Parable of the Talents Read Free

saying. He has been an indistinct background rumble until now, but now I hear him reading from the twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew, quoting the words of Christ:
    " 'For the kingdom of Heaven is as a man traveling into a far country who called his own servants, and delivered unto them his goods. And unto One he gave five talents, to an-other two, and to another one; to every man according to his several ability; and straightway took his journey.' "
    My father loved parables—stories that taught, stories that presented ideas and morals in ways that made pictures in people's minds. He used the ones he found in the Bible, the ones he plucked from history, or from folk tales, and of course he used those he saw in his life and the lives of people he knew. He wove stories into his Sunday sermons, his Bible classes, and his computer-delivered history lec-tures. Because he believed stories were so important as teaching tools, I learned to pay more attention to them than I might have otherwise. I could quote the parable that he was reading now, the parable of the talents. I could quote several Biblical parables from memory. Maybe that's why I can hear and understand so much now. There is preaching between the bits of the parable, but I can't quite understand it. I hear its rhythms rising and falling, repeating and varying, shout-ing and whispering. I hear them as I've always heard them, but I can't catch the words—except for the words of the parable.
    " "Then he that had received the five talents went and traded with the same and made them another five talents.
    And likewise he that had received two, he also gained an-other two. But he that had received one went out and digged in the earth, and hid his lord's money.' "
    My father was a great believer in education, hard work, and personal responsibility. "Those are our talents," he would say as my brothers' eyes glazed over and even I tried not to sigh. "God has given them to us, and he'll judge us according to how we use them."
    The parable continues. To each of the two servants who had traded well and made profit for their lord, the lord said, "
    'Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord.' "
    But to the servant who had done nothing with his silver talent except bury it in the ground to keep it safe, the lord said harsher words." "Thou wicked and slothful servant...' "
    he began. And he ordered his men to, " 'Take therefore the talent from him and give it unto him which hath ten talents.
    For unto everyone that hath shall be given, and he shall have in abundance: but from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.' "
    When my father has said these words, my mother van-ishes. I haven't even been able to see her whole face, and now she's gone.
    I don't understand this. It scares me. I can see now that other people are vanishing too. Most have already gone.
    Beloved ghosts....
    My father is gone. My stepmother calls out to him in Spanish the way she did sometimes when she was excited,
    "No! How can we live now? They'll break in. They'll kill us all! We must build the wall higher!"
    And she's gone. My brothers are gone. I'm alone—as I was alone that night five years ago. The house is ashes and rubble around me. It doesn't burn or crumble or even fade to ashes, but somehow, in an instant, it is a ruin, open to the night sky.
    I see stars, a quarter moon, and a streak of light, moving, rising into the sky like some life force escaping. By the light of all three of these, I see shadows, large, moving, threatening. I fear these shadows, but I see no way to escape them. The wall is still there, surrounding our neighborhood, looming over me much higher than it ever truly did. So much higher.... It was supposed to keep danger out. It failed years ago. Now it fails again. Danger is walled in with me. I want to run, to escape, to hide, but now my own