I ask you to take a moment and think back upon the Christmas seasons of your childhood. Can you remember a specific year when Santa Clause hit a home run or even a grand slam? A year when he knew that you'd been good all year and he knew that you so desperately wanted that toy, or book, or game--or, dare I say it, article of clothing, or other such gift that would have been more horrifying to me in my childhood than a lump of coal in my stocking? A year when Santa knew the greatest desires and hopes of your innocent, young heart and absolutely delivered on Christmas morning?
Personally, I can remember many such Christmas mornings. One specific Christmas that I can clearly remember to this day was one when Santa must have recently upgraded operating systems, or purchased a high-performance 486 MHz processor PC, or simply was feeling especially generous in sharing the joys of emerging technology with good little boys and girls. Under our tree that year was a Nintendo video game console. Of course, the console was a couple years old at this point, as, even with the help of Santa Clause, the Laudie family typically followed behind the technology curve by a year or two to capitalize on the economic discounts and large abundance of previously-played games and hardware, made available by the emergence of the next-wave systems.
Over the course of a few years, we collected and inherited a decent assortment of games, and that video game system received a great deal of attention by me and my siblings. We played those games until the cartridges' inner circuitry was absolutely fried by overheating, dust, and saliva--everyone knew that if you blew/breathed/spit into the cartridges before inserting them into the machine, the games would magically load properly. We played those games so hard that they eventually gave up the ghost and refused to play--or they would scornfully allow us to play and then spitefully delete our save game files so that we would have to start all over again the next time.
We had an elaborate system in place to get around Mom's thirty minute daily time limit on video games in the summer. Every kid knew that thirty minutes was hardly time to get started on any proper video game, let alone actually beat it--with the exception of perhaps Contra, the beating of which had become as natural as breathing and which I was sure would eventually vault me into Guinness for my near-perfect speed runs.
A point man without a controller was only allowed to devote half his attention to watching the game play and had to keep the rest of his focus directed to listening for Mom. The door at the foot of the stairs was closed ninety percent of the way to dampen sounds from the TV, but was left partially ajar so that undue suspicion was not encouraged. A metal baby-safety gate at the top of the stairs was similarly pulled shut, but was not made to latch completely for similar suspicion-diverting reasons. This gate served as our alarm, should the point man shirk in his duties, allowing a few precious seconds for those of us playing below to change the channel, shut off the TV, yank out the controllers, and flee to our bedrooms, grabbing our school books and maintaining the appearance of being the wonderful, dutiful, and obedient children that we were (Mom wasn't Nintendo-savvy enough to know that the red LED on the console meant that the system was still on). Of course when Mom had moved loads of laundry and returned upstairs, we could plug the controllers back in and resume the game where we had left off. When Mom came down with the axe and grounded us from Nintendo for whatever reason, we knew where she hid the controllers, should she leave the house and allow us a small window in which to seek relief from the agonizing video game withdrawals we faced.
Suffice it to say that we enjoyed long hours with Mario, Zelda, Tecmo Bowl, and Contra. And with each hour of playing, our video game skills improved. We could navigate the snowfield of Contra, dodging projectiles and enemy soldiers without firing a single shot. We could get Joe Montana to throw a football the entire length of the field and find Jerry Rice open in the end zone, increasing the lead from sixty-five points to seventy-two. Of course, in real life, I wouldn't last 30 seconds on a battlefield with hostile troops and aliens, and I might be lucky to throw a pigskin 20 yards. So we spent plenty of time in the real world, too; but that Nintendo was one Christmas gift that was used to its fullest. I'm sure you can relate to me in some way with some special present Santa left you on one magical Christmas morning.
Now I ask if you ever received a gift, from Santa or someone else, that didn't last long. Perhaps the excitement for it faded with the opening of another package; you possibly outgrew the gift or got bored with it; maybe it broke. When I was eight or nine I received a suction cup dart gun for Christmas. My brother begged me to let him try it, and, after one successful shot at a window, the gun was reloaded but never fired again. Of course, the toy was cheaply made and was probably destined to a life of no more than a few hours, but I begrudged the fact that I never even got to shoot the gun myself before it went the way of the world. After that, I thought twice before letting my siblings near my prized possessions.
