In the first of the Lord of the Rings films, Frodo laments to Gandalf, “I wish the ring had never come to me.” The wizard replies, “So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.” The poet Mary Oliver helps focus such discernment by asking, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” It is similar to Frederick Buechner’s question, “Where does your deep gladness meet the world’s deep need?” Similarly, our texts invite us to consider the time and abundance we’ve been entrusted with as a sacred gift and as an opportunity to reflect the loving stewardship of God.
To be sure, the world has deep needs. From war and gun violence to poverty and racial injustices, from indifference to a mistrust of others that has weakened the fabric of our society. And in the face of such challenges, the message that often comes across is that we need to be fearful. There is some truth to an unsettling worldview. Indeed, Zephaniah paints an ominous picture of the day of the Lord, of distress and anguish, ruin and devastation, some of which we are seeing in places experiencing earthquakes, floods and other ecological disasters made more frequent and intense because of climate change. Sadly, the loss of homes and vineyards, the displacement and other effects of ecological disruption are experienced disproportionately by the most vulnerable people, victims of the structural economic and racialized systems of inequity, in which fear can generate a mind of scarcity and self-absorption. But Zephaniah also has words for those who “rest complacently,” who live “loftily,” thinking they will not be affected and disregarding the Lord’s ways. But, “Neither their silver nor their gold will be able to save them,” the prophet declares. Instead, as Pope Francis reiterated in his recent exhortation, Laudate Deum, “what happens in one part of the world has repercussions on the entire planet… Everything is connected… No one is saved alone” (par. 19).
Yet that fearful mindset is precisely what our other readings confront. As Paul says to the Thessalonian church, “God has destined us not for wrath but for obtaining salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that … we may live with him.” The soteria of the New Testament is not just about salvation after death but about God freeing us from sin and enabling us in this life to embrace a holistic sense of wellness, wholeness, healing and wellbeing for all people and creation as an alternative to a fatalistic, fractured trajectory. And rather than scarcity, Jesus invites us to see God’s abundance and even in the midst of fearful times to live boldly in the promises of God.
His invitation here is a parable: A man about to go on a journey entrusts his property to his servants. To each he gives an abundance, in this case measured out in a unit of money called a “talent.” We could think of this word like a gift or a skill, but in first-century terms talent also referred to a denomination of currency, worth about 15 years of day labor – an amount so large it was hard to quantify for most people Jesus encountered. The master entrusts five such talents to one servant, two talents to another, and one to another. Notice that each receives an abundance.
Now, when the master returns, he calls his servants back. And in the meantime, the one with five talents has made five more talents. Jesus doesn’t say how, but we’re given a clue with the word trade. In Greek, that verb can also mean “to minister” as when a woman anoints Jesus’ feet, or “to labor,” as when a father asks his sons to work in the vineyard. Its implications are broader than just moneymaking. In my first call many years ago, the council received a letter from a 13-year-old in the congregation with an idea of holding a spaghetti dinner to raise money for ELCA world hunger. She said she already had lined up a restaurant to donate the pasta and sauce, and she just needed help serving and scheduling it. It was amazing how people responded. I’ll help in the kitchen… I’ll bring salad… I’ll bring bread, people said. This was before Thrivent Action Teams, but the idea’s the same: that one gesture of generosity begets more, and in pooling their “talents,” the people generated more awareness and support for hunger relief. They were like the first servant, or the second, who, by using their talents to serve, not only didn’t lose those talents but saw them multiply in ministry.
It's similar to the time my current congregation was eliminating disposable plates and cups and introducing more ecologically sustainable practices in the kitchen. I’ll work with my circle to get plates from estate sales… I’ll work with my ministry group to get reusable cups… I’ll be a compost captain and make sure the bin is empty… I’ll do cloth napkins… That last one was from a teenager too, who added he would wash them each week! By the time he graduated from high school it had become part of our practice and was taken over by the weekly servers.
Now, one spaghetti dinner might not seem like a lot to make a difference for world hunger, and making changes to our kitchen practices might seem small next to the ecological crisis. But they matter to the recipients and the people involved, they cultivate a broader spirit of solidarity in ministry. Again, Pope Francis: “there are no lasting changes without cultural changes… and there are no cultural changes without personal changes” (par. 70). I like to think the first two servants operated with the same mindset of abundance those young people did. The second servant could have said, “If only I had five talents instead of two.” But rather than dwell on what she didn’t have, she saw the abundance she was given, and in using it for ministry God was able to accomplish far more than she may have imagined. But the third servant who was given one talent buried it. Even though he was given an abundance, even though he was entrusted with something precious, he lived in fear, burying it as if he had been given nothing. He couldn’t experience the joy in what he already had.
Yet entering joy is what the reward is. It’s a word used here and only a few other times in Matthew: 2:10 when the magi were overwhelmed with joy seeing the star had stopped; 13:44 where Jesus compares the kingdom of God to a person who finds a treasure hidden in a field and joyfully sells all they have to buy it; and 28:8 when the women leave the empty tomb with great joy to tell more of Jesus’ disciples. In the midst of times that can be daunting, even fearful, the resurrection is God’s response.
When was the last time you were overwhelmed with joy and wonder at God’s continuing creation, at the faithful generosity of the productive earth despite its scars, at the incomprehensible preciousness of what we’ve been entrusted with? Here Jesus invites us to recognize the abundance God gives and opportunities for our talents to participate in the healing of people and the earth, that by God’s grace and guidance our deep gladness might meet deep needs and the joy of the Lord’s saving love for all creation might multiply.
Pastor David Carlson
Duluth MN
The Rev. Dr. David Carlson is pastor of Gloria Dei Lutheran Church in Duluth, MN and co-chair of the Northeastern MN Synod EcoFaith Network. Originally from Denver, CO, he holds theological degrees from Princeton Theological Seminary, the Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago, and Luther Seminary. “Earth Stewardship and the Missio Dei: Participating in the Care and Redemption of All God Has Made” is the title of his Doctor of Ministry thesis, which he defended in 2016. Pastor Dave believes the church in general and Lutherans in particular are well suited to help society address ecological needs and the problems of climate change, and that congregations are ideal settings for modeling the kind of earth stewardship needed for a more sustainable world.