Joy or Darkness?
By Anthony Casperson
9-6-25

During the years-long tabletop RPG campaign that I ran, I’d wanted to create a funhouse style dungeon for the other players to traverse. So, I designed a mysterious wizard’s tower where the doors rarely led to the same place twice. You could open a door—which led to a bedroom this time—then close it and immediately open the same door, but the room on the other side was now the kitchen.

And that type of thing happened for every door in the place.

My idea in this magical tower was that a person who knew what a specific room was called, or at least imagined the basic type of room they were looking for, could just assume that room was beyond this specific door and open up to it. The players figured this out rather quickly when one of them jokingly said that his character needed to go to the restroom, and found one when he opened the door.

However, if the person opening the door didn’t know what to expect—meaning, they didn’t provide the name of a specific room, didn’t think of a basic type of room beyond the door, or didn’t provide the correct name of any room in the tower—then the next room was a “random” room. I put “random” in quotes because the next room was the one I’d planned it to be as the Game Master. Even if they blundered around for a while, I’d make sure they got to the Control Room that their ally with them asked for help getting to.

Since I was controlling this NPC and had tasked the party with this quest, I figured that all the other players had to do was trust me to get them to the final destination. And that’s to say nothing about trusting me as the GM to help them have a good time.

My expectation of their ability to play along sounded right to me.

However—for reasons beyond both him and me—this aimless wandering rubbed one player the wrong way. In part, he’d not understood my intent of how the same door could lead to a new place if he didn’t expect there to be the same room that he’d just come from behind it. So when I described their current room as having only the one door in it, his frustration expressed itself.

After a bit of time desperately searching for some hidden door, and his repeated statement that he figured the same room they’d just come from was on the other side of the door—which became true because he’d stated the thought outright when opening the door—he’d had enough. He said that he brought the front foyer to mind and opened the door. Then, when the front foyer lay beyond the door, he stated his intent to leave and forget this whole place.

In my own lack of understanding and bit of frustration at not seeing why this bothered him, I stated that this was all I had prepared for the game night. If the party left, then we were done for the night because I had nothing else prepared. And that was to say nothing about how the ally they were supposed to help—and the new one they’d freed while exploring—felt about this abandonment. The two allies were staying, regardless of what the party did. And the pair would likely die because they weren’t powerful enough to navigate this tower.

Basically, the lack of trust in me as GM would lead to nothing but loss for us all. My expectation of the players’ ability to commit to what I’d asked them had proven itself wrong.

Obviously, this argument left none of us having fun, as the rest of the group sat staring at their feet while he and I described our frustrations to one another. And the argument culminated in the player leaving the game early that night and telling us to play without him.

(Thankfully in this case, the player and I were able to talk later and smooth things over. We came to understand and appreciate the root issues in this. And we grew from the experience. But since this isn’t the reason why I’m bringing up the illustration, let’s get back to my point in bringing it up.)

For this argument, the problem lay in the fact that my expectation of the player’s ability didn’t match up with his actions, in part because he failed to trust me. There was a disconnect that left him with nothing but the darkness of night when I expected him to be able to enter the offering of fun from the Game Master.

We have experiences like this from time to time. Something is expected of us, but because of a certain reason, we fail to live up to that expectation. And we miss out on the good that would’ve come through it. For some of us, that reason might be innocent enough, like not fully grasping the details laid out before us.

But for others, that reason comes much more from a terrible choice.

And it’s this latter type of reason that comes up in our final parable, found in Matthew 25:14-30, for our summer blog series, “Mysteries of the Kingdom.”

We saw the context in last week’s blog. Jesus is in his last few days before his crucifixion. He’s been specifically teaching about the need for his followers to be prepared for his return. Direct statements, quick illustrations, and a parable or two have all spoken to this truth. A few of them warn about the dangers if a person isn’t ready for Jesus’ return and the fullness of the kingdom that he’ll bring with him.

The parable before us this week isn’t even the end of this line of Jesus’ teaching, but it stands as one last dire warning to those of us hearing Jesus’ parables in this series. We must take the truth he gives us and use them to expand his kingdom, lest we fail to enter the joy of our Master.

In verse 14, Jesus begins the parable by telling us that a wealthy landowner prepared to go on a journey. But because he needed his business to continue, the man handed over some of his wealth to three servants. Five talents went to one servant. Two talents to another servant. And one talent to the final servant.