Have you ever received a gift that you hoarded or confined to the top shelf of your closet, afraid that some brother might come along and break it? I never could understand the excitement my sister felt for a porcelain doll she received. This doll was so delicate and fragile that it was meant to only be seen and not be touched. But at the same time, I can identify many presents I've received that I've likewise shelved to be protected from damage or to be saved for a special occasion.
On my LDS mission to Estonia, there were many comforts and pleasures from the States that I lived without. One of the hardest of these for me was going two years without my beloved root beer--well, I mean to say, almost two years. As a special treat, I received a single 12 oz can of A&W from our Mission President's wife one month. Some of the others gulped their prizes down anxiously, wiping their lips in satisfaction. I held on to mine, determined to save it for a quiet moment later when I could savor and enjoy the drink to the fullest. I took it back to my apartment, and I hid the can in my pantry. I decided to save it for a really special day, a really good day. A time or two, my companion had fun at my expense and hid my soda, claiming to have consumed it. Once, he succeeded in tracking down an empty can and replacing mine with it. I did not have charitable thoughts toward my companion that day, and it was all I could do to maintain my missionary standards and hold back the verbal onslaught. I don't recall when I actually got around to drinking that root beer. It may have been my birthday, the day one of my Estonian friends was baptized, or a day shortly before returning home from my mission. Knowing me and my tendency to hoard things, it may very well have been the latter, a day not long before a time when I would have access to all the root beer I could stomach.
Now I speak of gifts and presents, from my past and yours, so that I can liken them to talents. Many of us are familiar with the Savior's parable of the talent. He speaks of talents like he was speaking of coins or treasures. I do not have a great understanding of the Jewish monetary system of that day; perhaps someone more educated and scholarly than me could provide insights into any lingual roots of the word talent and any possible connections between that word and the coinage of the day. For our purposes here, I will think of the talents in this parable as gold coins.
In his parable, the Savior tells of a lord who entrusts portions of his wealth to three of his servants. This lord gave five coins (or talents) to the first servant, two coins to the second, and just one to the third. The first two servants went and invested the money with which they were entrusted. He, who had a larger sum to invest, was rewarded with a greater return on investment. But both servants doubled their charge, creating a profit for their master. The third servant, however, feared the strict and demanding nature of his lord and chose to hide his single coin in the earth. Perhaps, with only one coin, he felt a greater risk of making a bad investment and returning with nothing; maybe that single coin seemed so much more valuable to him than the many that had been entrusted to his peers. Regardless of the source of his fears, the man returned to his master with the single coin, perhaps pleased that he hadn't screwed up and come back empty-handed.
The two servants who had taken their entrusted talents and created a one-hundred percent return on investment were praised by the lord. The lord then gifted not only the profit that had been created but the initial endowment as well to these two men. This shows that the master was not concerned with the investment returns, or the initial sum of money. This was not a matter of profit or loss. The master said, "Well done, [thou] good and faithful servant[s]: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler[s] over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." This response shows us that, through the test of the talents, the lord was primarily concerned with the development of his servants and not the development of a profit. These two men had proved their worth and would now be entrusted with greater responsibility and privilege in his household.
And so we come to the third, fearful servant. He returned the single talent, perhaps not asking for praise, but surely seeking acceptance by his lord for safely protecting his charge. The master then called him a wicked and slothful servant, condemning the man for his fears and his inaction, not necessarily his lack of responsibility. The man had been responsible. He had been given charge of some money and he had successfully returned it in its entirety to his master. The parable does not make it clear what the master's initial charge had been when he left into a far country. Had the charge been merely to protect the goods, or was the specific charge given to seek an increase? I believe that the parable, and perhaps the master’s instructions, was intentionally vague in this matter. I believe that it was assumed that any righteous steward would not just seek to fulfill those duties and responsibilities specifically outlined, but would strive to magnify his calling and go above and beyond the call of duty. This slothful servant clearly failed in that respect and received as his reward the scorn of his employer, the loss of his charge (which was then gifted to the first servant who had been most entrusted), and the ultimate loss of his job, his responsibility, and his privilege. The master even said that if the servant had been too afraid to participate in risky investments, he should have at least, in effect, deposited the money in a savings account at the bank so that the money could have earned a meager interest. Hidden in the ground, this talent was good for nothing, and the anger of the master toward the slothful servant was fierce.
