land of Israel." When Jesus lay dead in the tomb, God raised him up. And you--when you were dead in your sins, he made you alive together with Christ Jesus (cf. Eph 2:1-6).

God is in the rescue business: he delivers from death, and gives new life.

Tonight, we have good hope that we are about to witness God's gift of new life and his work of deliverance. For some among us are about to receive "the Sacrament of new birth." As the people of Israel passed through the waters of the Red Sea into freedom, so Kathleen and Theresa and Daniel and Laura and Noah will soon pass through the water of Baptism into a new life in Christ.

Baptism is the means by which God unites us to the death and resurrection of Jesus, and so leads us into new life. "Do you not know," asks St. Paul, "that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?" "We were buried with him by baptism into death," he says, "so that we too might walk in newness of life" (Rom 6:3-4). So in the baptismal liturgy we thank God for the water of Baptism, "in which we are buried with Christ in his death; by which we partake of his resurrection; through which we are reborn of the Holy Spirit."

God's gift in baptism is so rich that Christians have called it by many names. For example, Gregory of Nazianzus, the great fourth-century bishop/theologian calls it "gift, grace, baptism...anointing, robe of incorruption, bath of rebirth, seal, everything honorable." "It is a gift," he says, "because no offering is given for it beforehand; and grace, as given even to debtors; and baptism, as burying sin in the water; and anointing, as priestly and royal, since they were the ones anointed; [...]; and robe, as entirely covering shame; and bath, as washing clean, and seal, as a safeguard and a sign of authority."[4]
The church, though, has especially loved to call baptism "illumination." Gregory, for one, practically stumbles over himself in his rush to praise illumination, calling it "radiance of souls, transformation of life, engagement of the conscience toward God...help for our weakness...renunciation of the flesh, following of the Spirit, communion in the Word, setting right of the creature, a flood overwhelming sin, participation in light, dissolution of darkness." "Illumination," he says, "is the most beautiful and most magnificent of the gifts of God."[5]
Why illumination? Because in baptism we are immersed, submerged, drowned in the life of Jesus, plunged into the light of Christ, brought forth into God's new day. In baptism we renounce the Prince of Darkness and embrace the Light of the World; we turn from the darkness to the light; we are called into God's marvelous light. And in baptism our vision begins to be restored. We are illuminated by the One to whom the Psalmist says: "with thee is the well of life: and in thy light shall we see light" (Ps. 36:9).

On this night, when the darkness of death is overcome by the gladdening light of the resurrection, when Christ Jesus tramples down death by death, open your heart and your mind to the Light of Christ. "Look upon him and be radiant" (Ps. 34:5).

"Christ yesterday and today, the Beginning and the End. The Alpha and the Omega. May the Light of Christ, gloriously rising, dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds."[6]
Amen.


[1] The last phrase of course is from the great Orthodox troparion for Holy Pascha: “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.”

[2] Dante, Inferno, 1.1-3.

[3] Benedict XVI, Homily for Holy Saturday, 2012.

[4] Gregory of Nazianzus, Oration 40.4, in Gregory of Nazianzus, Festal Orations, trans. Sister Nonna Verna Harrison (Popular Patristics; SVS Press, 2008).

[5] Ibid., 40.3.

[6] Quoting the beginning of the liturgy of the Great Vigil of Easter.

"Tell truth and shame the devil": A Sermon on Ephesians 6

The Ministry of Truth, Screenshot from Nineteen Eighty-Four BBC adaption (1954) 

Preached at Church of the Incarnation, Dallas, on the Second Sunday in Lent. Listen here.

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“Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness.” (Ephesians 6:14)

“War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.”

These are the three slogans of the Party in George Orwell’s dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four. They are examples of the “reality control” or “doublethink” the Party exercises on itself and the citizens of Oceania. As the protagonist Winston Smith explains it, “doublethink” means “to tell deliberate lies while genuinely believing in them” and “to repudiate morality while laying claim to it.”[1] In the novel, the practical consequences of doublethink range from minor annoyances to the total inversion of moral sensibilities; from labeling a wretched, oily-smelling liquor as “Victory Gin,” to a theater audience loudly applauding footage of the bombing of a lifeboat full of women and children.

