Fear Is The Path To The Dark Side

Epiphany is one of my favorite Christian holidays.  It's also one of those words that sounds like something only a sesquipedalian would love.  But the truth is that without "epiphany" you'd have to spend a lot of time describing a certain kind of thought and feeling.  It's a revelation, a new thought, a moment when something becomes clear.  But it's not a gradual thing, not slow, dim realization.  It's a eureka moment.  A lightening bolt from on high.  It's a light bulb flashing to life above your head.

The Christian holiday of the same name is when we celebrate all those sudden, unexpected realizations in the story of Jesus—all the epiphanies that Jesus, son of Mary was and is much, much more than his humble beginnings would seem to indicate.

While Epiphany celebrates all of those revelations, we usually focus on the arrival of the Magi with their three gifts and their intention to give the newborn King of the Jews homage.  Nothing quite says, "This toddler is a Very Important Person" than having foreign dignitaries show up on your doorstep with lavish gifts and promises of fealty and service!

The political setting for the story always reminds me of Star Wars.  I can't help drawing parallels between Caesar and Palpatine, between Herod and Vader.  Imagine if you will that the Galactic Empire is not the only empire out there in that far, far away galaxy.  Imagine that an ancient enemy of the Old Republic still borders the Empire.

Now, imagine that this bordering empire has their own group of Force sensitives.  An order with the same political and religious clout as the Jedi—or the Sith.

Furthermore, imagine that a small delegation of that order suddenly drop out of hyperspace within sight of the Death Star.  They dock and ask for an audience with Lord Darth Vader—and when they get it, they say that they have sensed a disturbance in the Force indicating the birth of the Chosen One, the true King of Naboo.  And then they ask Vader where they can find the child so they can promise their political support to him.

Can you imagine?

So Vader accesses all the old information—ancient Jedi prophecies concerning the birth of the Chosen One—and tells the delegation which system the Chosen One is supposed to be from.  And then Vader asks them to come back and tell him where they find the Chosen One, so he can swear his service to the child, too.

The delegation goes and finds the child.  They lavish expensive gifts on him and pay him homage.  Then, warned in a vision, they avoid any "Imperial entanglements" on the way home.  Warned in another vision, those responsible for the welfare of Luke and Leia spirit them away—Luke to Tatooine, of course, and Leia to Alderaan.

When the delegation doesn't return to the Death Star, Vader does what any dread Lord of the Sith would do when faced with such a threat to their power.  He takes a Star Destroyer full of Imperial Stormtroopers to the star system in question and he kills every male child under the age of two.  Problem solved.

Ok, so, this is where the metaphor breaks down.  Luke Skywalker is no Jesus Christ.  Although, in the end, Luke defeats the Emperor through non-violence if you think about it.

Speaking of non-violence, let me share a little epiphany I had about, well, Epiphany.  The Magi had a great deal of wealth with them.  And the country was full people who'd been taxed into the ground—and then when they couldn't pay, their land, their homes would be taken away.  What I'm trying to say is that, warned in a vision that Herod was an evil bastard, the Magi probably could have raised an army and started a war.

But that's not what God wanted.  God wanted them to avoid a conflict with Herod and simply go home by another way.

And I think that says something important about both God and Jesus.  Don't you?

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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The scripture lessons for January 4th—Epiphany Sunday—are:

Isaiah 60:1-6

Arise, shine; for your light has come,
    and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.
For darkness shall cover the earth,
   and thick darkness the peoples;
but the Lord will arise upon you,
   and his glory will appear over you.
Nations shall come to your light,
   and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
Lift up your eyes and look around;
   they all gather together, they come to you;
your sons shall come from far away,
   and your daughters shall be carried on their nurses' arms.
Then you shall see and be radiant;
   your heart shall thrill and rejoice,
because the abundance of the sea shall be brought to you,
   the wealth of the nations shall come to you.
A multitude of camels shall cover you,
   the young camels of Midian and Ephah;
   all those from Sheba shall come.
They shall bring gold and frankincense,
   and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord.

