I do not know Him

One of my least favorite parables is the parable of the talents. The master gives a sum of money to 3 servants in proportion to how much he trusts them. 2 invest it, come back with double the original amount, and the last one comes back with the same amount. The master is happy with the first 2, and angry with the last, giving the last amount to the first and throwing the 3rd servant out into the darkness. I always thought that was mean.

3 years ago, reading the parable again, I disliked it on a new level. The 3rd servant says, "Lord, I knew you were a hard man...and I was afraid...so I buried it." He didn't freaking lose it. He was worried that he'd use it in appropriately or waste it or WHO KNOWS, and so he puts it in a safe place and then gives it back. No harm no foul, right? Maybe he wasn't good with money. Maybe his dad didn't teach him about investments. But the master gets mad, calls him lazy and throws him into the darkness. I became afraid.

Tonight, I read it again, and prepared myself to become sad/convicted/depressed. And I heard a phrase I had not heard before: Enter into the joy of your Master.

This is the response he gives the first two servants. Enter into the joy of your Master. The joy?? The Master had joy? That was part of his character? He has...joy? And the poor, 3rd servant says, "I knew you were a hard man..." I became disheartened. I felt bad for him.

Did he really know his master? Did he really know him? Did he know that his master had joy at all, or did the servant percieve his Master as a cruel, ruthless, perfectionist ruler? Did he know him? Did He know about this joy that was waiting for him? Did he know there was joy at all?

Everytime I read this parable, I identify with that 3rd servant. First in feeling God is mean, 2nd in feeling God is to be feared (like, hide under the bed feared), and finally in realizing that I do not know my God to be a God of love, of joy...that He is waiting to make my joy full, abundantly full. I'm so afraid He's going to get mad at me, criticize how I use the talents/gifts He's given me. Not thinking that he wants to rejoice in my rejoicing as I use them.

Lord, too often I've come to you like a child to the principle's office. Too often have I hidden away, afraid to pick up the glory you await to bestow, going through all the reasons how it might be misused or abused. Too often I have seen you as a hard man, an impatient man, who is looking at his watch frustrated that I've wasted more time in doing what I ought not to do with what you provided. And yet I haven't even moved yet.

Oh, Lord, that I would know you more.


Sonnet XXX - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I see thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?—Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come—falling hot and real?