Earlier, I spoke of prized gifts, of treasures that stand out in our past. When I think of my personal stewardship for the "talent" or golden coin that came in the form of a Nintendo, I humbly feel that I magnified my calling to the fullest. I most certainly did not hide that treasure in the earth, and I took advantage of it every moment my mother permitted (as well as many times when she did not). My video game skills improved over time as I enjoyed the special gift. I could not have returned to the master with two game consoles, but the growth and improvement that came from using the system would surely have pleased that lord.
I think now of my dart gun. It broke. I never got to enjoy it. I invested that talent and immediately lost it in a bad business deal. I wanted to blame my brother. I had no plans to let him near any of my other toys. I wanted to selfishly cling to any remaining talents and never try my hand at investments again. When I returned to my master without my single talent, what might he have said? If he was truly less concerned with the profit or the maintaining of that single talent than he was with my personal development and efforts to magnify that talent, then he probably would have forgiven me the loss and provided another opportunity for stewardship. But with an attitude of hostility towards those people or circumstances that had contributed to the loss, with a conservative attitude emerging from my failure, that master would likely have considered me a wicked, if not slothful, servant in whom he would no longer place his trust.
Finally, I think of my root beer. Is there anything wrong with saving a prized possession to be enjoyed on a special occasion? Absolutely not. And did I enjoy that liquid gold when I did finally drink it? Absolutely. However, if I had allowed myself to enjoy it soon after receiving it, I could have had the duration of my mission to look forward to that next can. My focus was so concentrated on saving that treat for the right moment that I could not appreciate the simple blessing that it was to me. I'm not going to judge myself here and say that I should have acted differently. All men are privileged to drink their A&W root beer however they see fit. But if my can of soda had indeed been a talent, a gold coin with which I had been entrusted, and not simply gifted, then I truly failed in my stewardship. I was indeed a slothful and a wicked servant. I hid my can in the pantry and did not get any use out of it for many long months. I made no effort to turn that can into something more. Can you grow root beer trees?
So, approaching the root (no pun intended) of my message, let's think of talents as our vocabulary today implies and not as gold coins, though talents indeed are as precious as any gem or jewel. The true Master has entrusted each of us with certain gifts, certain strengths, and even certain weaknesses that are like these talents in the parable. Every one of us has at least one talent. These may not be clearly apparent to us at first; sometimes we have to search a little, to try new things, and to pray and seek inspiration to find out what these are. The Master is not so concerned with how many talents we possess; he is not so concerned with what others think of our talents. He does want us, however, to use our talents. He wants us to find them and to magnify them. It is not enough for us to find a talent and then just use it as needed, or when called upon to share it. We are commanded through this parable to actively develop these talents, to seek opportunities to use and share them. Otherwise, we are good for nothing, and slothful servants, and the Lord will surely take away that which we hath.
I mentioned weaknesses. Surely weaknesses are not talents... are they? In Ether 12:27, the Lord tells us, "I give unto men weakness that they may be humble." Just as we are entrusted with special gifts, with things that we are naturally good at, the Lord also makes certain things naturally difficult for us. He doesn't do this to belittle us or to put us down. He does this so we can see both our strengths and weaknesses and our need for His help as we seek to improve upon both of these. Then, through His grace, these weaknesses can indeed become strengths and talents for us.
