Christ as Story-Teller
There’s a strange and golden glint at the heart of Christ’s Parable of the Talents. A master entrusts his servants with talents—an ancient unit of weight, particularly for precious metals like gold or silver. But we shouldn’t be too quick to overlook the fact that in modern times, the word talent means ability or gift. The parable says he gives “each according to his own ability.” The charge, then, is unspoken. It is the command to man past, present, and future: be fruitful and multiply. (Genesis 1:28)
But before we move deeper, let’s center ourselves via the cross. Remember who’s speaking here. Jesus isn’t just history’s most-quoted moralist. He’s the meta-narrative, gate and ladder through which heaven, earth, past, present, and future cohere. His parables aren’t quaint illustrations but windows into ultimate reality. The Kingdom is breaking through the veil. Let us be like children sitting in the master’s lap as we read together.
14 “For the kingdom of heaven is like a man traveling to a far country, who called his own servants and delivered his goods to them. 15 And to one he gave five talents, to another two, and to another one, to each according to his own ability; and immediately he went on a journey. 16 Then he who had received the five talents went and traded with them, and made another five talents. 17 And likewise he who had received two gained two more also. 18 But he who had received one went and dug in the ground, and hid his lord’s money. 19 After a long time the lord of those servants came and settled accounts with them. 20 So he who had received five talents came and brought five other talents, saying, ‘Lord, you delivered to me five talents; look, I have gained five more talents besides them.’ 21 His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’ 22 He also who had received two talents came and said, ‘Lord, you delivered to me two talents; look, I have gained two more talents besides them.’ 23 His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’ 24 Then he who had received the one talent came and said, ‘Lord, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you have not sown, and gathering where you have not scattered seed. 25 And I was afraid, and went and hid your talent in the ground. Look, there you have what is yours.’ 26 But his lord answered and said to him, ‘You wicked and lazy servant, you knew that I reap where I have not sown, and gather where I have not scattered seed. 27 So you ought to have deposited my money with the bankers, and at my coming I would have received back my own with interest. 28 Therefore take the talent from him, and give it to him who has ten talents. 29 For to everyone who has, more will be given, and he will have abundance; but from him who does not have, even what he has will be taken away. 30 And cast the unprofitable servant into the outer darkness. There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’”
+ Matthew 25:14–30 (OSB)
Economy of Grace
The master has gone on a long journey, setting his servants over wealth while he is away. In this brave new epoch of equity and equality we live in today, you might ask: Why didn’t the master give all the servant’s the same starting point?
Because the Kingdom isn’t built on fairness as we often define it. It’s built on something much more rare.
To quote the Scripture again, “to each according to his own ability.” That is to say, the master knows his servants. He entrusts them not randomly or unjustly, but intimately like a craftsman assigning tools suited to each apprentice’s hand. The difference in starting points isn’t an insult. It’s a call. A one-talent servant is not lesser in worth in the eyes of our Lord. He is given a task suited to his physical, mental, and spiritual attributes. This is the upside down nature of the Kingdom.
The question each of us should be asking our own heart right now isn’t, Why didn’t I receive more? but, What will I do with what I’ve been given?
In the economy of grace, the return—not the amount—is what matters. The reward is the same: “Well done, good and faithful servant… I will make you a ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your Lord.”
x2
Some time has gone by. The first and second servant’s have both doubled their talents. It’s important to not read past these numbers. Doubling is often used within the Holy Scriptures to confirm or make certain (ex. Genesis 41:32), as well as poetically to repeat or mirror the next line (ex. Psalm 19:1.) Even more so it can be used chiastically to hone in on a point of importance (ex. Matthew 6:24.) But in the Parable of the Talents, doubling is used in a different way.
Doubling can also mark fullness or completion. For example, in Exodus 22:4, the thief must restore double what he stole. This is a symbol of just and complete restitution. Another example can be found in Isaiah 40:2. Jerusalem has “received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.” Same logic applies here.
Through this lens, we can see the two servants’ doubling as a sign of the completion of their stewardship. They have taken what was given to them according to their abilities and returned it in fullness. Their doubling signals that they have entered into the rhythm of the Kingdom. Here, growth is not mechanical but organic, arising from faithful participation in the Master’s will.
Their reward? Not simply more wealth, but the words: “Enter into the joy of your Lord.” A line that sounds curiously Eucharistic.
The Descent of the Third
The spiritual posture and downfall of the third servant is deeply revealing. He does something subtle but devastating. He positions himself as a victim of the master, while simultaneously claiming to act in self-preservation. Part of me is surprised he didn’t cry out, “IT WAS THE WOMAN!” (Genesis 3:12)
Let’s unpack this.
He doesn’t deny the master’s authority. He recasts it as harsh and exploitative, not generous and trustful. His image of the master is cold and unfair. This is the dark pivot.
“Lord, I knew you to be a hard man…”
In this way, he turns the logic of grace inside out. He interprets trust as burden and opportunity as danger. Fear then becomes his true master, not the one who entrusted him. This is not the kind of fear that leads to wisdom (Prov. 9:10), but the kind that paralyzes and protects the ego. Reverance is exchanged for self-centered dread, further shrinking the soul inward.
“And I was afraid…”
And instead of stepping into the risk and mystery of his stewardship, he withdraws. He buries. He hoards. Not just the gold. Rather, it is himself he truly buries. When the master returns, he has exactly what was given to him and thinks it’s enough. Where the others move outward—trading, building, and growing, the third moves inward and downward. He digs into the ground. He makes a tomb for his gift.
Right now, we should be feeling this heavy Christian burial symbolism pressing in on us. Feel the weight of the dirt.