Psalm 72: 1-7, 10-14

Give the ruler your justice, O God,
   and your righteousness to a ruler's heir.
May the ruler judge your people with righteousness,
   and your poor with justice.
May the mountains yield prosperity for the people,
   and the hills, in righteousness.
May the ruler defend the cause of the poor of the people,
   give deliverance to the needy,
   and crush the oppressor.
May the ruler live while the sun endures,
   and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.
May the ruler be like rain that falls on the mown grass,
   like showers that water the earth.
In the ruler's days may righteousness flourish
   and peace abound, until the moon is no more.
May the monarchs of Tarshish and of the isles
   render the ruler tribute,
may the monarchs  of Sheba and Seba bring gifts.
May all monarchs fall down before the ruler,
   all nations give the ruler service.
For the ruler delivers the needy when they call,
   the poor and those who have no helper.
The ruler has pity on the weak and the needy,
   and saves the lives of the needy.
From oppression and violence the ruler redeems their life;
   and precious is their blood in the ruler's sight.

Ephesians 3:1-12

This is the reason that I Paul am a prisoner for Christ Jesus for the sake of you Gentiles— for surely you have already heard of the commission of God's grace that was given to me for you, and how the mystery was made known to me by revelation, as I wrote above in a few words, a reading of which will enable you to perceive my understanding of the mystery of Christ. In former generations this mystery was not made known to humankind, as it has now been revealed to his holy apostles and prophets by the Spirit: that is, the Gentiles have become fellow-heirs, members of the same body, and sharers in the promise in Christ Jesus through the gospel.

Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God's grace that was given to me by the working of his power. Although I am the very least of all the saints, this grace was given to me to bring to the Gentiles the news of the boundless riches of Christ, and to make everyone see what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things; so that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places. This was in accordance with the eternal purpose that he has carried out in Christ Jesus our Lord, in whom we have access to God in boldness and confidence through faith in him.

Matthew 2:1-12

In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
   are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
   who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure-chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.

More Christmas Power for Santa!

My father is Santa Clause.  My mother tried to hide it from us when my brother and I were children, but it's true.  Why else would the tags on our Christmas gifts from Santa be in her handwriting?

But my father is Santa.  Everyone recognizes him.  Even in the middle of the summer, when he's working part time at the Aquarium, small children approach him with wide eyes and ask him "What are you doing here?"  He tells them that the reindeer like to come down to visit with the penguins—after all, penguins are from the southern hemisphere!  Even adults recognize my father as Santa Clause.  I once saw a photograph of my father posted by a friend of a friend of a friend (of a friend, maybe) on Facebook.  Somebody had whipped out their phone and taken a surreptitious pic of him at a gas station because they were so amused to see Santa pumping gas!

Don't get me wrong, I know that he's not the only one out there.  But it's also more than a simple physical resemblance.  There is a very real, "Yes, Virginia," sense in which my father is Santa Clause.

I think maybe a big part of it is that he believes in magic.  "Look into the eyes of a child who believes--truly believes," he'll challenge you, "and try to tell me that magic doesn't exist!"

Magic.  Magic is one of those sticking points between geekdom and certain branches of Christianity.  Certain, loud branches.  And of course the louder those branches yell, the more they drive away my geek brothers and sisters.  Which is a shame on so many levels.

So what are those branches yelling about?  Well, it all comes out of a conservative, literalist interpretation of the Bible.  There are several places in the Hebrew scriptures that prohibit divination, speaking with spirits, and casting spells.  As I understand it, the Hebrew word used in the rules literally means "to whisper," but modern English translations either use the word "necromancy" or simply "magic."

But what was the purpose of those rules?  The purpose was to distinguish Judaism from other religions in the area, religions that regularly made use of divinations, conversing with spirits, and/or spellcasting.  Everyone believed in all of those things, but in order to be Jewish, you didn't make use of them.

Then, of course, there's the New Testament passage concerning Simon the Magician.  In that time and place magicians were kind of like snake oil salesmen—they made their living performing deeds of power.  The same kinds of deeds that made Jesus famous, except, of course that Jesus (and his disciples) did those things for free. Simon witnessed the power of the Holy Spirit.  He was so impressed that he approached Philip and offered to pay him to lay on hands and impart the Holy Spirit!  Philip told him "no," admonishing that Simon was looking at it all wrong.  Money isn't the proper motivation!