The life of President Heber J. Grant provides multiple examples of this. Here was a boy who could not throw a ball and could not sing. He probably did not have to look very hard to find these weaknesses... I'm sure the other neighborhood boys at the baseball diamond and those members of the congregation who sat near his family during sacrament meeting were quick to inform him of his deficiencies. President Grant humbly acknowledged his imperfections, grabbed a baseball and started throwing. On long road trips, he would begin singing and continue to sing until those with him assured him that he sounded like an angel. He had to work hard to develop these weaknesses, these "anti-talents", into great strengths. And I am sure that there was a great deal of heavenly assistance in his efforts.
Sometimes, our weaknesses and our talents are not quite so apparent. In that same scripture from Ether, the Lord promises that, "If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness." I believe the same holds true for our strengths.
The Lord is anxious to see us develop these talents, and He surely has many further gifts and talents to bestow upon us as we prove our worthy stewardship to Him. In the parable, even though the outcome was such that the talents or coins were eventually gifted to the faithful servants, the talents were not gifted to them to begin with. The talents were loaned to their care for the master's purposes.
Do we think of our talents in this light? That they are on loan to us? The Savior told us that we are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. He said that men do not light a candle and hide it under a bushel, but they put it on a candlestick so that the light can shine forth, filling the house. His command? "Let your light [or your talents] so shine before men before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." Heavenly Father wants other men to see His glory through our talents, through our light.
Our talents are not given us so that we can glory of ourselves or receive the praise of men. That said, we should not seek to belittle ourselves or our talents in an attempt at humility. Others may complement our baseball skills or our wonderful singing voices, and we can, together with them, glory in those God-given strengths. Alma said, "I do not glory of myself... [but] this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God." Do we see our talents as tools that Heavenly Father can use for His purposes? After all, these talents are still on loan from Him for His benefit.
The apostle Paul said, "Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit... but the manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man to profit withal... to one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom; to another the word of knowledge by the same Spirit; To another faith... to another the gifts of healing... to another the working of miracles..."
And he could have continued:
...to another great piano playing skills for the cheering up of the sad and for the worshipping of the Lord;
...to another great patience and an aptitude for teaching little children so that the little ones might be taught and allowed to come unto Me;
...to another the ability to make others laugh and be merry;
...to another the understanding of how things work so that he can assist his neighbor whose car just broke down;
...to another great athletic strength to show forth the glory of the human body, one of God's greatest creations;
...and to me, perhaps, the tendency to be long-winded and to express my few simple thoughts in as many words as possible so that others can learn the Christ like virtues of patience and long-suffering.
We must seek to find our talents, and we cannot let them remain idle. We are commanded to not only use them for the benefit of our fellow man and the glory of our God, but are also commanded to develop these talents, so that we can one day report on our stewardship and the Lord will say unto us, "Well done, [thou] good and faithful servant[s]: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler[s] over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord."
I invite you to join your voices, your musical instruments (be those violins, drums, or kazoos), your brilliant minds, your athletic bodies, your strong spirits, and your Christ-like hearts with mine as we go about the work of our Master, who has already performed a work of salvation for which we are eternally in His debt as His willing servants. Let us not hide our talents in the ground or under a bushel. Let us fill the world with his glorious light.
Personally, I can remember many such Christmas mornings. One specific Christmas that I can clearly remember to this day was one when Santa must have recently upgraded operating systems, or purchased a high-performance 486 MHz processor PC, or simply was feeling especially generous in sharing the joys of emerging technology with good little boys and girls. Under our tree that year was a Nintendo video game console. Of course, the console was a couple years old at this point, as, even with the help of Santa Clause, the Laudie family typically followed behind the technology curve by a year or two to capitalize on the economic discounts and large abundance of previously-played games and hardware, made available by the emergence of the next-wave systems.
Over the course of a few years, we collected and inherited a decent assortment of games, and that video game system received a great deal of attention by me and my siblings. We played those games until the cartridges' inner circuitry was absolutely fried by overheating, dust, and saliva--everyone knew that if you blew/breathed/spit into the cartridges before inserting them into the machine, the games would magically load properly. We played those games so hard that they eventually gave up the ghost and refused to play--or they would scornfully allow us to play and then spitefully delete our save game files so that we would have to start all over again the next time.