“War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.” Slogans worthy of Joseph Goebbels, the Nazi Minister of Propaganda, who said that if you tell them often and cleverly enough, people can be convinced that a square is actually a circle.

History is littered with the horrors born of such sinister manipulations of language.

And our own politics is not exempt from its temptations and dangers—no community is. Our politics today abounds with what the comedian Stephen Colbert calls “truthiness.” And talk of “euthanasia” and “enhanced interrogation techniques” darkens our discourse. But at least we retain morally-freighted terms like “suicide,” which is better than calling the same thing something like “self-life taking.”[2]

No human community is free from the temptation to use the kind of language that is, as Orwell put it, “designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable.”[3]

Doublethink, propaganda, truthiness—such debased language is ultimately the progeny of “the Father of Lies,” the devil (Jn. 8:44). “That ancient serpent” (Rev 12:9) lives in falsehood and spins lies that breed violence and death. He is called “a murderer from the beginning” (Jn. 8:44) because death entered the world through the deception he worked in the Garden of Eden.

“Did God really say…? “You will not die.”

The devil is The Deceiver—with a capital “D”.

The good news is that the devil has been defeated; our Lord Jesus by dying and rising again has crushed the head of that great serpent.

The bad news is that although he’s mortally wounded, the Enemy still thrashes about in his death-throes, just as a great python whose head has been cut off lashes about with its tail. In his slide to nothingness, the devil’s still dangerous; his craft and power remain great.

But against his wiles the church stands.

The church can withstand the death-dealing lies of the devil, because God gives the church everything we need to know the truth and live truthfully. This, I think, is the gist of today's text from Ephesians 6:14: "Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth and having put on the breastplate of righteousness."

This is the second in our sermon series on the armor God gives his people to enable them to stand against the wiles of the devil. Each Sunday during Lent we’re meditating on the passage from Ephesians we heard a little while ago. We’re examining what God gives the church to enable us to stand, to withstand the devil and all his works.

And what else is the devil than a deceiver? He and his ilk work to make lies seem truthful and murder respectable—to disrupt peace and destroy community. Spreading lies and injustice are his particular forte.

And the people of God are the special target of his fury, precisely because they are called to be a community of peace, a community that witnesses to God's reconciling work in Christ Jesus, a community in which there is no place for lying and injustice, a community that knows the truth and does the truth. In the first chapters of Ephesians, Paul describes the church as the community in which hostility and divisions have been overcome through the blood of Christ. "He is our peace," he says (Eph 2:14). Again and again he calls the Ephesians to "speak the truth in love" in order to inhabit their new identity in Christ, to become the community of peace that they are (cf. Eph. 4:15).

But the devil don't like peace. He never has. And so he attacks what makes for peace. The Enemy, in other words, knows what Dietrich Bonhoeffer knew. Bonhoeffer, the German pastor-theologian who steadfastly opposed the Nazi regime, says, "There can only be a community of peace when it does not rest on lies and injustice." "There can only be a community of peace when it does not rest on lies and injustice." Knowing this, the Enemy sets about making lies seem truthful and murder respectable. And he's damnably good at it.

The book of Isaiah, for example, shows how devastating the devil's handiwork can be. In Isaiah 59, there’s a stark description of a community whose peace has been shattered by lies and injustice: hands drip blood; lips mutter lies. Things have fallen apart, and Isaiah tells it like it is:

"Justice is turned back, and righteousness stands afar off;

for truth has fallen in the public squares, and uprightness cannot enter.

Truth is lacking, and he who departs from evil makes himself a prey." (vv. 14-15)

Notice the connection here between justice/righteousness and truth. It's a connection made throughout Scripture. For example, in Revelation the redeemed sing to God, "Your ways are ways of righteousness and truth, O King of all the ages" (Rev. 15:3). There's a sense in which justice and truth are interchangeable. As John Milton insightfully put it, "Truth is but justice in our knowledge, and justice is but truth in our practice."[4] So we might think of justice and righteousness as truthful living, doing what is right. Righteousness is doing the truth.