Conservative, literalist Christians look at those passages and read the word "magic" and conclude that they must abhor anything that even makes a passing reference to magic or—God forbid—portrays magic as a good thing.  These are the people who see Dungeons & Dragons as demonic and Harry Potter as "of the Satan."  Personally, I think that's taking it a little too far, even if I did lean toward a more literal interpretation of scripture!

I don't see any harm in D&D or Harry Potter, clearly.  I certainly don't think that playing the cleric is the same thing as worshiping Baal or that admiring Harry's moral fiber will seduce me away from the Christian faith.

What it comes down to is that Call Lightening and Accio are no more real than a Tribble.  They aren't magic to me.  I think it was Doug Henning who differentiated between the illusion—the trick—and that moment of pure amazement that comes just before you try to figure out "How did he do that?"  That moment of pure amazement—that's magic.

Or the look in the eyes of a child who truly believes in Santa as they talk with my father.  That's magic, too.

I find that Christmas still holds that kind of magic for me—not so much Santa (sorry, Dad) but rather the holy parts of the holiday.  The story of the Incarnation, the birth of the Messiah, gives me that kind of amazement.  I still get the shivers when I hear Linus VanPelt tell Charlie Brown what Christmas is all about.  I find that I still have a pure, childlike love in my heart when I hear The Ghost of Christmas Present singing that wherever you find love, it feels like Christmas.

Merry Christmas,
Be good to each other,
RevJosh
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Simply A True Myth

In an earlier post I talked a little bit about a reoccurring theme that pops up in many hero journeys—the idea that an ordinary or even unvalued character turns out to be the most important person in the story.  I talked about how it's a great place for everyone who's ever known rejection to relate to the hero and feel some of that same importance for themselves.  And let's face it, who among us has never known rejection?  Who doesn't want to be the Chosen One every once in a while?

Harry Potter living with the Dursleys.  Scrawny young Arthur as a Page known as "Wart."  Garian hidden away on Faldor's farm and raised by "Aunt Pol."  Luke Skywalker growing up on a moisture farm on Tatooine—I mean really, that's as close to an actual dirt farmer as you can get, right?

There's something that kind of rings hollow about the geek version of that theme, though.  The idea is that maybe the little ol' ostracized geek is actually vitally important because Harry was abused and look at him, he's the Chosen One!  But when push comes to shove, most of us aren't actually holding our breath for an owl to deliver our invitation into the wider wizarding world.  (Those of us who are actually so mentally ill and delusional as to have lost our grip on reality are actually very few and far-between—but that's a post for another day, perhaps.)


What I'm trying to say is that if this aspect of the hero journey is all that we have to lift ourselves up, we're in trouble.  Yes, it's awesome to watch Harry go from the Boy Who Lived Under the Stairs to the most important wizard in the world.  But it doesn't mean that I'm important.

Unless it turns out that I'm actually a powerful wizard.



Nope.

But check this out:  Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved to read.  In fact, he may very well grown up to be the most well-read man in human history.  He placed a great deal of value in mythology--in hero journeys.  And then, one day, a couple of friends took him on a long walk and convinced him that Christianity is the world's most important myth because it actually happened.

And that's how C.S. Lewis converted to Christianity.

The point I'm trying to make is that when I read the scripture and see that God sends an angel to the epitome of normal and unimportant—a young lady named Mary—it's actually very important.  Not just to the story, but to humanity.

You see, God could surely have saved humanity from on high, and all on God's own.  But God chose to involve Mary.  God chose to become human in the person of Jesus.

God chose to involve us in our own salvation.

And that doesn't just mean Jesus.  It doesn't just mean Mary.  It means that we all can and should be involved.

What I'm trying to say is that every one of us—even little ol' ostracized geeks—really are important.  We can't just sit around and wait for God to save us.  Apparently God doesn't save us without our own involvement.

Everything we do is important.  Because every choice we make either makes the world a little bit better, or a little bit worse.

It really is just that simple.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
121614

The scripture lessons for December 21st—The Fourth Sunday of Advent Year B—are:
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16—Psalm 89:1-4, 19-26—Romans 16:25-27—Luke 1:26-38

The Temple of Nerull

I think that one of the keys to my geek theology is a sense of conversation:  Christianity may have some things to say to geek culture, but geek culture also has some things to say to Christianity.

