A GRUMPY GUIDE TO GIVING Reflections on the Nature of Stewardship
James Ishmael Ford
4 March 2007

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A man, going on a journey, summoned his servants and entrusted his property to them; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. The one who had received the five talents went off at once and traded with them, and made five more talents. In the same way, the one who had the two talents made two more talents. But the one who had received the one talent went off and dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. After a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. Then the one who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five more talents, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ And the one with the two talents also came forward, saying, ‘Master, you handed over to me two talents; see, I have made two more talents.’ His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and trustworthy servant; you have been trustworthy in a few things, I will put you in charge of many things; enter into the joy of your master.’ Then the one who had received the one talent also came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’ But his master replied, ‘You wicked and lazy servant! You knew, did you, that I reap where I did not sow, and gather where I did not scatter? Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and on my return I would have received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him, and give it to the one with the ten talents. For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. As for this worthless servant, throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’
Matthew 25:14-30

Once there was a barber named Sally who after she cut the rabbi’s hair, refused payment. “I’ve decided not to charge the clergy,” she said. The next day she found a loaf of freshly baked Dark Rye bread nicely wrapped and resting on the steps to her shop. A week or so later the local Episcopal priest received a haircut from her, and once again she declined payment, saying “Father, I don’t charge the clergy for haircuts.” The next day she found a really nice bottle of Pinot Noir on her shop steps. Later in the week, it was a Unitarian Universalist minister’s turn. And no, it wasn’t me. “Put your wallet away, Reverend,” said Sally after cutting his hair. The next day on her door step she found ten shaggy-haired UU ministers. Perhaps I was one of them.

Certainly could have been. I don’t want to say we Unitarian Universalists are close with a buck. But I’ve heard it said of UUs, clergy and lay alike, that we have a unique physiology with deep pockets and short arms. I prefer to think we UUs are simply careful and don’t like to casually part with our hard earned money. We are, for the most part a thrifty people, which has to count on balance, as a good. However, one consequence is that when our necessary annual stewardship campaign rolls around many of us find ourselves a bit grumpy.

In that spirit I want to thank Jacki Rohan, Barney Frieberg-Dale and Brian Hicks for serving as our Stewardship Planning Committee this year, as well as the really large number of folk who’ve agreed to call and call upon us to talk about the stewardship of our Society. The truth is those calls will address much more than money, but money is an important part of the conversations. When we were in Chicago this Fall Jan and I drove by the famous and humungous Moody Bible Institute several times. As I stared at that grand campus I recalled how its founder, the renowned nineteenth century evangelist Dwight Moody once famously observed “Blessed are the money-raisers, in Heaven they’ll be seated next to the martyrs.”

As many here know, as part of my preparation for writing a sermon I usually explore the web to see what others, particularly UUs have said about the subject I’m considering. You never know exactly where you’ll end up in such explorations. Peter Morales, minister of our UU congregation in Golden, Colorado, really caught me when he addressed the question of stewardship. He did this through a reflection on Jesus’ parable of the talents.

If you don’t know, that parable is in one of our windows, in the Frost Window at the bottom left over there. Also I like the fact this parable is something Jesus might actually have said. The Jesus Seminar, that liberal consortium of contemporary biblical scholars believe there’s a quite high probability it was indeed spoken by the good rabbi in his lifetime.

As I read Peter’s reflection I had to wade through a cascade of emotions and thoughts. Perhaps you’re in a similar boat? The good emotions were my fond memories of Baptist Sunday schools featuring those felt story boards a few here might also recall. I remember a succession of ladies, it was always ladies in flower print dresses and sensible shoes, and I am a child of the fifties, so in my memory most all wore those cat’s eye glasses taking felt people and animals and placing them around the board while telling various biblical stories. Among these stories were the parables of Jesus. Almost always, I realize now, in seriously watered down versions with simple, if not always healthy, morals at the end.

Which lead to the other emotions flowing over me as I thought about this Jesus story. I recall the sanitized chestnut-maned Jesus, and how like that image the morals I’d been fed like pabulum had little to tell that mattered to me as I broke into an awkward and questioning adolescence. Fortunately we don’t have to remain where we were as children or as adolescents. As an adult I see how the parable of the talents was one of the more obvious victims of these washed out tellings of the Bible’s stories. My childhood takeaway for the parable of the talents was “your efforts will succeed if they’re dedicated to the Lord.” Others in my Baptist world, just a tiny bit higher on the socio-economic ladder also read the lesson “If you’re poor, you deserve to be.” Today I think of that perspective in the bumper sticker which reads “Jesus is coming. Look busy.”

