I was feeling the guilt of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of dollars being poured into my life, just me.

There are people dying tonight, frozen or starved or watching their babies shrink to nothing but bone and I'm reading a book about art history, the book with a price tag above forty thousand dollars.

And I remembered the parable, and I took the silver talents literally. The master puts real money in their hands, goes away with the clearly stated intention of returning, and even without his explicit instructions as to where it should be invested they know what he wants.

One is given five pieces, more than all the rest.

One, even with a single piece, is afraid.

The servant who feared buried the money, and at the master's return was called wicked and cast away from the house. Imagine if she had pushed it away in the beginning and just said, "No, I can't take this. Keep it master, let someone else increase your wealth."

It was the servants who accepted the amount given to them and increased them without fear, who pleased him.

I wonder if my guilt is the same as the first servant's fear?