I try to uplift the fun positive things that they say to each other as well as the challenging things.  And if I'm honest with myself, I've been thinking about what I'm doing in that duality—the uplifting & the challenging.  Or to put it in church language, the pastoral and the prophetic.

The geek perspective on Isaiah 40:3-5 feels like it's on the challenging / prophetic side.

A voice cries out:

‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,

   make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 

Every valley shall be lifted up,

   and every mountain and hill be made low;

the uneven ground shall become level,

   and the rough places a plain. 

Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,

   and all people shall see it together,

   for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ 

As a geek, when I read that I can't help but think of a stereotypical Dungeons & Dragons campaign.  The kind that starts with one psychotic death-worshiping cultist in the background, spouting rhetoric from a street corner and ends with the band of intrepid heroes making an all-out assault on their evil subterranean temple.

And it makes me wonder—is that how people see Christians like me?  Is that the prophetic word that geekdom has for Christians?  That ours is a hollow rhetoric barely masking a greater evil?

It's not that great a stretch, I suppose.  One need only look to the Branch Davidians or Heaven's Gate to see where Messianic expectations start looking like barely disguised evil.

There is a prophetic word here for Christianity, but believe it or not, I think that the message is that we've failed at evangelism.

No, really.

I know that the word "Evangelical" has come to be synonymous with a brand of Christianity that's particularly concerned with your salvation.  Which, if we're all honest with ourselves, comes off as simply judgmental to a large portion of the population.  And if judgmental at best and barely disguised evil at worst is the message Christianity is bringing across then we've failed.  Miserably.

Because the message Isaiah is brining us here, is one of hope.  He's speaking to a trampled, ostracized, conquered people.  I started off giving you just Isaiah 40:3-5 to make a point, but a more natural place to start might be with the beginning of the chapter:

Comfort, O comfort my people,
   says your God. 
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
   and cry to her
that she has served her term,
   that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
   double for all her sins. 

A voice cries out:
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord...

The idea that the Lord is coming isn't supposed to be about judgement in this case—it's more like last week's urge, need for someone to come and fix our broken world.  It's actually a promise that the Lord will come and that when it happens that trampled, ostracized, conquered people will be restored.

Centuries later, when that same people were trampled and conquered by the Romans and kept underfoot with the collusion of their own secular and religious authorities, a man named John came walking up out of the wilderness.  He was a wild man, very much like a street-corner preacher in a sandwich board, with one key difference.

People were listening.

We're talking about a time and a place where a trampled and conquered people yearned, no needed, the Lord to come and save them.  And so people were looking at John and wondering if he was the one who would save them.  Some were even saying that John was actually the prophet, Elijah, resurrected and come to save them from the Romans.

John was clearly a threat.

And so the authorities came and asked John directly, "Who do you think you are?"

And John said, "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness."  If poetry is saying the most you can with the fewest words, John was definitely a poet.  With that one sentence John managed to say two important things.  "I don't claim to be the Messiah who will come to overthrow the Romans," is the first thing.  The second thing is, "But He is coming.  You can count on that."

Yeah, that's right.  John was kind of awesome.  He said what was in his heart, despite the fact that it might make him dangerously unpopular in certain circles.  And you know what?  There's a word for someone who loves something against judgement.  So I'm gonna go ahead and say it:  John was kind of a geek.

More than that, though, the fact that the heart of what it means to be a geek has to do with rejection means that we have a unique ability to know what it's like to feel trampled and conquered.

And so, for me, this message of hope is especially powerful.

And that's why, if the rest of geek culture hasn't received the same message, I say that Christians like me have failed.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
120214

The scripture lessons for December 7th—Second Sunday in Advent Year B—are:
Isaiah 40:1-11—Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13—2 Peter 3:8-15a—Mark 1:1-8

Sworn to Protect a World...

This Sunday marks the beginning of the Christian year—the beginning of Advent.  For some people, it marks the beginning of the Christmas Season.  For others, that began the moment Santa Clause rode his float down 6th Avenue.  Or is when he makes the turn onto West 24th?  You get the point though—in many families you don't even consider putting out the Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving.  Of course, with advertisements for Black Friday sales and the way seasonal sections of grocery and department stores work, we've been seeing Christmas creeping in for months already.

For the record, when it comes to the church year, Advent and Christmas are not the same thing.  The Christmas Season actually begins on Christmas Day and runs up until Epiphany on January 6th.  For those of you counting, yes, that's 12 days!