We had an elaborate system in place to get around Mom's thirty minute daily time limit on video games in the summer. Every kid knew that thirty minutes was hardly time to get started on any proper video game, let alone actually beat it--with the exception of perhaps Contra, the beating of which had become as natural as breathing and which I was sure would eventually vault me into Guinness for my near-perfect speed runs.A point man without a controller was only allowed to devote half his attention to watching the game play and had to keep the rest of his focus directed to listening for Mom. The door at the foot of the stairs was closed ninety percent of the way to dampen sounds from the TV, but was left partially ajar so that undue suspicion was not encouraged. A metal baby-safety gate at the top of the stairs was similarly pulled shut, but was not made to latch completely for similar suspicion-diverting reasons. This gate served as our alarm, should the point man shirk in his duties, allowing a few precious seconds for those of us playing below to change the channel, shut off the TV, yank out the controllers, and flee to our bedrooms, grabbing our school books and maintaining the appearance of being the wonderful, dutiful, and obedient children that we were (Mom wasn't Nintendo-savvy enough to know that the red LED on the console meant that the system was still on). Of course when Mom had moved loads of laundry and returned upstairs, we could plug the controllers back in and resume the game where we had left off. When Mom came down with the axe and grounded us from Nintendo for whatever reason, we knew where she hid the controllers, should she leave the house and allow us a small window in which to seek relief from the agonizing video game withdrawals we faced.
Suffice it to say that we enjoyed long hours with Mario, Zelda, Tecmo Bowl, and Contra. And with each hour of playing, our video game skills improved. We could navigate the snowfield of Contra, dodging projectiles and enemy soldiers without firing a single shot. We could get Joe Montana to throw a football the entire length of the field and find Jerry Rice open in the end zone, increasing the lead from sixty-five points to seventy-two. Of course, in real life, I wouldn't last 30 seconds on a battlefield with hostile troops and aliens, and I might be lucky to throw a pigskin 20 yards. So we spent plenty of time in the real world, too; but that Nintendo was one Christmas gift that was used to its fullest. I'm sure you can relate to me in some way with some special present Santa left you on one magical Christmas morning.
Now I ask if you ever received a gift, from Santa or someone else, that didn't last long. Perhaps the excitement for it faded with the opening of another package; you possibly outgrew the gift or got bored with it; maybe it broke. When I was eight or nine I received a suction cup dart gun for Christmas. My brother begged me to let him try it, and, after one successful shot at a window, the gun was reloaded but never fired again. Of course, the toy was cheaply made and was probably destined to a life of no more than a few hours, but I begrudged the fact that I never even got to shoot the gun myself before it went the way of the world. After that, I thought twice before letting my siblings near my prized possessions.Have you ever received a gift that you hoarded or confined to the top shelf of your closet, afraid that some brother might come along and break it? I never could understand the excitement my sister felt for a porcelain doll she received. This doll was so delicate and fragile that it was meant to only be seen and not be touched. But at the same time, I can identify many presents I've received that I've likewise shelved to be protected from damage or to be saved for a special occasion.
On my LDS mission to Estonia, there were many comforts and pleasures from the States that I lived without. One of the hardest of these for me was going two years without my beloved root beer--well, I mean to say, almost two years. As a special treat, I received a single 12 oz can of A&W from our Mission President's wife one month. Some of the others gulped their prizes down anxiously, wiping their lips in satisfaction. I held on to mine, determined to save it for a quiet moment later when I could savor and enjoy the drink to the fullest. I took it back to my apartment, and I hid the can in my pantry. I decided to save it for a really special day, a really good day. A time or two, my companion had fun at my expense and hid my soda, claiming to have consumed it. Once, he succeeded in tracking down an empty can and replacing mine with it. I did not have charitable thoughts toward my companion that day, and it was all I could do to maintain my missionary standards and hold back the verbal onslaught. I don't recall when I actually got around to drinking that root beer. It may have been my birthday, the day one of my Estonian friends was baptized, or a day shortly before returning home from my mission. Knowing me and my tendency to hoard things, it may very well have been the latter, a day not long before a time when I would have access to all the root beer I could stomach.
