Don't Do Nothing: Life Lessons from the Parable of the Talents

 

The parable of the talents, found in the gospels of Matthew and Luke, provides insight into how the Lord conducts his affairs and what he expects of those in his service.

In the parable, a nobleman who is about to go on a journey calls three of his servants and gives them each a certain number of “talents” with which to do business while he is away. The “talent” referenced here is the Roman Attic talent, a weight in that was equivalent to about 8,400 denarii. The denarius was a common working man’s daily wage at the time of Christ; so assuming a six-day work week here, a single talent would have taken the average wage earner 8,400 days (26 years) to acquire. To the first servant, the master entrusts five talents (42,000 denarii, 133 years’ worth of wages). To the second, he entrusts two denarii (16,800 denarii, 53 years’ worth of wages). To the third, he entrusts a single talent.

When the master returns, he calls his servants to account for the use they’ve made of his goods while he was away. The first servant, to whom the master gave five talents, has made five more talents, and is rewarded. The second servant, to whom the master gave two talents, has made two more talents, and is rewarded. The third servant does not fare as well in the judgment:

“And the one also who had received the one talent came up and said, ‘Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow and gathering where you scattered no seed. And I was afraid, and went away and hid your talent in the ground. See, you have what is yours.’ “But his master answered and said to him, ‘You wicked, lazy slave, you knew that I reap where I did not sow and gather where I scattered no seed. Then you ought to have put my money in the bank, and on my arrival I would have received my money back with interest. Therefore take away the talent from him, and give it to the one who has the ten talents.’ “For to everyone who has, more shall be given, and he will have an abundance; but from the one who does not have, even what he does have shall be taken away. Throw out the worthless slave into the outer darkness; in that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” – Matthew 25:24-29

Of course, the overall point of this parable is that the Lord expects those in his service to do profitable work for his kingdom, but when we break down the language used here we gain some additional insights.

 

“Master, I knew you to be a hard man…”

 

The word “hard” here is translated from the Greek word skieros, which Vines Expository Dictionary comments on as follows:

 

“(from skello, ‘to be dry’). It was applied to that which lacks moisture, and so is rough and disagreeable to the touch, and hence came to denote ‘harsh, stern, hard.’ Skieros is always [a form of reproach] and indicates a harsh, even inhuman, character.”

 

The gospel of Luke contains a similar parable where the unprofitable servant calls his master “an austere man” (Luke 19:21). ‘Austere’ is translated from the Greek word austeros, which Vines says is related to skieros in that it denotes a harsh character, but where skieros has to do with something that is harsh to the touch, austeros has to do with something that is too strong to the taste:

 

“Primarily denotes ‘stringent to the taste,’ like new wine not matured by age, unripe fruit, etc…Austeros is ‘rather the exaggeration of a virtue pushed too far, than an absolute vice.’”

Why does the servant view his master in this way?

 

“Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed.”

In other words, the servant is accusing his master of ruthlessly reaping the benefits of the labor of others, claiming what they have worked for as his own while doing no work himself.

 

“And I was afraid, and went away and hid your talent in the ground. See, you have what is yours.”

The word translated “afraid” here (Greek – phobeo) can simply mean to be fearful, but in earlier usage it actually meant ‘to put to flight’: to scare someone to the point where they run. This seems to be what is meant here, as the servant says he “went away.”

Putting these ideas together, we see that the servant is accusing his master of ruthlessly exploiting the labor of others, and claims that he was so afraid of working for such a man that he ran off and hid the talent he’d been given, ignoring his charge as if it didn’t exist. Effectively, he’s saying to the master: “I want nothing to do with you and your business.” We might then ask: Well, if the servant hasn’t been tending to his master’s affairs, what has he been doing all this time? Apparently, he’s been tending to his own business. His excuse that he was afraid of his master is really a cop-out. He’s just uninterested in anything but his own affairs.

The master then judges the servant, as Luke’s account reads, by his own words.