And what is he able to offer as a result of this?
“Look, there you have what is yours.”
There’s a certain smugness in this line. He hasn’t lost the talent. He’s kept it safe, undisturbed. After all, he could have went and spent the talent on prostitutes or wine, or squandered it gambling. Surely what he did was better than that? Perhaps he even counted it—maybe even stacked it up to look at. A plan was born, maybe in the middle of the night as he stared at his ceiling. He would take it alone and hide it. He went home convinced he did the right thing. He went on with life, unshaken by any thought of eventual accountability. Perhaps the thought process was, "Worst case I just return the bag and give him an excuse, best case he never returns and I can retire."
His real problem was who he thought the master was.
It’s a minimalist obedience we see here. A kind of bare-minimum spirituality that refuses transformation. He’s saying, I didn’t break anything. I followed the rules. I stayed clean.
But that’s not what the Kingdom is about. It’s about bearing fruit.
And so the servant fails not by rebellion, but by refusal to participate in the master’s generous love. The master speaks clearly on this type of servant later on in the Holy Scriptures:
“So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth.”
+ Revelation 3:16
The result? He’s cast into outer darkness. Because love that does not risk is not love. And faith that does not act is a dead faith.
Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
On Presumed Security
But like forgotten talents in a wicked man’s field, there’s still more here to dig up.
The third servant knows the master personally. He receives a genuine fortune. He’s entrusted with a real vocation.
In other words, by every external mark, he belongs inside the household. Yet the story ends with him in outer darkness, the very phrase St. Matthew uses for eschatological exile (Mt 8:12; 22:13; 25:30). That single detail presses hard against any theology that assumes an irrevocable, automatic security once the initial call has been issued.
It is important to note that the servant is not condemned for ignorance but for inaction. He knows this is his master. He knows he will return and judge what he has done. Yet he still squanders his time and talents. Scripture repeatedly warns that betrayal or neglect of a vocation can nullify its benefits (cf. Heb 3:12–14; 6:4-6; 1 Cor 9:27). We can also extrapolate here that judgement is measured by faithfulness, not mere inclusion. All three servants share the same master, but their destinies diverge. Jesus is underscoring the fact that covenant membership is dynamic. “He who endures to the end will be saved” (Mt 24:13). The outer darkness is not the loss of something never possessed. It is a tragic dismissal after a spurned stewardship.
A strict Calvinistic reading might say, “The third servant was never elect to begin with.” Yet the narrative weight falls on trust. The master does entrust him, and the servant does acknowledge that trust (“…have what is yours”). The parable functions less like a metaphysical ledger of hidden decrees and more like an icon of synergy. Grace is given, human response is required but never forced.
And then we have the Eucharistic punchline: “Enter into the joy of your Lord”. The master doesn’t issue a promotion. Rather, it is communion—participation in the master’s own delight. The servants who doubled their talents are welcomed into a shared feast. The one who buried his is self-excluded from the banquet.
Salvation is relational faithfulness lived out over time. The parable warns against two demonic distortions: presumption and fatalism. Instead, Christ offers the hopeful but sober middle: Gracious gift, real responsibility. The Kingdom’s economy operates on a call that must be answered. The question is not, “Was I elected?” but, “Am I burying or investing what has already been entrusted to me today?”
Gold as Incarnate Light
Now let’s dig a little further—alchemically, theologically, cosmically.
In classic alchemy, gold was thought of as light made solid. The sun, in physical form. Now, I’m not advocating that we all go looking for the Philosopher’s Stone. What I am saying is that this is True in a sense that is beyond a Western materialistic rational.
This is incarnation symbolism.
Now reread the parable:
A bright, divine light pressed deep into the soil by hands that fear its fire.
A little sun, hidden in the earth.
Burying gold becomes a refusal to shine. It is spiritual photosynthesis interrupted. It is a hiding of the Divine Fire.
Genesis 3 introduces humanity’s first instinct under sin: hide. Jesus echoes the pattern: “No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket.” Hiding is stasis, and stasis in a living world is a kind of death. You bury corpses. The third servant treats the talent as such. To bury gold—light—is not mere laziness. It is a rejection of one’s true nature.
The saints tell us God gives us gifts (talents) not as a test, but as an invitation to become like Him.
“Be perfect, as your Father in Heaven is perfect.”
+ Matthew 5:48
In other words: be radiant. Multiply light. This isn’t just about money or work. This is a parable of transfiguration by uniting ourselves to He who is true gold.
In the end, the man who buries the light is himself buried. He is cast into outer darkness—the inverse of gold, the place without reflection, without increase, without communion. This judgment is neither harsh nor arbitrary. It is the inevitable consequence of a refusal to become what we were made to be.
But to risk it—to expend, to shine on behalf of the Master—is to become what Christ calls “faithful.” And “faithful,” does not mean safe or cautious. It means burning, active, fruitful, dangerously alive.
“To him who has, more will be given, and he will have abundance.”
This isn’t an argument for a nicer car. This is the cosmic reality of light. It casts out darkness, sets the world ablaze.
Light on the Move
So let us dig up our coins. Let them gleam in the light of the Son. Invest them. Put them to work. The Master is coming.
Suddenly the Judge will come and everyone's deeds will be revealed. But with awe we cry out in the middle of the night: Holy, holy, holy are you, O God. Through the prayers of the Theotokos, have mercy on us.
+ Orthodox Morning Prayers
~ Written in collaboration with R.O. ~
Incredibly insightful. “Am I burying or investing what has already been entrusted to me today?”. I needed this challenge today. 🙏