Now I speak of gifts and presents, from my past and yours, so that I can liken them to talents. Many of us are familiar with the Savior's parable of the talent. He speaks of talents like he was speaking of coins or treasures. I do not have a great understanding of the Jewish monetary system of that day; perhaps someone more educated and scholarly than me could provide insights into any lingual roots of the word talent and any possible connections between that word and the coinage of the day. For our purposes here, I will think of the talents in this parable as gold coins.In his parable, the Savior tells of a lord who entrusts portions of his wealth to three of his servants. This lord gave five coins (or talents) to the first servant, two coins to the second, and just one to the third. The first two servants went and invested the money with which they were entrusted. He, who had a larger sum to invest, was rewarded with a greater return on investment. But both servants doubled their charge, creating a profit for their master. The third servant, however, feared the strict and demanding nature of his lord and chose to hide his single coin in the earth. Perhaps, with only one coin, he felt a greater risk of making a bad investment and returning with nothing; maybe that single coin seemed so much more valuable to him than the many that had been entrusted to his peers. Regardless of the source of his fears, the man returned to his master with the single coin, perhaps pleased that he hadn't screwed up and come back empty-handed.
The two servants who had taken their entrusted talents and created a one-hundred percent return on investment were praised by the lord. The lord then gifted not only the profit that had been created but the initial endowment as well to these two men. This shows that the master was not concerned with the investment returns, or the initial sum of money. This was not a matter of profit or loss. The master said, "Well done, [thou] good and faithful servant[s]: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler[s] over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord." This response shows us that, through the test of the talents, the lord was primarily concerned with the development of his servants and not the development of a profit. These two men had proved their worth and would now be entrusted with greater responsibility and privilege in his household.
And so we come to the third, fearful servant. He returned the single talent, perhaps not asking for praise, but surely seeking acceptance by his lord for safely protecting his charge. The master then called him a wicked and slothful servant, condemning the man for his fears and his inaction, not necessarily his lack of responsibility. The man had been responsible. He had been given charge of some money and he had successfully returned it in its entirety to his master. The parable does not make it clear what the master's initial charge had been when he left into a far country. Had the charge been merely to protect the goods, or was the specific charge given to seek an increase? I believe that the parable, and perhaps the master’s instructions, was intentionally vague in this matter. I believe that it was assumed that any righteous steward would not just seek to fulfill those duties and responsibilities specifically outlined, but would strive to magnify his calling and go above and beyond the call of duty. This slothful servant clearly failed in that respect and received as his reward the scorn of his employer, the loss of his charge (which was then gifted to the first servant who had been most entrusted), and the ultimate loss of his job, his responsibility, and his privilege. The master even said that if the servant had been too afraid to participate in risky investments, he should have at least, in effect, deposited the money in a savings account at the bank so that the money could have earned a meager interest. Hidden in the ground, this talent was good for nothing, and the anger of the master toward the slothful servant was fierce.Earlier, I spoke of prized gifts, of treasures that stand out in our past. When I think of my personal stewardship for the "talent" or golden coin that came in the form of a Nintendo, I humbly feel that I magnified my calling to the fullest. I most certainly did not hide that treasure in the earth, and I took advantage of it every moment my mother permitted (as well as many times when she did not). My video game skills improved over time as I enjoyed the special gift. I could not have returned to the master with two game consoles, but the growth and improvement that came from using the system would surely have pleased that lord.
I think now of my dart gun. It broke. I never got to enjoy it. I invested that talent and immediately lost it in a bad business deal. I wanted to blame my brother. I had no plans to let him near any of my other toys. I wanted to selfishly cling to any remaining talents and never try my hand at investments again. When I returned to my master without my single talent, what might he have said? If he was truly less concerned with the profit or the maintaining of that single talent than he was with my personal development and efforts to magnify that talent, then he probably would have forgiven me the loss and provided another opportunity for stewardship. But with an attitude of hostility towards those people or circumstances that had contributed to the loss, with a conservative attitude emerging from my failure, that master would likely have considered me a wicked, if not slothful, servant in whom he would no longer place his trust.