 

“You wicked, lazy slave. You knew that I reap where I did not sow and gathered where I scattered no seed. Then you ought to have put my money in the bank, and on my arrival I would have received my money back with interest. Therefore, take the talent from him and give it to the one who has the ten talents.”

There’s some strong irony in this response. The servant’s problem with the master is that he profits without labor, and in judging him the master tells the servant how he might have profited without labor as well. He says that the servant should have put the master’s money in the bank, where it would have gained interest without any further effort on the servant’s part. Yet, the servant was unable to do even this much, and finds himself condemned. The talent is then taken from him and given to the one who showed the best results with his master’s money, while the worthless servant is cast from his master’s presence.

There are numerous lessons for us in all of this.

First, the Lord is careful with his treasures. Like any good manager, he knows which employees can be trusted to perform well, and distributes responsibilities accordingly. Parents do this as well. They usually know which of their children can handle responsibility and which can’t. If they leave the house for a time, they don’t put the least capable kid in charge. Accordingly, the Lord distributes ability and responsibility to those he knows can handle it. Some get more, and some less. This is his decision, not ours.

Second, notice that the Lord commends both profitable servants. He doesn’t chide the servant to whom he gave only two talents for not gaining five, like the most profitable servant did. He gave the servant two talents, and commends him for gaining two more. The servant met the master’s expectations, and was rewarded for it. The Lord simply expects that his servants will use what they’re given, and in the proper proportion.

Third, the Lord gives even less-capable servants a chance to better themselves. Employers and parents do the same thing: they try to encourage their employees and children who aren’t doing as well to do better, and this is how we ought to consider the things we’re given to do. The master undoubtedly knew that the lazy servant wasn’t capable of much, so he didn’t give him much to do; but he gave him something, and there was honor as well as expectation in that charge. Yet, the servant chose to see his master’s charge as nothing more than an unwanted burden.

Fourth, note that the master doesn’t chide the lazy servant for not gaining another full talent. He doesn’t even expect that much. He would have been satisfied with merely gaining some interest on the talent. The servant chided the master for being a hard man, but the master shows here that he’s actually flexible. When he gives something, he expects some sort of increase on it—even if only something minimal. He set the lowest possible standard, and the servant was unable to meet even that expectation.

Fifth, although the lazy servant must have been busying himself with his own affairs while his master was gone, the master doesn’t condemn him for even this. He condemns him for completely neglecting his master’s business. The Lord knows that people have interests, need to make a living, etc., and he doesn’t condemn that. He simply asks that something be done for his sake.

Maybe you have no idea what it is that the Lord expects of you. Maybe you don’t feel that you have much to offer in the first place. The lesson of this parable is simply that the Lord expects you to do something in his service. He expects some return on his investment—even a minimal effort. You don’t have to preach to millions like a Billy Graham, give up everything and become a missionary, or have the ability to sing like an angel, or raise the funds to build vast ministries in order to please God. Just do what you can with what you have. It’s always good to learn more, to stretch and grow; but don’t let a lack of confidence or a perceived lack of ability freeze you into doing nothing at all.

As the psalmist writes in Psalm 103:14, God “knows our frame; he is mindful that we are but dust.” God’s standards of judgment are probably not as harsh as we sometimes envision. He knows our limitations and makes accommodation for them. More often than not, our judgment comes from our own standards. This is one of the fundamental teachings Christ gave to his disciples: “For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7:2). In its context, Christ meant this specifically with respect to how we treat others, but we still see the same principle at work in the parable of the talents. The master judged his servant by his own words and standards. For this reason, it would benefit us to think of the excuses we would offer up to God in giving account for ourselves, and think of how he might use our own words and standards to judge us. In this way, we judge ourselves and have the opportunity to adjust our course in life before we meet the Lord (I Corinthians 11:31).

 

* All scriptures cited here are taken from the NASB.