Since a talent is a unit of measure, and not necessarily an amount of one specific precious metal, we’re not sure exactly how much each talent was worth. But we do know that a talent is a considerable chuck of change, regardless of whether it was gold, silver, or any similar metal. The master had placed great faith in the ability of each of the three servants.

And do notice in verse 15 that Jesus explains the amounts were chosen in accordance with the servants’ unique abilities. He wasn’t asking them to do more than they were able to do. Or even as much as each other were capable of doing.

Both the five talent servant and the two talent servant put their money to work right away. They began to invest the money in various endeavors that aren’t explicitly stated. But both made a 100% return on their investments, doubling their amount of talents. They lived up to the expectation of their master.

However, the third servant, the one talent guy, took the money and hid it in the dirt. Commentators and bible scholars have debated for ages about why he did this. Some assume his pitiful excuse, found in verses 24-25, was truly why. He was just afraid to fail in this task. If he could at least give back exactly what had been given, then he figured the master wouldn’t be angry.

A more sinister assumption about the servant’s reasons speaks to the idea of him burying it just in case the master never returned. Then, the servant could run off with a good nest egg and continue his life elsewhere, with no one the wiser that the money didn’t actually belong to him.

Regardless of the reason why the one talent servant buried the money, we can see that this wasn’t a good idea. Both when he does it, and when the master returns.

The master did exactly what was expected of him. He returned, as he’d promised. And he wanted to settle the accounts.

So, he went to the five talent servant and asked how things went. When the servant explained that he’d lived up the master’s expectations of him, the master was well pleased. He praised the five talent servant for being faithful in the little he’d been charged with. And told the faithful servant to enter the joy of his master.

The same happened when the master approached the two talent servant. He’d also lived up to the expectations, was praised for his faithfulness in the little he’d been charged with, and was told to enter the joy of his master.

But when we get to the one talent servant, the master was less than pleased. This servant’s excuse of knowing how demanding the master was, and his supposed fear of failing the master, fell upon angered ears.

The master didn’t call the servant faithful, but instead wicked and lazy. He’d seen through the servant’s excuses. Rather than try, rather than live up to the expectations of the master, rather than do anything with the master’s gift that might have extended the kingdom, this servant chose to do nothing. He refused to trust his master. Refused to believe that the master would return as he’d promised.

He’d failed to live up to his master’s expectations of him. Proved his wicked laziness. Showed his terrible choice of refusing to believe in the master’s faith in him. And lived a life of ease, instead of what he was called to do.

This is why the servant is called wicked and lazy. Evil and troublesome. He left the master’s gift hidden, rather than showcase the effectiveness of the revealed mystery.

And because his actions proved him to not be a part of the master’s work, the master took the one talent he had and gave it to another. And then the master threw the no talent servant out to the darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.

The action of failing to work the master’s gift for good proved his place had never been as part of the master’s kingdom.

When we show our faithfulness in the work of God—no matter how small that work seems to be—we will be blessed with a great reward in the Kingdom of God. But when one proves their faithlessness by refusing to do anything with the gift of God, they will find their place is far from the kingdom.

I’ll be honest, this parable is a harsh one. But it’s necessary for us to consider at this final blog in our summer series. We’ve been looking at some of Jesus’ parables that speak the mysteries of the kingdom. The truths that once had been hidden, but through Jesus have been unveiled.

He calls us to more than just glancing at the revealed mysteries. We must do something with them. Let the truth of God’s kingdom penetrate our hearts and find good soil. If we refuse to trust our Savior, Lord, King, and Master, then we might as well have never looked under the veil. If we fail to do anything with all that we have witnessed in this series, failed to apply the truths of the kingdom to our lives, then all we’ve done is bury the truth under a new cover. Re-hidden the mystery.

The Kingdom of God is a light for all to bear witness, not a candle to be left under a basket.

God has a plan for us, even if it feels like we’re wandering aimlessly. But he never calls us to more than we are able. All we have to do is trust that he will lead us to the place he called us to get to.

Walk through the next door. Put to work the gifts that God entrusted you with. And let the mysteries of the kingdom build you into a faithful servant who can enter our Master’s joy.

He will return. What are you doing in the meantime?