Back now to Ephesians and the belt of truth and breastplate of righteousness: Truth, we might say, holds it all together. God gives us everything we need to know and do the truth, in order to keep us from being undone by the death-dealing lies of the devil. God gives us what we need to shame the devil.

"Tell truth and shame the devil." It's proverb found in Shakespeare's first Henry IV play: "Tell truth and shame the devil." Commenting on this proverb the essayist Alan Jacobs says, "When we tell the truth...the Father of Lies...is deprived of his children." "Every time we tell the truth," Jacobs continues, "we put [the devil] in his place. And because he hates his place, and wants more than anyone has ever wanted anything to assume the place of God, he is deeply grieved and shamed when our truthfulness shows the world just how un-Almighty he is."[5] The devil seeks to make lies seem truthful and murder respectable. But our truthfulness brings his dark deeds into the light and exposes him for what he is: a death-dealing huckster. When we tell the truth and live truthfully, we shame the devil, we show "just how un-Almighty he is."

Want to stand against the wiles of the devil? Then don't lie. Ever! Practice telling the truth every day in matters big and small. "Speak the truth in love." Don't gossip. Avoid truthiness and doublethink. Learn to stand in the truth. Practice standing before the truth.

Remember the dramatic encounter between Jesus and Pontius Pilate in John's Gospel? Jesus tells Pilate that he's come to bear witness to the truth, and that "every one who is of the truth hears my voice." Pilate answers flippantly and evasively, "What is truth?" (Jn. 18:37-38) Pilate is not willing to listen to Jesus, not willing to hear the One who bears witness to the truth. And so he ends up colluding with the most massive miscarriage of justice the world has ever known. Pilate precisely did not stand against the wiles of the devil.

So, don't be like Pilate. I mean, don't give up on the truth; keep seeking the truth. Ask, "What is truth?"—but, unlike him, stay for an answer! Stay to listen to the voice of Jesus, who is the truth in person. Allow yourself to be addressed by the truth.

Here's a concrete way to do just that: Memorize Scripture. As Rowan Williams says, when we hear the words of the Bible, we hear what God wants us to hear.[6] We learn to listen to the voice of Jesus the Word by listening to the words of Scripture. Memorizing the words of the Bible is a practical way to write the truth on your heart, to learn to stand in the truth. “Abide in my words,” Jesus promises, "and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free" (Jn. 8:32).

Now, not only do we shame the devil by telling the truth, but also by doing the truth, by living according to the truth, by doing what is right and good and true. Job provides a good example here. Job, we read, is "a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil" (Job 1:1). The Adversary, Satan, accuses Job of fearing God only because of the good things he has received from God. Remove those things, sneers Satan, "and he will curse thee to thy face" (1:11). But Job proves Satan wrong—and so shames him.  Job loses everything—his children, his possessions, his health—but he refuses to turn away from God, he persists in living righteously, in doing the truth.

You see, one of Satan's most subtle schemes is to tempt us to leave off doing the truth when things get rocky; to tempt us to be more concerned with protecting our lives than about seeking to do the truth regardless of the cost; to tempt us to doubt that Jesus is telling the truth when he says, "Seek first [the kingdom of God] and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well" (Mt. 6:33). This is why Jesus reacts so strongly to Peter in today's Gospel lesson. When Peter rebukes him for speaking of his suffering and death, Jesus turns and says, "Get behind me, Satan!" (Mk. 8:33) Jesus rebukes Peter, because Peter is inadvertently voicing a demonic temptation: "Save your life, live for yourself." By refusing this temptation and remaining obedient even unto death, the Lord Jesus has definitively shamed the devil. Christ Jesus has "disarmed the principalities and powers and made a public example of them, triumphing over them" in the Cross (Col. 2:15).