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Matthew versus Luke on the Genealogy of Jesus

The genealogies of Jesus as found in the gospels of Matthew and Luke have become a source of contention over time. One of the main issues in contention is the fact that Matthew records Jesus’ adoptive father, Joseph, as being descended from a man named Jacob, whereas Luke says that Joseph’s father was a man named Eli. The gospels appear to be tracing two entirely separate lineages, which only come together with King David. Matthew’s gospel says that Jesus was descended from David through his son Jeconiah, while Luke says that Jesus was descended from David’s son Nathan.

 The most plausible explanation for this divergence is that Matthew is tracing Jesus’ lineage through Joseph, whereas Luke is tracing it through Mary. This seems reasonable enough on the surface. After all, this is how we trace genealogies today: through both the mother and the father. In the ancient world, however, this was exceedingly rare. A child’s genealogy was almost always traced exclusively through the father because the father bore the family name, and with that name came rights associated with titles and inheritance. For this reason, if Luke did trace Jesus’ genealogy through Mary, he did something rather extraordinary for the time. This may in fact be the case, but if so, why didn’t Luke just say this? He doesn’t mention Mary at all in this genealogy. He claims to be tracing it through Joseph, and he names Joseph’s father.

So, what gives?

In what follows here, I’ll give you what I think is the most plausible explanation for this divergence, and why both lineages are attributed to Joseph.

Modern Western society (especially here in America) is highly individualistic. With certain exceptions, people tend to rise or fall on their own merits, and their actions do not ordinarily affect their families. This has not always been the case, however, especially in small town environments where most people knew one another rather well, and in the circles of the well-to-do, where one’s family name had standing. Family standing is far more important in collective societies, such as in the Far East today, with Japan perhaps being the most important example. One’s personal behavior can either honor or disgrace an entire family—sometimes for generations.

Such was definitely the case in the culture of the ancient Near East, and we find examples of it in the Old Testament. Perhaps the most prominent example is a man named Jeroboam. After the death of King Solomon, Israel split into two kingdoms. Jeroboam took leadership of the northern ten tribes, which became known as “Israel” and the “Northern Kingdom.” The remaining two tribes constituted the “Southern Kingdom” or simply “Judah,” were ruled by Solomon’s son Rehoboam. Jerusalem, located in Judah, had been the capital of united Israel. Jerusalem was also the site of the temple, which was the center of Hebrew life and culture. In order to keep the people of Israel from going to Judah for worship—and thereby to solidify the split between the tribes—Jeroboam set up idols in the northern extremities of Israel. This was the beginning of Israel’s departure from Yahweh, and led to the nation’s ultimate downfall. For this reason, the Old Testament frequently refers to Jeroboam as “Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who caused Israel to sin.” Jeroboam is thus disgraced in the Old Testament as an idolater who destroyed his people, and his father’s family is disgraced right along with him.

Another example is found in the story of Amnon and Tamar, as recorded in II Samuel 13. Amnon and Tamar were half-brother and sister through different wives of David. Tamar is said to have been beautiful, and Amnon loved her greatly—or at least he thought he did. His desire for Tamar was so great that he actually became ill as a result, and a “friend” told him how to go about seducing her. Amnon carried out the scheme and raped Tamar, setting off a family quarrel that ultimately resulted in civil war in the kingdom. When his intentions became obvious, Tamar pleaded with him not to do it, saying: “No, my brother, do not violate me, for such a thing is not done in Israel; do not do this disgraceful thing! As for me, where could I get rid of my reproach? And as for you, you will be like one of the fools in Israel. Now therefore, please speak with the king, for he will not withhold me from you” (II Samuel 13:12-13). Tamar’s reaction here clearly shows that she was concerned, not only with what was happening to her physically at the moment, but with how she would be perceived afterward. She also appealed to Amnon’s concerns for his own reputation.

