It’s tempting, because this parable is so difficult, to drain the tension out of the story. Yet, if we follow the frustrated reactions of Jesus’ disciples, the parables are meant to perplex and confound us and the tension is where we find the challenge. Instead of removing the tension, our calling is to bring out the tension in the story more plainly and point toward the resolution that might occur in the lived experience of faith.

One way of taking the tension out of this text would be to preach it as a tried-and-true stewardship passage, and it’s right there in the traditional title: the parable of the talents. The Greek word talanton initially meant a scale or balance that was used to weigh coins, and then came to mean that which was weighed, a unit of money. By Jesus’ time, it was an extraordinary amount of money, perhaps as much as twenty years of wages for a laborer. The amount given to these servants is either hyperbolic or an ancient version of venture capital. As the word has come into English, talents mean the skills and abilities that we are comparatively and especially good at. It’s almost impossible for us to not hear this story against the backdrop of what we think of as our talents (or our lack of talents). And for those Christians who have been through more than a few stewardship seasons, it’s almost impossible not to leap to the conclusion of the sermon to say, “I should be more generous/adventurous/thoughtful in my stewardship of my time/talent/treasure.”

On the other hand, if we press into the details of this parable, there are some parts that are deeply troubling. Jesus is telling a story that appears to place him, allegorically, in the position of a wealthy and exploitative landowner. The key figures in the story are referred to as slaves or servants, revealing a power dynamic that was surely exploitative. And when the master came back, the servant who was given the least is treated as harshly as any character in the Bible. He is called wicked, lazy, and worthless; the little he has is given to those who already have much; and he is thrown into outer darkness, “where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” And if the details of this story weren’t troubling enough on their own, the allegorical thrust and the eschatological placement in the context of Matthew’s gospel lead us to see the spectre of eternal damnation hanging over the whole tale.

That is almost too much tension to bear! So, another way of draining the tension from the story is by focusing on the good servants. Both of those servants did well with what they were given, and the master’s response to them is the same, nearly verbatim. They are praised for accomplishing much, praised for being trustworthy, the scope of their responsibilities is dramatically increased, and they are welcomed into the master’s joy. In some ways, the way these two are treated upon the master’s return can be seen as a reversal of the exploitative dynamics that mark the beginning of the story. Moreover, their narrative arc is overwhelming positive, full of grace on the part of the master and faithfulness on the part of the servant.

While it’s tempting to preach the parable from that direction, ultimately, we would be preaching against the text. The weight of the story clearly falls on the third servant. So, what do we make of this? The larger context of this story in Matthew’s gospel is the theme of waiting during the in-between time. We’ve already heard about the need to be alert, awake, and prepared for the Son of Man to return, and after this parable we will hear an eschatological depiction of the final judgment. The story about the master who goes away for a long and unknown period of time directly situates us into the in-between time, between the ascension of Christ and Christ’s return. The question behind this parable is what do we do in the meantime? We’ve already heard, in the preceding parable, that we should be wisely prepared for the return to happen at any moment. What does this parable add to that picture of in-the-meantime activity?

On the one-hand, it celebrates astounding risk-taking and adventurousness. The first two servants risked enormous sums and doubled the money. On the other hand, the parable condemns – in some of the harshest language and imagery in scripture – the fearfulness, false-humility, and self-protection that led the third servant to wait passively for the master’s return. Of course, the servant had his own rationale, that the master was a harsh and aggressive person, and we can sympathize with his fear. Moreover, we can imagine an alternative reality in which the first two servants lose the money and the third one is praised. But that is not the tension the parables invites us to feel. The truth, says the master, is that the servant is wicked and lazy.

The Greek word translated lazy is interesting, but in contemporary HR language we might say unmotivated, disengaged, uninterested, unambitious. Why did he hide the money in the ground? Because he lacked resolve. He could not move from good intentions to action. He didn’t have follow-through.

In this way, the parable is a call to energetic faithfulness and warning about the perils of being too hesitant. The call is to emulate the ministry of Jesus with ambition, with risk, and with adventurousness. The parable is not a call to entrepreneurship, though it is very easy to hear it that way in a capitalist context. No, the parable is a call to energetic faithfulness. If we need to know more specifically what that looks like, we only have to keep reading to the depiction of the final judgment. “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” This work, the parable wants us to know, is worthy of all the creativity, ambition, courage, and energy we can give, until the master returns. When we have done well in this work, we will find the master’s joy.