By his grace we are also able to triumph over every evil, to withstand the devil by our truth and truthfulness. We do not stand in our own strength; the Lord is our strength. Stand clothed in the armor with which God himself opposes lies and injustice (cf. Isa. 59:17). Stand clothed in the righteousness and truth with which Jesus the Messiah girds himself (cf. Isa. 11:5 LXX). Clothe yourself in his truth and his righteousness. In Jesus, the truth in person, God has given us everything we need to know and do the truth, and so to withstand the death-dealing lies of the devil. "Stand therefore, having girded your loins with truth and having put on the breastplate of righteousness."

Put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and shame the devil.

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[1] George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four, II.9; I.3

[2] Cf. Hauerwas, “Casuistry in Context: The Need for Tradition,” The Hauerwas Reader, p. 277.

[3] Orwell, “Politics and the English Language.”

[4] Milton, Eikonoklastes.

[5] Alan Jacobs, Shaming the Devil: Essays in Truthtelling, xi-xii.

[6] Rowan Williams, Being Christian.

"The Gold-Lettered Name": A Homily for the Feast of the Holy Name

Decorated letters 'IHS' (Netherlands or Germany, 15th c)

Preached at Church of the Incarnation, Dallas.

“And at the end of eight days, when he was circumcised, he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.” (Luke 2:21)

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Today, on the 8^th day of Christmas and the first day of 2015, we’re celebrating the Feast of the Holy Name of our Lord Jesus. We’re remembering what happened when, eight days after his birth, our Lord was circumcised and received the name Jesus.

But why all the fuss? What’s the big deal about the circumcision of a Jewish baby boy? And what’s in a name? Wouldn’t the one we call Jesus by any other name be our Lord and Savior? Why celebrate this feast at all?

What is in a name? Well, judging from the number of baby-name books and websites, there’s a lot at stake in a name! Parents feel a lot of pressure to pick names for their kids—perusing lists of baby names, focus-grouping possible names with friends and family—all to choose the name for their child that is Just Right. Not too trendy, not too passé, but with just the right mix of associations and family history and vowel sounds and surname-fittedness. Naming has become almost like branding. Some parents even hire consultants to help in the naming process. One such consultant calls herself a “nameologist” and charges as much as $350 for her services.[1] Apparently, naming is a Big Deal.

If our Lord had been born in 2014, I suppose he might have been named Yosef or Daniel or Ori—the top three names last year for boys born in Israel. Let’s be glad he got named Jesus—“Ori Christ” just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it?

Anyway, Mary and Joseph didn’t have a say in the matter. The angel Gabriel told Mary what her son would be called. I suppose that must have come as something of a relief for the Blessed Virgin. I mean, her life has just been turned upside down by the news that she’s going to bear the Savior of the world—at least she didn’t have to worry about what to name him!

Jesus—as the One who named him knew—is just the right name for the babe borne in Bethlehem. Jesus, or Ἰησοῦς in Greek, is the same as the Hebrew name Yeshua, which comes from the Hebrew for “The Lord saves” or “Yahweh helps.” In the Gospel of Matthew this etymology becomes explicit when an angel explains to Joseph that Mary’s son is to be named Jesus because “he will save his people from their sins” (Mt. 1:21). Jesus is the Savior; in him, the God of Israel brings salvation to the whole world. “In Christ,” says St. Paul, “God was reconciling the world to himself” (2 Cor. 5:19). So the name Jesus is just right for the babe born for us in Bethlehem, the Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

And so, Christians throughout the ages have shown great reverence for the Name of Jesus, “the name which is above every name” (Phil. 2:9). Newly baptized Christians have received emblems with the monogram of the Name of Jesus—I.H.S., representing the Greek spelling of his name, “iota”, “eta”, “sigma.” I.H.S. for Ἰησοῦς. Orthodox Christians stamp this monogram into the bread they will consecrate in the Eucharist. A similar motif adorns the altars here at Incarnation. And many of us show reverence for the Lord by bowing our heads at the mention of his Name in the liturgy. These practices anticipate the day when, “at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Phil. 2:10-11).