Finally, I think of my root beer. Is there anything wrong with saving a prized possession to be enjoyed on a special occasion? Absolutely not. And did I enjoy that liquid gold when I did finally drink it? Absolutely. However, if I had allowed myself to enjoy it soon after receiving it, I could have had the duration of my mission to look forward to that next can. My focus was so concentrated on saving that treat for the right moment that I could not appreciate the simple blessing that it was to me. I'm not going to judge myself here and say that I should have acted differently. All men are privileged to drink their A&W root beer however they see fit. But if my can of soda had indeed been a talent, a gold coin with which I had been entrusted, and not simply gifted, then I truly failed in my stewardship. I was indeed a slothful and a wicked servant. I hid my can in the pantry and did not get any use out of it for many long months. I made no effort to turn that can into something more. Can you grow root beer trees?So, approaching the root (no pun intended) of my message, let's think of talents as our vocabulary today implies and not as gold coins, though talents indeed are as precious as any gem or jewel. The true Master has entrusted each of us with certain gifts, certain strengths, and even certain weaknesses that are like these talents in the parable. Every one of us has at least one talent. These may not be clearly apparent to us at first; sometimes we have to search a little, to try new things, and to pray and seek inspiration to find out what these are. The Master is not so concerned with how many talents we possess; he is not so concerned with what others think of our talents. He does want us, however, to use our talents. He wants us to find them and to magnify them. It is not enough for us to find a talent and then just use it as needed, or when called upon to share it. We are commanded through this parable to actively develop these talents, to seek opportunities to use and share them. Otherwise, we are good for nothing, and slothful servants, and the Lord will surely take away that which we hath.
I mentioned weaknesses. Surely weaknesses are not talents... are they? In Ether 12:27, the Lord tells us, "I give unto men weakness that they may be humble." Just as we are entrusted with special gifts, with things that we are naturally good at, the Lord also makes certain things naturally difficult for us. He doesn't do this to belittle us or to put us down. He does this so we can see both our strengths and weaknesses and our need for His help as we seek to improve upon both of these. Then, through His grace, these weaknesses can indeed become strengths and talents for us.
The life of President Heber J. Grant provides multiple examples of this. Here was a boy who could not throw a ball and could not sing. He probably did not have to look very hard to find these weaknesses... I'm sure the other neighborhood boys at the baseball diamond and those members of the congregation who sat near his family during sacrament meeting were quick to inform him of his deficiencies. President Grant humbly acknowledged his imperfections, grabbed a baseball and started throwing. On long road trips, he would begin singing and continue to sing until those with him assured him that he sounded like an angel. He had to work hard to develop these weaknesses, these "anti-talents", into great strengths. And I am sure that there was a great deal of heavenly assistance in his efforts.Sometimes, our weaknesses and our talents are not quite so apparent. In that same scripture from Ether, the Lord promises that, "If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness." I believe the same holds true for our strengths.
The Lord is anxious to see us develop these talents, and He surely has many further gifts and talents to bestow upon us as we prove our worthy stewardship to Him. In the parable, even though the outcome was such that the talents or coins were eventually gifted to the faithful servants, the talents were not gifted to them to begin with. The talents were loaned to their care for the master's purposes.
Do we think of our talents in this light? That they are on loan to us? The Savior told us that we are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. He said that men do not light a candle and hide it under a bushel, but they put it on a candlestick so that the light can shine forth, filling the house. His command? "Let your light [or your talents] so shine before men before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." Heavenly Father wants other men to see His glory through our talents, through our light.Our talents are not given us so that we can glory of ourselves or receive the praise of men. That said, we should not seek to belittle ourselves or our talents in an attempt at humility. Others may complement our baseball skills or our wonderful singing voices, and we can, together with them, glory in those God-given strengths. Alma said, "I do not glory of myself... [but] this is my glory, that perhaps I may be an instrument in the hands of God." Do we see our talents as tools that Heavenly Father can use for His purposes? After all, these talents are still on loan from Him for His benefit.
