Anyone who struggles with a fear of failure or debilitating people-pleasing tendencies can easily relate to the third slave in the parable of the talents. Although we might prefer to see ourselves as the hero of the story, the truth is that most of the time we’re not. In this parable, the first two slaves seem to be the heroes, the ones we should emulate. But the juxtaposition between the first two and the third does not necessarily make the third the villain of the story.
This third slave doesn’t do anything wrong per se. He doesn’t squander anything; he doesn’t mistreat or steal from anyone. Entrusted with one talent of his master’s money, he does what he thinks is best: avoids risk, buries the money for safekeeping, and waits for the master’s return.
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Although this slave receives the least, one talent was no trivial amount. It could be equivalent to two decades of an ordinary laborer’s wages! In contemporary money, we’re talking about possibly millions of dollars. That’s a huge responsibility. But it is apparently one the master thinks he can handle, as he gives the slaves various amounts “each according to his ability.”
The first two slaves immediately go to work, ultimately doubling the even larger sums under their care. The third takes a different path. Paralyzed by fear of his harsh master, he chooses instead what he determines to be the safest option. When the master finally returns and the slaves are called to account, the first two are celebrated for multiplying his investment. When his turn arrives, the third slave is honest, both in admitting his fear and in saying that he preserved the gift so that nothing would be lost, and the master is greatly displeased.
We should avoid any interpretation of this parable that focuses on productivity or achievement. Even the master himself doesn’t compare the returns on investment. He praises the first two slaves not because they reached some arbitrary level of success but for their faithfulness. He gave them something valuable, and they chose to do something with what they had been given. This is where the third slave falls short. The master’s issue is not that this one failed to double the amount but that he chose to do nothing with what he had been given. He was so afraid of losing what had been placed under his care that he never gave himself the opportunity to do anything with it.
In his effort to avoid failure, he guaranteed that he would never truly succeed.
This is where this parable becomes uncomfortable for some of us. How often have you had a great idea, only to bury it because it might draw criticism? How often have you chosen not to volunteer for something because you didn’t think you were fully equipped? Have you ever declined an opportunity because you didn’t feel good enough, or because you thought someone else could do it better? Too frequently we keep our gifts buried, tucked safely away, telling ourselves that we aren’t wasting them but preserving them for when the time is right.
There is a particular temptation for churches to confuse preservation with stewardship, especially when it comes to financial matters. Congregations often receive memorial gifts or bequests from faithful members—and place the money safely into an account, determined to never touch the principal or to only use it when the time is right. This intention is honorable, preserving the gift and in many cases honoring the wishes of the giver. But what happens when the congregation’s membership dwindles, the ministry shrinks, or the building needs repair? At some point, protecting the gift can become more important than using it for the ministry for which it was entrusted.
That does not mean that we should spend down our endowments, spend frivolously, or abandon all financial prudence. But nor should the primary question be how long we can make the money last. Instead, the question is what the money is meant to be used for. A gift can be protected so carefully that it never gets to accomplish much of anything. The third slave’s mistake is not that he values the gift and honors the giver but that he fails to use it for fear of losing it.
This same temptation to value preservation over stewardship exists well beyond money. We can protect traditions without discerning if they are still serving a purpose. We can protect buildings without considering if they are used to serve the community. We can cling tightly to programs and structures because making a change feels too risky. We tell ourselves that we are being faithful because we are keeping what we have safe. But sometimes faithfulness requires us to take what has been entrusted to us out into the world, using it for God’s glory.