So...  if Advent isn't all about "Away In A Manger" and "Go Tell It On The Mountain," what is it about?

Advent is more like, "Come, oh come Emmanuel and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here..."  Advent is all about seeing all the stuff that's wrong with the world and yearning—no, needing—for someone to fix it.

Advent is like the words of the prophet Isaiah, speaking directly to God:

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,
   so that the mountains would quake at your presence —
as when fire kindles brushwood
   and the fire causes water to boil —
to make your name known to your adversaries,
   so that the nations might tremble at your presence!

This is a familiar theme for geeks.  An oppressive monarch.  An evil empire.  A downtrodden people eager for a hero to come and save them—it's the starting point for nearly every hero journey I can think of, from the Chronicles of Narnia, to The Lord of the Rings, to Star Wars...  In fact, it's so familiar that it's tempting to blow right past it as I consider those words from Isaiah.

Because I don't know about you, but while I resonate strongly with the great desire for the ills of the world to be rectified when I read those words from Isaiah I find myself...  hesitant.  I mean, do we really want God to tear open the heavens, make landfall, and hit the ground running?

The truth is that just a fraction of that kind of power freaks the average human being out.  The Marvel Universe has always had a handle on this:  Spider-Man is a menace.  The Mutant Registration Act.  The whole Civil War storyline.  Superheroes have amazing powers that they use to save the world—and the world is terrified.

Sometimes that fear is legit (can you say Onslaught, boys and girls?), but more frequently it's unfounded.  Your friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man feels his great responsibility.  The X-Men protect a world that hates and fears them.

And then, sometimes, the fear is less about danger and more about disrupting the status quo.  The gut-instinct fear reaction to the existence of girls who can walk through walls is less about protecting yourself than it is about protecting your stuff.  And it's less about protecting your stuff than it is about your mind balking at how her existence changes everything.  Never mind that she's a person, right?  Her parents are Carmen and Theresa.  She's Jewish and her grandfather Samuel was held in a Nazi concentration camp.  She has a name, Katherine Ann Pryde.

But most people call her "Kitty."

The point I'm trying to make is that we seem to be all to willing to cry out "help me!" as long as the people who answer the call are just like us.  We're all too willing to ask God to tear open the heavens and come down to earth until Jesus turns the tables on us—literally and figuratively.

The point I'm trying to make is that if we want to the world to change, we can't let that fear stop us.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
112514

The scripture lessons for November 30th—First Sunday in Advent Year B—are:
Isaiah 64:1-9—Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19—1 Corinthians 1:3-9—Mark 13:24-37

But I am the Chosen One!

In an earlier post a made a quick reference to Harry Potter, "...that kid forced to live in the closet under the stairs by his wicked aunt and uncle after the horrific murder of his parents who turns out to be The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One..." and made an even quicker reference to something that is at the heart of what it is to be a geek—namely being ostracized and rejected.  I think maybe that's one of the appeals of one of the stereotypical hero journeys, the kind where the little guy, the underdog, the powerless one forced to the margins of society turns out to be the one who's actually important.  In other words, we geeks can instantly relate to Harry being whaled on by Dudley Dursley and we all—well, I was going to say we all secretly wish for an owl to deliver us an invitation attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I think most of us are actually out in the open on that one.  That's the other piece of being a geek—openly loving things that might get us pushed to the margins ourselves.

Jesus tells a story about the end of days, when we shall all be judged and separated out into two groups—the in crowd and the outsiders.  Only he used the metaphor of sheep and goats.  Of course, that's probably because he was talking to people in First Century Palestine.  But you get the point.  They guy in charge, a character Jesus calls "The Son of Man" comes to earth and separates us all out into two groups.  One group will be "in" and the other "out."  So the most important part of the story is learning what the measuring stick is that will decide whether you're in or out.

And in the story, the measuring stick is how the people treated the Son of Man during their lives.  The people who fed the Son of Man when he was hungry, gave him something to drink when he was thirsty, welcomed him when he was a stranger, clothed him when he was naked, took care of him when he was sick, and visited him in prison get to be part of the in crowd.  Everyone who refused to do those things is tossed out in the cold and dark.