The apostle Paul said, "Now there are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit... but the manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man to profit withal... to one is given by the Spirit the word of wisdom; to another the word of knowledge by the same Spirit; To another faith... to another the gifts of healing... to another the working of miracles..."
And he could have continued:
...to another great piano playing skills for the cheering up of the sad and for the worshipping of the Lord;
...to another great patience and an aptitude for teaching little children so that the little ones might be taught and allowed to come unto Me;
...to another the ability to make others laugh and be merry;
...to another the understanding of how things work so that he can assist his neighbor whose car just broke down;
...to another great athletic strength to show forth the glory of the human body, one of God's greatest creations;
...and to me, perhaps, the tendency to be long-winded and to express my few simple thoughts in as many words as possible so that others can learn the Christ like virtues of patience and long-suffering.
We must seek to find our talents, and we cannot let them remain idle. We are commanded to not only use them for the benefit of our fellow man and the glory of our God, but are also commanded to develop these talents, so that we can one day report on our stewardship and the Lord will say unto us, "Well done, [thou] good and faithful servant[s]: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler[s] over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy lord."
I invite you to join your voices, your musical instruments (be those violins, drums, or kazoos), your brilliant minds, your athletic bodies, your strong spirits, and your Christ-like hearts with mine as we go about the work of our Master, who has already performed a work of salvation for which we are eternally in His debt as His willing servants. Let us not hide our talents in the ground or under a bushel. Let us fill the world with his glorious light.
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And so, in the spirit of sharing talents, I share a few of those in my family. If I can glory my God and feel great joy in those talents with which I have been blessed, I feel such glory and joy that much stronger when I get to combine my talents with those of my wife. When we were first married, we had the opportunity to be stand partners in the university orchestra, and I was the envy of every other male violinist in the group. Little did they know that I was having a secret affair with this stand-partner... Here we are playing our first-ever piano duet together... Doesn't she sound wonderful? I am so grateful for a wife who can appreciate and make music together with me.
Growing up, I had a dream. I wanted to one day march in the BYU marching band like my dad. And so I was bent on joining the band, playing the clarinet or the drums, and making a lot of noise while practicing at home. My mom had other plans and skillfully guided me into the orchestra. In her mind, string instruments were so much quieter and more melodic than other alternatives (at least after the first few years of ear-splitting screeches and wails). I wasn't happy to jump ship on the band, but I went along with it. I grew to dread the crack of Mom's practice-demanding whip, but I stuck with it and gave my best. I am not, nor have I ever sought to be, a professional violinist, but today I can say that I am forever grateful for Mom's persistent nagging and encouragement in my musical development. This is one talent that I am always happy to share, both in church and in the community, as I am constantly looking for opportunities to play and keep my talents sharp.
Finally, I include little Amy. I elected not to illustrate her wonderfully sweet (and downright hilarious) singing style, and instead highlight her incredible dancing skills. Unfortunately, she has a lot of bad paternal genes working against her in this respect, but she made her parents super-proud at her recital earlier this month. In thinking of her age and these hereditary obstacles, her Dad was not overly anxious to sign her up for the class. Laudie's are not dancers, I still contend. Neither are we the greatest athletes. But Lindsey made several interesting points in making her case. We want to help our children to not only find those talents that they are good at but also those things that they enjoy. We agreed to make it a priority to allow our children to try those things that they (or that Mom) would like to try. And we won't be those prodigy-parents who push our children to the extreme in their talents. We will, however, support them, attend games and concerts, encourage and embarrass them, and require their effort and diligence in practicing and developing those skills if they want our continued support (and funding). But if Amy wants to play softball and winds up with my athletic genes, destined to remain on the JV team for life, we will fully support her. As long as she is developing and having fun, she doesn't have to be captain of the team and fill a trophy case at home. And so, with her budding dance skills in the face of seemingly insurmountable hereditary obstacles, we present our little ballerina Amy!
God Bless!