In Jewish society, when a man and a woman were betrothed, they were considered legally married, even though they weren’t living together as of yet. During that time, both were expected to remain sexually chaste; and if either failed to do so, it was considered adultery, which was punishable by death under the law of Moses. At the very least, it was grounds for divorce. If a couple slept together before being officially married, it was still considered a reproachful act: a violation of sacred tradition and pledges made before witnesses.

When Mary was found to be pregnant during her betrothal to Joseph, only one of three things was possible as far as the families would have been concerned: Mary had been raped, Mary had had consensual relations with another man (again, adultery), or Mary and Joseph had gotten an unauthorized head start on things. Any of these would have resulted in public shame for both families. The only way Joseph could keep himself and his family in the clear would be to divorce Mary, and thereby claim that whatever had happened was not his doing. Under the law of Moses, if a woman was raped, she was under obligation to declare it. If she failed to do so, she’d be suspected of having consented to sex with a man who was not her husband. Socially speaking, this was about as bad as a situation could get for a young woman and her family (particularly her father) in those days and in that culture.

We’re not told what Joseph thought when he discovered that Mary was pregnant, but it obviously wasn’t good, as the gospel writer tells us that he was planning to divorce her. Still, it’s recorded of Joseph that he was “a just man.” He had no plans to disgrace Mary publicly, as was his right. Instead, he was going to divorce her privately. Of course, when he learned the truth, he married her. In modern, Western culture, we have little real appreciation for what this meant for Joseph. As far as the Jewish community was concerned, he was basically claiming Mary’s child as his. This would have been seen as evidence that the two of them had acted inappropriately, and it would have brought a measure of reproach on both families. By his actions, Joseph chose to spare Mary and her family one of the worst social stigmas possible at that time; and in the process, he brought a degree of reproach upon himself and his family. This wouldn’t have left things in an ideal state, by any means, but the relief Mary’s family would have felt is probably unimaginable to most of us today.

If you have any knowledge of the Bible, you’ll probably remember the story of Joseph, whose father Jacob gave him the famous “coat of many colors.” Joseph was one of Jacob’s most beloved children, so much so that his older brothers were murderously jealous of him. When they finally saw their chance, they sold him into slavery, and Joseph ended up in Egypt. To make a long story short, Joseph eventually proved himself among the Egyptians as one who had the favor of God. He was elevated to a place of high leadership in Egypt, second only to the Pharoah, who gave Joseph his daughter in marriage. Joseph had two sons with her: Ephraim and Manasseh. When Joseph was finally reunited with his father after many years, Jacob placed his hands on Ephraim and Manasseh and blessed them. He also effectively adopted them on the spot: “Now your two sons, who were born to you in the land of Egypt before I came to you in Egypt, are mine; Ephraim and Manasseh shall be mine, as Reuben and Simeon are” (Genesis 48:5). Ephraim and Manasseh became known as “half-tribes” of Israel, constituting the “House of Joseph.” Manasseh is actually mentioned as one of the twelve tribes in Revelation 7, whereas one full tribe—the tribe of Dan—is omitted.

I believe we’re dealing with something similar in the genealogy of Luke 3.

When Joseph chose to spare Mary and her family the terrible disgrace they would have suffered otherwise, and even brought a measure of reproach upon himself in the process, my guess is that Mary’s father effectively adopted him just as Jacob adopted Ephraim and Manasseh. For an older man to give a younger man his name was the greatest honor he could possibly bestow in that time and culture. Even giving Joseph his daughter in marriage was not as significant as giving Joseph his name, as it potentially involved matters of inheritance. Also, in giving Joseph his name, Eli would have been essentially handing him the entire family legacy: the family honor going back generations.

While this scenario is not explicitly stated in scripture, I believe it’s entirely plausible. It’s consistent with the culture of the day and with the examples I’ve cited from the Old Testament. It may not be convincing to more hardline skeptics, who would like to see it spelled out clearly in the text, but it makes sense and that’s my personal view of the matter.

 

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Scriptures cited in this article are from the NASB.