At first glance, there is almost no connection today between our Old Testament reading in Proverbs and our New Testament epistle and Gospel. St. Paul in 1 Thessalonians, and the Lord himself in Matthew, bring to mind once again the themes that press on us this time of year: the end of the world, the return of Christ, the judgment.
The parable of the talents has often been read as a story about what we do with our, well, talents—that is, not the ancient unit of measurement, but the modern concept of an aptitude or ability or gift. You might think this is some modern development, but not so: in fact, our modern word talent (in English and in various European languages) comes precisely from this passage of Scripture, as a good dictionary will tell you. It seems that the patristic reading of the “talents” as different kinds of gifts became so commonplace that it soaked into our ordinary vocabulary.
So the parable is about two things: first, how we use or squander the gifts that we receive from the Lord while he journeys to a far country (that is, Christ ascended into heaven and no longer with us in a natural way), and second, how we will be judged at the end of the age.
I don’t want to dwell much on the nature of the “talents.” I think we can all understand pretty well what those are. They could be wealth, poverty, great skill or artistry, intelligence, beauty, a capacity to love or teach or show mercy. We cannot list every possible gift, whether those of nature or those of baptismal grace. The point is clear that we should use everything that we have been given—even if it means taking risks—for the glory of God. And, Paul reminds us, we do not know when the Lord will return.
But what on earth does any of this have to do with the virtuous woman of Proverbs 31? Many Bibles head up this passage, only part of which is included in this morning’s lectionary, with the title “The Wife of Noble Character” or “The Capable Wife,” or something similar. But the Hebrew speaks about a “valiant woman,” which I think is a little stronger. Arguably there is an intentional juxtaposition of this model of valor with other models of heroism and valor in the ancient world: the noble warrior who slays thousands of enemies and saves his kingdom from ruin; the semi-divine hero who fights monsters and prevails; the just king who prudently administers the affairs of his realm. Here valor is expressed by managing household finances, keeping the family well fed and clothed, thinking about the future. In other words, the valiant woman isn’t one who conquers armies or rules multitudes; she is one who, in the words of Matthew, is “faithful in small matters.”
There we’re starting to see the connection joining all these readings. Proverbs 31 is a beautiful passage, but it should go without saying that many of the specific things here are not universal actual things that a valiant woman must necessarily do: we no longer live in a culture where men sit together at the gate of the city, nor is it necessary for every woman to spin her own thread and make her own clothes. These examples are the particular cultural manifestation of what the inspired author wants us to see: an embodiment of Wisdom. Some readers wonder if this passage is somehow tacked on to the rest of Proverbs as something extra and a little foreign, but in fact it serves as a capstone for the whole book. Proverbs is wisdom literature in its classical form; wisdom is most commonly characterized as prudence, or practical wisdom. So this exemplar of wisdom speaks to us all—not just wives and mothers.
Perhaps we could put it like this: the valiant woman of Proverbs 31 gives us an example of what it looks like to use our talents well. Indeed, she is also an example of what it looks like to be prepared so that we will not be caught off guard at the Lord’s return. In a lovely connection with last week’s parable on the wise and foolish virgins—a connection that was, I am sure, not lost on our Lord—verse 18 says of the valiant woman, “Her lamp does not go out at night.”
Over and over again, we see how she is “faithful in small matters.” Or rather, the inspired author wants us to see that very often, the small matters really are the great matters.
Jesus did not give us the task of managing history. That is his job. In fact, he didn’t even give that job to popes or presidents or other Important People. If we think that is our job, we will be prone either to false pride at moments in history when things seem to be going very well, or to despair at moments when it seems that everything is falling apart around us (even in the Church).
We are responsible for managing what we have been given. For some of us, that may in fact mean grand things. If you are a pope or a president, and you toss your talents into a hole in the ground, your position will not save you from the “outer darkness” of the unfaithful. As an example, we might look to the “middle” servant, the one with two talents. He doesn’t resent the one with five, or ten. Why? Because they receive the same reward: the master’s joy! Nor is the two-talent servant scornful of the servant with one. We might speculate that he would likewise not fall into despair if the five-talent servant proved unfaithful.
Most of us aren’t going to be Mother Teresa or Pope John Paul II. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be saints. I suspect that the heavenly court is full of those who, like the woman of Proverbs 31, were faithful in small things. Strengthened by their prayers, may we too be faithful so that we can at last enter into the joy of the Lord.