“Risky Business”
Matthew 25:14-30
Anna Blaedel, Pastoral Intern
Epworth United Methodist Church

These last weeks and months have been marked by a felt intensity within this community and the world. Over and over, on personal, communal, national and global levels serious illness, pervasive violence, institutional injustice, natural devastation, broken relationships, even new births and renewed relationships, healing bodies and outpourings of compassionate connection we are immersed in depth experience, in the weaving together of pain and fear with beauty and hope, immersed in the constant reminder of our own vulnerability. In the midst of this intensity, I find myself craving comfort and protection. Safety. Stability. Security.

This context of turbulence and transition we find ourselves in is not so different from the context which gives rise to this morning’s gospel story. This parable is situated at the end of Jesus’ ministry the very next chapter begins with the plot to kill Jesus, and moves us into the passion narrative. This parable is also steeped in Matthew’s struggle to envision and prepare for the second coming of Jesus and the establishment of the kingdom of God. I imagine that the people who gathered around Jesus for this parable, and the people who heard Matthew’s retelling, that they too felt immersed in an ethos of intensity, that they too were hungry for stability and security.

But this allegorical story is not about being safe, it is not about protecting ourselves from pain or seeking certainty. I think this story is about trusting in the creative presence and power of God, the challenging call to Christian witness, the risk of proclaiming a radical gospel.

I struggle with this story, because I identify with the servant who receives one talent, who buries it, not trusting in its sustaining source. This person does what is safe, but it is those who risk what has been given to them who are called “good and faithful servants.” According to rabbinical law of the time, when someone buried money in a hidden location for safekeeping, that person could no longer be held accountable for any loss incurred. The response is safe, but it leaves no room for growth, no space for transformation. The response is socially and politically expected and accepted, but it is not called faithful.

In almost every gospel parable, we are warned against the dangers of acting out of pride or arrogance, but this parable is unique in warning against humility…or not so much humility, but timidity…

Matthew sees the great opportunity for healing and redemption in a broken and hurting world, but he argues against those who claim the journey through healing and transformation will be easy, argues against those who claim the creation of the kingdom, the building of beloved community, will be without pain or risk. In this parable, Jesus is asking, calling, almost commanding, those gathered to take a risk, to stop seeking stability and security, to step out in faith and in trust. Though this parable is often used as a lesson in stewardship, I think it is less about stewardship of money, and more about stewardship of the Gospel. How do we experience and share the good news? How do we proclaim the gospel in our daily lives, in our daily interactions? How do we offer our experiences of hope to a scared world? Matthew is warning us against timidity in proclaiming the Gospel, Jesus is warning us against reluctance in sharing the good news.

In this parable, Jesus teaches that when we bury ourselves, when we hide our pain or silence our stories, we cannot grow as individuals or as a community. When we close in, clamp up, and shut down, we may build protective barriers, but we do not build beloved community. We put so much energy and money into being safe, from buying the top of the line locks for our doors to pouring billions into our national security budget. But even as people and nations develop and purchase increasingly sensitive security systems and dangerous defense mechanisms, people are stepping out and stepping up to the risky business of trust, to creative investment in the future. This past week in Kalamazoo, Michigan. After four years of quiet planning, a small anonymous group of local citizens have announced the “Kalamazoo Promise.” Made possible by a handful of anonymous donors, the “Kalamazoo Promise” guarantees college educational funding for all 10,300 students currently in the school district. Those who begin kindergarten in Kalamazoo will receive free college education at any state university or college. Those who begin 9th grade within the community will receive 65-100% of college tuition through these private donations. When most proposals to address the education crisis in this country heap additional restrictions and regulations on our teachers and students, this plan, this promise, steps out in faith and trust, and takes significant risk for each and every child and youth in their community. Risky business opens the potential for transformation and growth.

It is in and through our pain that we are broken open to depth experiences, rubbed raw and ready to receive grace and gift. It is in and through our woundedness that we are hungry for and receptive to the radical call of the gospel, that we are made vulnerable to the people around us, the beauty within us, the transformation available to us, and the God who is always with us.

Christian living is risky business. It calls us to open ourselves to each other and to God, to trust that the healing, sustaining power of God flows through community and connection. It calls us to make ourselves vulnerable to the pain and passion of others. It calls us to believe that we are an integral part of the creation of the kingdom of God here on earth, to risk that we have power and potential in shaping the mission and ministry of the church, and the ethics and morality of society. The journey of faith often feels uncertain, the cost of Christian witness unknown. It is risky business. But when we journey together, and when we risk together, and when we rest in God, our risks have powerful potential.