I didn’t learn how to drive a car until I was in my late 20s. As a result of my lack of experience with cars, you would think I would have been a poor choice for any kind of repair work involving automobiles. Yet twice in college, I helped my girlfriend at the time with car-related problems, once to fix a flat tire and the other to repair a broken hose. Never of these was exactly revelatory; the car jack had good instructions for how to change a tire, and repairing the hose problem was primarily a matter of popping the hood and saying, “Hmm . . . What doesn’t look right? I bet that hose that came off the connector it’s adjacent to shouldn’t be like that.” Still, both times were in more-or-less crisis situations, and, honestly, even all these years later, I still feel pretty good about rising to the occasion.
The notion of previously hidden talents was on my mind as I reflected on today’s readings. The Gospel selection from Luke is interesting in that, if you’ve been going to Mass regularly, the underlying story probably sounds pretty familiar, since we just had a version of this (from Matthew) on Sunday.
I’ve encountered variations of this parable a fair bit since I joined the faith. The usual homily I hear is the idea that God gives us talents (gifts), that He expects us to use to further his Kingdom. I’m just going to assume you’ve heard a version of this before. (And if you want to delve a bit more into this parable, I wrote about another interpretation a couple of years ago.)
So how can I add a bit more to the usual discussion today? Well, if I view this parable through the lens of that lesson, then what can I learn from the third man — the one who hid the one coin? Why was the nobleman so angry with the third servant?
Well, one thing we don’t have with either version of the parable is someone for whom the investment didn’t work out . . . something like, “Master, you gave me seven talents, and I tried my hardest to earn more with them, but I was really bad at it and — long story short — here’s three talents back.”
I’m curious how the master would react to that situation. Viewing this through the lens of using our skills, I like to think that the master would say, “Oh, well; at least you tried! Which is better than the servant I gave one coin to.”
I’m trying to remember a Bible story where the protagonist tries to do something good and fails, and the moral is, “Gee, you shouldn’t have tried that thing at all.” No, the usual trajectory of such stories is similar to when Peter tries to walk on water and fails (Matthew 14:22-33). Jesus uses it as an opportunity to admonish Peter to strengthen his faith . . . even though Peter still had more faith and courage than the other disciples in the boat. Similarly, when the rich man who had tried to live a good life and asked what more he needed to do (Mark 10:17-31), Jesus looked on him with love and said, “You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to [the] poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” The Gospel passage continues: “At that statement his face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.” So the moral of that story isn’t that the rich man shouldn’t try at all, but that he needs to try harder.
Even if there is one or more stories in the Bible where the moral is, “it’s better not to try that good thing than to fail,” the fact I can’t remember any tells me that overarching narrative of Sacred Scripture is one of action, of striving to do better for ourselves and for God.
Which leads me to the new wisdom I gleaned as I reflected on today’s readings. Namely, that we shouldn’t be hiding the opportunity for us to discover new talents. Like the servant who kept his coin hidden in a handkerchief because he felt that was the safest option, many of us don’t step outside our comfort zones to see if we have new or undiscovered talents. Maybe the servant with the one coin was — unbeknownst to himself — an expert on making deals, and would have brought back 20 coins for his master if only he’d even tried.
Back in college, sitting in a car with a flat tire or being unable to leave a parking lot because the engine didn’t work, it would have been trivial for me to toss up my hands and say, “Well . . . I don’t know anything about cars! It’s impossible for me to fix this; let someone else handle this problem.” My willingness to try things I didn’t know I was automatically good at helped out greatly in those situations.
In a similar way, maybe God is calling on you to explore new talents you haven’t tried before. An opportunity arises to share your faith story, but you’ve never done so? Give it a shot! You’re asked to help teach a religious-education class, but you’ve never dealt with kids? Consider trying to help! You have the chance to spread the Word or do good deeds in a nearby city . . . or even another nation? Search your heart and see if you’re willing and able to step out of the boat into a new adventure.
None of us are born with the innate knowledge to comfort prisoners, plan the finances for a parish, sing in a choir, join a religious life, or make soup for the poor; at some point, everyone who has ever done any of those things had to say, “Well, I’ve never done that before, but I’m willing to see where it leads me.” Some of those attempts will lead to long and fruitful associations with new ministries and groups of underserved. (I’ve heard so many religious educators say some variation of, “I’d never done teaching, but I decided to try, and it was an amazing decision.”)
Some of those attempts to do new things will be failures . . . but, even then, you may learn something about yourself and your abilities, which can lead to greater rewards and growth in the future. But if you hide your potential away — even from yourself — you risk the ire of the master.
Before meeting Jesus, none of the early disciples sat at home and said, “Y’know, I bet I’d be excellent at spreading radical religious ideas around the world.” But, by opening themselves to Jesus’ message and the Spirit, they did exactly that. Sacred Scripture encourages us to be not afraid; God is with us, and — within — it may be possible for us to do what we thought impossible.
Today’s readings: 2 Mc 7:1,20-31; Ps 17:1BCD,5-6,8B,15; Lk 19:11-28