That last line, of course, comes from the well-known passage in the letter to the Philippians where St. Paul describes, as it were, how Jesus made his name. “Christ Jesus,” he writes,

“though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.” (2:6-10)

Jesus made his Name through humility and obedience.

He, our God and Creator, humbled himself and took on our human nature and dwelt among us.

He who gave the law to Moses, submitted himself to what he commanded, and was circumcised on the eighth day.

He who is Life itself, was obedient even unto death.

For us and for our salvation, he was incarnate of the Virgin Mary and was made man. For us he suffered death and was buried. Therefore, says St. Paul, Christ Jesus has been given “the name which is above every name.” Because of his humble obedience, his Name is holy. And one day the whole creation will bow the knee at the Holy Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

How holy is the Name of Jesus to you? How does your life hallow his Name?

Here we are, gathered together in Jesus’ Name to worship the one Lord, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Here we are, listening to his Word, and preparing to receive the Sacrament of his Body and Blood. Here we are, inclining our head at Jesus’ Name, bowing before his Cross, kneeling to receive the Gifts of God. The Name of Jesus is at least this holy to us.

But how do I bow my knee at the Name of Jesus in the rest of my life? How far do I imitate his humility? How far do I follow his example of obedience to the Father? How far do I say with him, “Not my will, but thine, be done”?

What I do and say and think shows how holy the Name of Jesus is to me.

Names are powerful. A name resonates with the whole story of the one named. A name can evoke a whole complex of memories and emotions and images. Think of the name of someone you dearly love. What comes to mind? How do you say the name of your beloved? How does it sound to you? — You might say that the name of your beloved is engraved on your heart. “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

St. Ignatius of Antioch was either the second or third bishop of Antioch—perhaps even appointed by the Apostle Peter. He was martyred in Rome very early in the second century. On his journey to martyrdom, he wrote letters to nearby churches and also to a fellow bishop. Seven of Ignatius’ letters have come down to us, and they show him to be passionately devoted to Jesus. He wrote to the church in Rome that he longed, as he put it, “not merely be called a Christian, but really be found to be one.” His desire to imitate the passion of Christ was fulfilled when he was fed to wild beasts. In icons, he’s shown with two lions chewing on him.

There’s a striking story about the martyrdom of St. Ignatius in the Golden Legend, a very popular medieval collection of saints’ Lives. Here’s how it goes:

“In the midst of all sorts of torments blessed Ignatius never ceased calling upon the name of Jesus Christ. When the executioners asked him why he repeated this name so often, he replied: ‘I have this name written on my heart and therefore cannot stop invoking it.’ After his death those who heard him say this were driven by curiosity to find out if it was true, so they took the heart out of his body, split it down the middle, and found there the name Jesus Christ inscribed in gold letters.”[2]

Now, while this story has all the feel of the legendary about it, I think it points to something significant and true. Ignatius had the name of Jesus written on his heart, perhaps not in gold letters, but certainly in love.

He loved the Lord so much that it was as if the Name of Jesus was inscribed on the core of his being.

The love of Christ had so filled his life that it couldn’t help but spill out.

He had the Holy Name of Jesus written on his heart and therefore his whole life.

In this new year, may the same be true of us.

Please pray with me: “Eternal Father, who didst give to thine incarnate Son the holy name of Jesus to be the sign of our salvation: Plant in every heart, we beseech thee, the love of him who is the Savior of the world, even our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Amen.

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[1] Alexandra Alter, “The Baby-Name Business,” WSJ (June 22, 2007).

[2] Golden Legend, trans. William Granger Ryan (Princeton University Press).

"Abundance and Risk": A Sermon on the Parable of the Talents

Vincent van Gogh, Lying Cow (1883)

Preached at Church of the Incarnation, Dallas. Readings here. Listen to a recording here, which differs somewhat from the text below, because the latter benefits from suggestions from my rector which I incorporated into subsequent services.