Which all makes sense.  Except that both the "in" folk and the "out" folk are thoroughly confused.  "When did we do that?"  So the Son of Man explains, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."

Do you see what Jesus is doing there?  He's taking the marginalized people—the little guy, the underdog, the powerless ones—and he's saying that they are the most important!  It feels pretty good, doesn't it?  After all, who doesn't like Harry Potter?  Who doesn't want to be the Chosen One?

But here's the thing:  as is frequently the case, this story carries both hope and a challenge.  It's pretty easy to see the challenge that this story has for the privileged upper classes who's mantra of "I worked hard for this!" not only keeps them from feeding the hungry and taking care of the sick but also subtly implies that the sick and the hungry simply aren't working hard enough.  But there's a challenge here for the marginalized—and yes, I'm looking at us, fellow geeks.

You see, in my experience groups of marginalized people have a tendency to get hyper-focused on their own oppression.  The gay and lesbian community sometimes gets so caught up in their own struggles that they fail to support the struggles of trans folk—let alone other kinds of genderqueer people, for example.  Some furry communities get so marginalized that they become completely xenophobic, for another.

So the challenge for geeks (and the queer community and furries and whomever) in this story from Jesus is to recognize the Son of Man in each other, not just their own people.

What it comes down to is simply what I tell you every week.

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
111814

The scripture lessons for November 23rd—Thirty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A—are:
Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24—Psalm 100—Ephesians 1:15-23—Matthew 25:31-46

For another blog entry that relates well to Matthew 25:31-46, click here!

Talent Tree

It has been a long hard road to get here—and I recognize that my journey is far from over—but the house is finally sold.  Our things have been successfully stored, no thanks to Merlin, by the way.  I finally have some time to spare for blogging again, so here we go!

I've been pondering the Parable of the Talents, and even I am almost surprised at how well it can be framed in geeky language.  If you're a language geek, you might be interested in the etymology of the word, "talent."  Originally, the word referred to a unit of money, so when Jesus begins a story with the setup, "...a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability," what he's talking about is silver.  In fact, when Jesus was speaking a talent of silver was about 130 pounds.  Can you imagine the kind of wealth the man in the story was tossing around?  A hundred and thirty, two hundred and sixty, six hundred and fifty pounds of silver!!  In any case, it was the parable of the talents—and its most common interpretation—that changed the meaning of the word "talent" from a unit of measurement to today's meaning of a natural ability or aptitude.  How cool is that?

The other thing that immediately popped into my head, of course, was the rpg version of "talents."  Those special, heroic abilities that you earn for your character through gameplay.  A new talent is a goal worth working for when you're gaming.  And for a good gamer, choosing a new talent is usually a carefully considered process.

That's when it hit me that the Parable of the Talents could be retold in gamer terms:

When the word ends and we have to answer for the way we've lived our lives, it'll be kind of like the end of a tabletop gaming session.  The GM decided to give out new Talents based on the quality of the RP and the combat skill of each of the players.  The GM gave the Rogue five talents, the Warrior received two, and the Mage received one.

And then the players all went home until it was time for the next week's session.

And the GM asked each of the players in turn what they decided to do with their talents?  The Rogue had done of a lot research, not only into how each Rogue talent interacts with each other, but also into how they might interact with each of the other party members.  The result was beautiful example of min-maxing for the sake of the party.  The Warrior decided to focus on her own damage output, linking together her Talents in a clever way that would allow her to solo foes greater than her level.  But the Mage hadn't chosen a new talent.  He was afraid of choosing the wrong one and came to the table unprepared.  And the GM was ticked and took away the Mage's one Talent and gave it to the Rogue.  "You can't play tonight.  Go home."

 The Parable of the Talents, you see, is kind of like a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The Mage would have been better off picking anything rather than coming to the table empty-handed.  But he was so afraid of making the GM angry by picking the wrong thing that he did nothing.  And that made the GM more angry than anything else could have!  It's better to be prepared poorly than completely unprepared.

What does it mean to be prepared though?  What Talents should we chose?  I believe that we can never go wrong choosing those Talents that align with the Rule of Love. Or put another way...

Be good to each other,
Rev. Josh
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The scripture lessons for November 16th—Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A—are:
Judges 4:1-7—Psalm 123—1 Thessalonians 5:1-11—Matthew 25:14-30