"For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them;"
Imagine you are a slave working on a large property when suddenly your master calls to you. He has a reputation for being firm and thorough, and you know that townspeople think he is a great businessman. When you join him and two other slaves, the conversation is already underway. You listen intently to what your boss is explaining and you slowly realize what is being said.
Your boss travels frequently, so it isn’t uncommon for him to leave detailed instructions on how to care for the property. However, this time something’s different. Your boss pulls out a bag and begins to distribute talents. You’re so caught off guard that you freeze for a moment.
How would you react to this apparently sudden act of trust? Would you receive the talents with great care? With glee? Or, would you be filled with a sense of trepidation? Of disbelief? How do you care for another person’s property? How does that person’s trust in your abilities challenge how you view the property given? Are you even able to recognize the opportunity as one of trust?
Consumed with day to day realities, dreams and hopes for the future, familial ties and friendships, it is very easy for us to lose connection with any sort of macro vision of our time on earth. However, in those moments, when we are able to catch the drift of a larger vision, we may recall that we hold one of the highest positions possible - that of steward. What may be difficult to grasp is that our acquisition of earth’s gifts are inherited upon our entryway into this realm. If we are human, we are stewards.
What will help us to remember this aspect of our identity? How will remembering enable us to view our position on earth? How will that enablement filter through our lives from the macro humanistic perspective and into our daily interactions with God, others, and mother nature herself?
Art: Dea Jenkins | The Neighborhood | watercolor | 2020