Hey everyone! This is Esther, and I’ve got a question for you.
What do you love to do?
For me, it’s writing. There’s this saying, from Rene Descartes, "Cogito ergo sum." In English, that means, "I think, therefore I am." Well, I like to say "Scribo ergo sum—I write, therefore I am." Pretty crazy, huh? I must really love stringing words together.
But hold up. I've got a confession to make. Sometimes, I don’t want to write. A lot of times, actually. Yeah, crazy, I know. But…most of the time, as much as I love it, I’d rather be watching TV, reading a book, sleeping. Or—this is the most popular one—thinking about writing. Why? Because writing means work. It means putting myself out there with each word that I write. And that’s a scary thing.
There’s this story in the Bible—one of Jesus’ parables. In it, there are three servants and a master. The master decides to go away for a while, so he gives his servants some talents (money), according to their abilities. To the first he gives five, the second two, and the third one. Then he leaves. Well, the first servant, with five talents, immediately goes out and doubles them. So does the second, with his two talents. The third one, though, runs to a field and buries his talent, then goes off and has a good time.
Well, after a long while the master returns and summons his servants for a report. The first two present their earnings and receive big smiles and claps on the back, plus more money and responsibilities. They’ve done well, moved up in the world. Made their master happy. But then the third one, Mister Play-it-safe, crawls up and hands the master this dirty, musty-smelling handkerchief. The master peels it open, and Play-it-safe launches into an explanation. Here’s what he says:
“I was afraid I might disappoint you, so I found a good hiding place and secured your money. Here it is, safe and sound down to the last cent” (Matthew 25:25, MSG).
Notice what he says--down to the last cent. He didn’t keep anything for himself, didn’t waste any of it on his parties, didn’t even lose it on the way to and from the field. So the master should be pleased, right? I mean, this guy is obviously responsible.
Instead, the master throws a royal hissy fit. “That’s a terrible way to live! It’s criminal to live cautiously like that! If you knew I was after the best, why did you do less than the least?” (Matthew 25:26, MSG)
Less than the least? Ouch!
Jesus is making a point here; it’s no coincidence that we translate the word for money as talent. God gives us talents, just like the master did his servants. He expects us to use them, and will hold us accountable for them, as well.
And notice something else—at the beginning of the parable, it says the master gave the servants their talents according to their abilities. This means he knew them. He watched them work--knew their strengths, their weaknesses, what they could handle. He didn’t just reach into his purse and toss out a handful of coins. No, he took the time to tailor his gifts, to get them just right.
Are you beginning to see where I’m going with this? I hope so. I pray so. God loves us; He gives us talents according to our abilities, and He expects us to USE THEM. He doesn’t want some moldy handkerchief crawling with worms and spiders, even if what it holds is brand-new and complete. He doesn’t want us to play it safe, to plunk ourselves down in the dirt and make mud pies because we’re too afraid of opening the oven to try the real thing.
Think about your passion. Think about the love you have for it, the joy it gives you. The way it makes you so excited you just have to share it with somebody. It’s perfect, right? It fits you in a way only you can understand. You…and God.
Now answer this question—do you use this talent every day?