"Blessed Lord, who hast caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that, by patience and comfort of thy holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever." (Collect for Proper 28)

Ruminants. That’s what today’s collect calls us to be with the Bible. Ruminants. You know, animals who chew their cuds, like cows and sheep and camels.

Have you ever seen a cow chewing its cud? I grew up on a dairy farm in Pennsylvania, and so I have a pretty clear picture in my mind of a cow chewing its cud, savoring it patiently, with eyes half-closed, perhaps even drooling. 

Today’s collect always makes me think of a cow chewing its cud, when it asks for the grace to “hear [the Holy Scriptures], read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them.” The collect calls us to ruminate on Scripture, to chew it over and over in order to receive its nourishment—and to taste its sweetness.

Bernard of Clairvaux said of the words of the Bible, “Enjoying their sweetness, I chew them over and over, my internal organs are replenished, my insides fattened up, and all my bones break out in praise.” [1] But some parts of Scripture need more chewing than others to draw out their sweetness. Some parts are like milk and honey: they taste sweet right away and go down easily. Other parts, though, are more like liver: they’re less appetizing and you’ve really got to chew on them for a while and they require some extra digestion.

Take today’s Gospel lesson for instance. I don’t know about you, but when I first hear this story it sticks in my craw. Especially the ending: “For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have abundance; but from him who has not, even what he has will be taken away” (Mt. 25:29). 

It just doesn’t seem fair! Those who have will get even more?! And those who have not, will lose even what they have?! Where is the justice in that? Taken as a general statement, isn’t this just a description of the injustice and inequity of this world?

And why is the master so hard on the third servant, the one who got one talent? I can understand why the master is thrilled with the first two servants, the ones who got five talents and two talents: they doubled his investment after all! I’d be pretty pleased, too, if I was the master! Wouldn’t you? But why is he so hard on the third servant? The third servant didn’t do anything wrong! He didn’t lose his master’s money through carelessness or spend it greedily on himself or otherwise waste it. No, he kept it safe, hidden in the ground. When there’s no FDIC insurance and when bankers were seen as pretty crooked characters, money is safer in the ground than in the bank. Wasn’t the third servant just being prudent? Fiscally conservative? So why does the master get so upset with him?

And what of the business ventures of the first two servants? What sort of risky and ethically dubious deals did they do to get such a fantastic rate of return? What if they’d lost their master’s property in a business speculation that turned sour? What would the master thought of them then?

Clearly we need to chew on these words of Scripture some more. Roll it around in our mouths. Figure out what it is we are tasting.

Let’s start by recalling the context. Remember that the parable of the talents is one of a series of parables Jesus tells his disciples. They want to know when God is going to set everything right to fulfill all his promises to his people. When the day of the Lord will arrive. 

Jesus tells them, in effect, “Don’t worry about when; there’s no knowing when. That day will come suddenly, and you’ll know when it’s here. So live expectantly in the meantime. Wait patiently and hopefully. Live now as if the day of the Lord has already come; live now as you will when God’s reign is made manifest.” 

And he tells four stories to drive home the point: The first about two servants who have been left in charge of their master’s household while he’s away. One servant was wise and diligently did the work he was given to do, just as if the master was at home. But the other servant took advantage of his master’s absence and abused the authority he’d been given and “beat his fellow servants, and ate and drank with the drunken” (Mt. 24:49). The second story is about the wise and foolish bridesmaids waiting for the groom—we heard about that last week. Our story is the third one. 

And the fourth is the one about the Son of Man coming in his glory, separating the sheep and the goats, judging the nations based on how they treated “the least of these.”

Here’s the point: these stories are for teaching Jesus’ disciples how to wait for the day of the Lord. How to watch for the Lord to come in the fullness of his kingdom; how to live between the times, in the time of our pilgrimage when we walk by faith not by sight. 

So the parable of the talents has to do with the significance of how we live now between the times, with the fact that we are accountable to God. What we do matters, because our Lord will come to judge the quick and the dead, and, as he says, “then he will repay every man for what he has done” (Mt. 16:27). 

