Look at My Face

“Well done, good and faithful servant; enter into the joy of your master.” (Mt 25:23)

If a talent, in the sense that today’s parable uses the word, were expressed in today’s terms, we would be talking about a million dollars.  The tragedy of the third servant is that the poor little man doesn’t realize, or cannot accept that his master has made him a millionaire.
 
“Master, I knew that you were a hard man…” (Mt 25:24)
 
Where did he get this idea?  Though his master entrusts him with something precious that can be multiplied with a little work, this man sees only a burden, a liability, something to be hidden away and forgotten about.  Who has a heart so hard that it cannot be cracked open by such a gift?
 
“…reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed.” (Mt 25:24)
 
This is pure fabrication: a lie.  The master has sown his seed with shocking abandon – five million here, two million there, and even here, one million.  The first two who received more (though when speaking of this much money, one could hardly say anyone received little) are swift to put it to work and, through faithful and persevering effort, with risks aplenty and no doubt some false steps along the way, succeed at length in doubling their money.   We see them present their earnings to the master as the fruit of his sowing: “Master, you handed over to me five talents; see, I have made five more talents” (Mt 25:20).
 
“…so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.  Here you have what is yours.” (Mt 25:25)
 
Here is the rub.  The man’s presumption seems to be that this is a trick.  The lavish gift must be a booby trap designed by a “hard man” to humiliate and destroy the one who receives it.  We cannot avoid the conclusion that, because of his unfounded fear, the man has shot himself in the foot.  By foiling the ‘plot’, he actually thwarts his master’s true purpose, which is the growth and enrichment not of his own portfolio, but of his servants.  The two who tried, succeed and are rewarded with something much more precious than money.  They are found ready to enter into the joy of their master.
 
Why is this man so afraid of a master who only knows how to give good gifts?  All fear is traceable to that moment in the garden when those first millionaires, Adam and Eve, lost their trust in God’s goodness:
 
“I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” (Gn 3:10)
“I knew that you were a hard man … so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.” (Mt 25:25)
 
Like our first parents, we fear God because we doubt his goodness and cannot seem to believe that he loves us in our nakedness and bumbling imperfection.  Isn’t that why a risk involving effort, reputation or my whole life can be so hard to take?  Somewhere I have picked up the faulty impression that my God is a “hard man” and my good-willed effort can never be enough for him.  So I fall prey to suspicious thinking, defensiveness and unwillingness to try.  Am I so afraid to be found naked and empty-handed before my God?
 
The fearful man could not have done worse than failing to try – well, he could perhaps have drunk or gambled the money away.  But just imagine that the servant had lost his million in an honest but ill-fated effort.  What if he came forward at the time of reckoning, not with the insolent retort: “Here you have what is yours” (Mt 25:25), but rather with empty hands and head bowed:
“Master, you handed over to me one talent; see, I have lost everything.”
“Well done, good and faithful servant; enter into the joy of your master.” (Mt 25:23)
There is no fear in failure if we know we are loved – no matter what.
 
I am reminded of a scene in the film The Sixth Sense, in which a very brave little boy chooses a moment when he and his mother are alone in the car to tell her his most terrifying secret.  After he has spoken, she is silent.  He asks her: “What are you thinking? ...something bad about me?”  Without hesitation the mother turns, taking his face in her hands and drawing it close to hers: “Look at my face.  I was not thinking something bad about you.”
 
At Mass this morning we sang the introit:
Dixit Dominus: Ego cogito cogitations pacis et non afflictionis.
“The Lord says: I am pondering thoughts of peace and not of affliction.”
This is what we really need to hear when we are tempted to assume that God is thinking “something bad about me.”   We could go further, could we not, and allow him to draw our face close to his, as he says: “Look at my face.  I was not thinking something bad about you.”

Image: Smiling Christ in Castle of Xavier, Spain