Actually it’s a lot more complex. If you don’t recall the story, in short, a nobleman is given possession of a country, but before going off to claim it he gives three of his senior stewards (in some versions, slaves) money. One is given five talents, the second two and the third one. A talent is an enormous amount of money, but I think the obvious pun in English is worth keeping in the back of one’s head. When he returns the lord demands an accounting. This noble is a terrible figure with enormous power and a willingness to kill for slight infractions. The first two stewards doubled the money during their lord’s absence. They are praised and rewarded. The third, however, was afraid, and buried the talent (in one version kept it wrapped in a napkin). He was excoriated before being banished to the outer darkness. This is where we get the famous and notorious line “For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.”

With that in the back of one’s mind, no wonder we might be grumpy when we’re asked about money. Now a parable isn’t a straightforward story, despite what my childhood Sunday school teachers thought. Actually, who knows what was going on in their hearts? Still, whatever they thought, my Sunday school teachers taught the party line. And that just won’t do, the stakes are too high. I suggest if a religious story is going to have real value for us, you and me, it has to, like you and I, to be a bit messy, the message must have ambiguity, and if it’s real, there needs to be a knife’s edge of danger about it. Just like real life. And perhaps, even in my brief retelling, you can see that larger messiness, that hint of danger in that parable.

Hebrew Scripture scholar Walter Brueggemann, an advocate of something called rhetorical criticism once observed “Telling parables was one of Jesus’ revolutionary activities, for parables are a subversive re-imagining of reality.” I recall in seminary when I first read that line. I felt an enormous relief. I also felt even though my theological center had shifted considerably from any orthodox form of Christianity, there was still much to learn from my childhood faith. Bruggemann’s subversive re-imagining didn’t deny my childhood version of the stories, and it didn’t deny my adolescent rejection of those simplistic versions. Instead he called upon us to imaginatively engage these stories and others like them if we hope to find value and direction in our lives, to allow the revolutionary possibilities to emerge.

At a website devoted to the Jesus Seminar I ran across a quote from New Testament scholar Bernard Brandon Scott. I found it very helpful in considering this particular parable. He observes “…in the parable it emerges how to go about claiming the future…” First, I suspect one must let go of that awful ruler, that terrible judge which lives in all our imaginations. That’s the voice which says “It’s never good enough.” Or “Only the impossible is good enough, and that’s not you.” That’s the angry God many of us carry within. And, this too is important: one needs to let go of the idea if you’re good you will succeed. Quite simply, we all know from our own experience, that’s not true. The good and the hardworking often get nothing to show for it.

Instead, perhaps we can picture the story this way. You and I are born with talents, some large, some small. But we all have them. And with those talents we’re given freedom. Not freedom to do anything. I can’t flap my arms and hope to fly. Frankly, that’s the least of my limitations. But, I have an amazing ability to see and hear and reflect. As do you. Such amazing talents, such amazing wealth has been poured upon us simply with our being born human. However, and this is the rub, here we find the unpleasant truth in the images of the nobleman and the call not to bury our talents: what I do with those talents I’ve been given will determine who I become. This isn’t about profit, it’s about character.

The problem in this life is that it can be overwhelming. Fear is a perfectly natural response to a clear-eyed assessment of the world and any individual’s place within it. There is so much we have no control over. Any one of us can walk out of church today and get run over by a bus. But between birth and that bus how do we choose to act? That’s the terrible consequence of freedom. We must choose, because whatever we choose to do or not do, will have a cascade of consequences. What do we do with our talents? How do we engage? This is what stewardship is about.

The consequences are enormous. Bernard Scott says “The parable (of the talents is) a window onto the kingdom…” Now I read kingdom to mean our goal, the best possible, what comes about when we use our talents and not hide them away. In fact Scott suggests the parable “demands that the servant act neither as preserver nor as one afraid; but act as boldly as he must.” To act as boldly as she must.

This makes a lot of sense to me. I see myself and my own life. I think of this spiritual community. I see how we have come together and have covenanted with each other to make at least part of our lives together. I see our shared vision which includes a sense of human dignity and possibility, as well as how our human freedom contains within it a sense of responsibility. I think we’ve come here together not so much in rejection of other perspectives, but to build upon them with revolutionary hope.

I’m pretty sure that’s what stewardship is. I think of that and I’m a lot less grumpy about our launching into our stewardship campaign. In fact, I’m kind of grateful to be reminded of the connections, of freedom and responsibility in this life.

It’s awesome. It’s terrible. It’s lovely.

Amen.