Unlearning the Language of the Past: A New Vision of Love and Liberation

Scripture: Matthew 25:14–30 (with reference to 1 Thessalonians 5:1–11)

Speaker: Ginny Ackermann

 

The Weight of Familiar Words - Have you ever repeated a phrase your entire life, only to stop one day, actually listen to the syllables coming out of your mouth, and realize what it truly means?

 

Words are never neutral. They carry history, power, and memory. When we hear certain words in the sanctuary Sunday after Sunday, year after year, we can become so accustomed to their caydence that we stop flinching. Familiarity dulls our spiritual hearing.

 

Today’s Gospel reading from Matthew 25 opens with a word that ought to make us flinch: slave. "For it is as if a man, going on a journey, summoned his slaves and entrusted his property to them."

 

Now, scholars will tell us—and rightly so—that the New Revised Standard Version uses the word slave rather than the older, softened translation servant because the Greek word doulos literally meant an enslaved person in the Roman Empire. Translators wanted us to see the harshness of the ancient world as it was, without pretending it was polite.

 

And yet, when that word echoes off the walls of a sanctuary in 2026, it does not land in a vacuum. It lands in a world still bleeding from the generational trauma of chattel slavery, systemic racism, human trafficking, and economic exploitation. When we hear the word slave spoken in sacred scripture without questioning the system it describes, we risk normalizing the unthinkable. Worse still, throughout history, even and especially in our world today, people have taken passages just like this one—and twisted them into weapons, using the Bible to bless hierarchy, justify subjugation, and preach that God endorses a world divided into masters and the mastered.  Just because we have heard something forever does not make it right. Repeating a harmful framing without examining it doesn't preserve tradition—it simply reinforces the wrong.

 

If we read Matthew 25 through an old, unexamined lens—a lens shaped by empire, domination, and fear—we end up with a terrifying picture of God. Look at the third person in the story. Why did he dig a hole in the ground and bury the talent? He tells us plainly: "Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow and gathering where you did not scatter; so I was afraid."

 

Read that again. That man wasn't lazy; he was terrified. And why was he terrified? Because he projected the ruthless, extractive economics of a Roman slave-master onto the Holy One. He assumed the universe runs on fear, scarcity, and punishment.

 

For centuries, too much of Christianity has made that exact same mistake. We have taken the language of ancient empires—masters and slaves, conquerors and subjects, wrath and domination—and projected it onto the heart of God. When we cling uncritically to the vocabulary of subjugation, we shrink our imagination. We start believing that domination is just "the way the world works," and that our highest calling is to keep our heads down, hoard what little we have, and survive a harsh ruler.

 

Jesus tells this parable not to baptize that broken system, but to expose how fear paralyzes us—and to invite us out of it.

 

Changing Our Perspective: From Hierarchy to Kinship -- As people of faith living in the light of the Resurrection, we are called to read Scripture not as a museum of ancient oppressions, but as a living witness pointing us toward God’s dream of liberation. Paul reminds us in 1 Thessalonians today: "You are all children of light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness."

 

To live as children of the light means having the courage to examine the language and assumptions we have inherited, and asking: Does this interpretation lead to death or to life? Does it build walls of hierarchy, or does it build a table of kinship?

 

Think about how Jesus himself transformed the language around his followers. In the Gospel of John, Jesus looks at his disciples and says: "I do not call you servants [or slaves] any longer... but I have called you friends." Again and again, the trajectory of the Gospel bends away from bondage and toward mutuality, dignity, and shared grace.

 

When we change our perspective on the terms used in Scripture, we are not erasing history; we are refusing to let history’s worst ideologies dictate our future. We are saying:

We reject any theology that makes one human being the property or inferior of another.

We reject the idea that God is a harsh taskmaster waiting to throw the fearful into the dark.

We refuse to let stale, oppressive habits of thought keep us from seeing every single person on this earth as a beloved brother, sister, and sibling in Christ.

 

Embracing a New World Vision - So what happens when we bury the ideology of domination instead of burying our gifts? What happens when we step into a new world vision rooted in peace and love?

 

Suddenly, the "talents" entrusted to us aren't coins to be hoarded in a competitive empire—they are the gifts of grace, voice, empathy, justice, and courage given to us for the healing of the world.

 

When we stop seeing our neighbors through the lens of rank, race, status, or worthiness, we begin to see them as kin. And when you see someone as your brother or your sister, you cannot tolerate systems that diminish them. You cannot stay silent when fear drives our public life. You cannot bury your compassion in the ground just to stay safe.

 

We have heard the language of division, fear, and hierarchy for so long that it can feel like background noise. Today, the Spirit is asking us to turn down the noise of empire and tune our ears to the music of God’s new creation—a world where nobody is a master, nobody is a slave, and every child of God walks in dignity, safety, and love.

 

May we have the wisdom to question what harms, the courage to unlearn what binds us, and the grace to live out a bold new vision of peace—where love is multiplied, fear is cast out, and all siblings in Christ are truly free. Amen.