Matthew 25:14-30

In the parable of the talents, the master gave three servants an assignment to carry out in his absence, along with the resources to accomplish it. Upon his return, he asked for an accounting of what they’d done.

From this parable, we can deduce several principles about the Christian life. First, God has chosen us to be His servants. Second, He has prepared work for us to do, and He supplies the assets and abilities we’ll need to achieve it. Some of His work is applicable to all believers–such as loving Him through service, loving people, and making disciples. Other aspects are specific to us, utilizing our personal talents and skills. Finally, the Lord blesses those who obey Him. Pleased by the obedience of two servants, the master in today’s passage recompensed them accordingly. In a similar way, we are promised a heavenly reward for our faithful service.

Being a good steward of what God has entrusted to us is a serious matter. He wants us to invest in His kingdom plan rather than overcommitting time to earthly matters or overspending on the pursuit of pleasure. You might wonder about the third servant, who did nothing with his talent and was cast out of his master’s presence. This cannot happen to believers, for we are permanently adopted into God’s family. But the Lord will hold us accountable for any disobedience.

Through Christ, we have everything we need for life and godliness (2 Peter 1:3). With the Holy Spirit’s help, we can move past our self-centered ways to carry out God’s plan. Do you long to obey Jesus above all else? Are you prepared to stand before Him and give account for your life?

 The first time I remember hearing the metaphor “rain on your parade,” I was at a parade and it was raining. As a nine year old, the disappointment was memorable. To this day, when I hear the metaphor used, it conveys with heightened success all that the phrase is meant to convey—and arguably more. I remember standing in the rain, watching the once-solid crowd dwindling to nothing, the marching bands abandoning their neat rows, the bright floats bleeding in color. The optimistic few remained in their chairs, somehow assured that the show would go on.  But we were not among the faithful few. “I’m sorry that it rained on your parade,” my grandpa said as we piled in the car, soggy and dispirited. With half a parade to remember, we went home, our enthusiasm thoroughly overshadowed by the rain.

 We are mistaken when we think of metaphor as an optional device used by poets and writers for fluff and decoration. Much of life is communicated in metaphor. There is so much more to time’s landscape than often can be described plainly. Metaphorical imagery is unavoidable for the plainest of speakers. When I say to my colleague, “Your words hit home” or “I am touched by your message” I don’t mean that her words are reaching out of her book and patting me on the head. And yet, in a way, I do. What she had to say made an impression, opened my mind, and struck a chord; communicating so without metaphor is nearly impossible. It is the case for much of what we have to say; there is no other way to say it.

 Language seems to recognize that there is something about life that makes metaphor necessary. Words in and of themselves fall short of conveying certain truths and intended meanings. 

 At the image of Christ upon the Cross, the hymnist inquired, “What language shall I borrow, to thank Thee, dearest friend?” One of the things I find most nourishing about the Christian scriptures is their upholding of this mystery, speaking not in rigid confines but with words that always point beyond themselves. Scripture communicates in a language fitting for both the mind and the heart. There is a richness conveyed in its pages that stretches minds and moves emotions. “O Jerusalem, O Jerusalem, how oft I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you would not have it” (Matthew 23:37). “As far as the east is from the west, so far [God] removes our transgressions from us” (Psalm 103:12). 

 Jesus speaks of the profundity of God’s longing. The psalmist writes of the absoluteness of God’s forgiveness. Both paint pictures beyond the words themselves. Both demand a response while inviting a relationship, and we are freed to worship in spirit as well as in truth. Scripture reminds us that life can’t always be defined plainly, accepted in terms and principles. It reminds us that God is far beyond the insufficient words we assign, and that no eye has seen, nor ear has heard, nor mind conceived what God has prepared for those who love without bound. 

 When the Samaritan woman came to draw water at the well, Jesus asked her to give him a drink. The exchange was plainly enough about water but the words were about life, though she didn’t realize it at first. Shocked that he, a Jew without a cup, would request a drink from her, a Samaritan with a past, she asked if he knew what he was doing. And then they had a conversation about thirst that made her so much more aware of own thirst. 

 “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” 

 “Sir,” the woman said, “you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you get this living water?”

 Jesus not only invited the woman to see her need plainly, he pointed her beyond the metaphor, inviting her into the real and unplumbed hospitality of the one that meets that need. “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again,” he said, “but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.  Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” 

 In this plain and potent exchange, the woman at the well found someone who told her “everything [she] ever did,” and drew her to everything she ever needed. “Sir,” the woman replied, “Give me this water.”

 Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia

Morning    “I will rejoice over them to do them good.” / Jeremiah 32:41

How heart-cheering to the believer is the delight which God has in his saints!
We cannot see any reason in ourselves why the Lord should take pleasure in us;
we cannot take delight in ourselves, for we often have to groan, being
burdened; conscious of our sinfulness, and deploring our unfaithfulness; and
we fear that God’s people cannot take much delight in us, for they must
perceive so much of our imperfections and our follies, that they may rather
lament our infirmities than admire our graces. But we love to dwell upon this
transcendent truth, this glorious mystery: that as the bridegroom rejoiceth
over the bride, so does the Lord rejoice over us. We do not read anywhere that
God delighteth in the cloud-capped mountains, or the sparkling stars, but we
do read that he delighteth in the habitable parts of the earth, and that his
delights are with the sons of men. We do not find it written that even angels
give his soul delight; nor doth he say, concerning cherubim and seraphim,
“Thou shalt be called Hephzibah, for the Lord delighteth in thee”; but he does
say all that to poor fallen creatures like ourselves, debased and depraved by
sin, but saved, exalted, and glorified by his grace. In what strong language
he expresses his delight in his people! Who could have conceived of the
eternal One as bursting forth into a song? Yet it is written, “He will rejoice
over thee with joy, he will rest in his love, he will joy over thee with
singing.” As he looked upon the world he had made, he said, “It is very good”;
but when he beheld those who are the purchase of Jesus’ blood, his own chosen
ones, it seemed as if the great heart of the Infinite could restrain itself no
longer, but overflowed in divine exclamations of joy. Should not we utter our
grateful response to such a marvellous declaration of his love, and sing, “I
will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation?”

Evening   “Gather not my soul with sinners.” / Psalm 26:9

Fear made David pray thus, for something whispered, “Perhaps, after all, thou
mayst be gathered with the wicked.” That fear, although marred by unbelief,
springs, in the main, from holy anxiety, arising from the recollection of past
sin. Even the pardoned man will enquire, “What if at the end my sins should be
remembered, and I should be left out of the catalogue of the saved?” He
recollects his present unfruitfulness–so little grace, so little love, so
little holiness, and looking forward to the future, he considers his weakness
and the many temptations which beset him, and he fears that he may fall, and
become a prey to the enemy. A sense of sin and present evil, and his
prevailing corruptions, compel him to pray, in fear and trembling, “Gather not
my soul with sinners.” Reader, if you have prayed this prayer, and if your
character be rightly described in the Psalm from which it is taken, you need
not be afraid that you shall be gathered with sinners. Have you the two
virtues which David had–the outward walking in integrity, and the inward
trusting in the Lord? Are you resting upon Christ’s sacrifice, and can you
compass the altar of God with humble hope? If so, rest assured, with the
wicked you never shall be gathered, for that calamity is impossible. The
gathering at the judgment is like to like. “Gather ye together first the
tares, and bind them in bundles to burn them: but gather the wheat into my
barn.” If, then, thou art like God’s people, thou shalt be with God’s people.
You cannot be gathered with the wicked, for you are too dearly bought.
Redeemed by the blood of Christ, you are his forever, and where he is, there
must his people be. You are loved too much to be cast away with reprobates.
Shall one dear to Christ perish? Impossible! Hell cannot hold thee! Heaven
claims thee! Trust in thy Surety and fear not!

Do not sweep my soul away with sinners.    Psalm 26:9

Fear made David pray like this, for something whispered, “Perhaps, after all, you may be swept away with sinners.” That fear springs mainly from holy anxiety, arising from the recollection of past sin. Even the pardoned man will inquire, “What if at the end my sins should be remembered, and I should be left out of the company of the saved?” He thinks about his present condition—so little grace, so little love, so little holiness; and looking forward to the future, he considers his weakness and the many temptations that surround him, and he fears that he may fall and become a prey to the enemy. A sense of sin and present evil and his prevailing corruptions compel him to pray, in fear and trembling, “Do not sweep my soul away with sinners.”

Reader, if you have prayed this prayer, and if your character is correctly described in the Psalm from which it is taken, you need not be afraid that you will be swept away with sinners. Do you have the two virtues that David had—the outward walking in integrity and the inward trusting in the Lord? Are you resting upon Christ’s sacrifice, and can you approach the altar of God with humble hope? If so, rest assured, you will never be swept away with sinners, for that calamity is impossible. At the judgment the command will be given, “Gather the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.”1

If, then, you are like God’s people, you will be with God’s people. You cannot be swept away with sinners, for you have been purchased at too high a price. Redeemed by the blood of Christ, you are His forever, and where He is, there His people must be. You are loved too much to be swept away with reprobates. Will one who is dear to Christ perish? Impossible! Hell cannot hold you! Heaven claims you! Trust in Christ, and do not fear!

1Matthew 13:30

Family Reading Plan   Ezekiel 24   Psalm 72