But what sort of Lord do we await? It’s the same nagging question about justice again. Is the God to whom we are accountable like the master the third servant feared? He said, “Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not winnow; so I was afraid” (Mt. 15:24–25). Is our Lord, our Master, a hard man? Hard to please? Severe? Harsh? Unjustly demanding?

Well, no! Let’s look again at the story, and I think we’ll see that the master isn’t as harsh as the third servant thought him to be: The master calls his three servants and entrusts them with his property; to one he gives five talents, to another two, and to another one, each according to his ability. Do you know how much money a talent is? I didn’t either, but I looked it up, and it turns out that one talent is a lot of money! One talent was more than a laborer could expect to earn in 15 years! So two talents is more than someone could expect to earn over the whole course of their career, and five talents would have been beyond a servant’s wildest dreams!

The master is generous: he gives even the least talented of his servants an extravagant sum. And think of the trust he placed in his servants by leaving this immense fortune in their care. And look again at what he says to first two servants: “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a little, I will set you over much; enter into the joy of your master.” Not only does he reward them for their faithful service, but he invites them to share in his joy. He welcomes them into his happiness. He wants their company.

Our Master, our Lord, gives us even more generous gifts and welcomes us to share in his joy. Our Lord gives us even our life. Everything we are and have is a gift from him. And God gives his people what they need to live in anticipation of joy and beatitude we will share with him his kingdom. As Sam Wells says, “God has given his people everything they need to worship him, to be his friends, and to eat with him. […] [H]e gives his people more than enough. He overwhelms them by the abundance of his gifts.” [2]

You see, the third servant misunderstood both the character of his master and the nature of the gift. Remember what he says to the master, “I knew you to be a hard man...so I was afraid.” He was afraid. He focused so much on his master’s demands that he overlooked his generosity. He couldn’t imagine that his master might invite him to share his joy at his return; he could only imagine the account books. He was concerned only with not doing anything wrong, with keeping safe what he had been given. But in trying to secure it, he loses it. 

Aren’t we often like this servant? Unable to imagine a God who desires our happiness. Only able to imagine life as a zero-sum game. Only able to think that what God gives can be used up and lost. Afraid to take Jesus at his word when he says, “Whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (16:25). We want to keep our life. We want a safe investment. We don’t want to risk the vulnerability of love. 

But, as C.S. Lewis says, “To love at all is to be vulnerable.” “Love anything,” he says, “and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket…it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.” [3]

“Whoever would save his life will lose it,” Jesus says, “and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Mt. 16:25)

God the Giver gifts us the gift of love. And love is not diminished by being given away. Think of how a candle burns just as brightly after another candle has been lit from its flame. That’s what love is like. God is light and love, and gives us himself in Christ Jesus. And Jesus, the true light who shines in the darkness, gives the community of his disciples to be the light of the world. 

“Let your light so shine before men,” he says, “that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (Mt. 5:16).

Our Master has risked everything for us, and gives us what we need to risk giving ourselves in love. He pours out his Holy Spirit into our hearts, so that we can risk the vulnerability of love, because we know that nothing will separate us from the love of God in Christ. He gives us what we need to learn to love our enemies and speak the truth and practice peace. Through his word and sacraments he nourishes us to do these good works he has given us to do— feeding the hungry and thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, caring for the sick, visiting those in prison. 

St. John of the Cross said, “Where there is no love, put love, and you will find love.” [4] When we risk love, we find that love is its own reward. For “God is love and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. And there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 Jn. 4:16b, 18).

And now I think we can taste at last the sweetness of Jesus’ words, when he says, “To everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance” (Mt. 25:29). Risk love, and you will find love. Love, and you will have an abundance of love.

[1] Quoted in Ivan Illich, In the Vineyard of the Text, pp. 56–7.

[2] Samuel Wells, God’s Companions, p. 17. 

[3] C.S. Lewis, Four Loves.

[4] Quoted in Dorothy Day, "The Scandal of the Works of Mercy," in By Little and By Little, the Selected Writings of Dorothy Day.