1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Matthew 25:1-13
This is such a hard parable. All week long there was weeping and gnashing of teeth on the clergy Facebook group. Where is the good news that is actually good? Where is the Gospel? Where is Jesus in this parable?
Because at first, it seems straightforward, simple, clear and easy to untangle. End times are coming, the bridegroom is taking awhile longer than we expected, the girls who had been trained in scouting came prepared, and those foolish ones who expected the groom to be on time ran out of oil. Now, whoever has been to a wedding and expected the wedding party to make it to the reception in good time has probably never lived through the hours of professional photography after the ceremony, which inevitably delay bride and groom and party from showing up to the party in less than two hours’ time. But nevertheless, there was some unpreparedness on the part of those foolish bridesmaids which serves as a warning to the rest of us who are also waiting for the end of the age, the second coming, the final fulfillment of all things.
We can look to the Prophet Amos for a hint as to what oil those bridesmaids carried. The righteousness and justice God desires, the works of faith, hope, and charity, opening a community to the socially undesirable, these are the oils which keep those lamps burning through the night. Why hide under a bushel the hope that is in us? Why not burn brightly with works of love?
But that’s not what we’re getting at here. I mean, it is. But it also isn’t, because it’s more than that. Amos delivers a firey message from a jealous, angry, vengeful God, to a people who would rather make certain their worship is beautiful than take care of their neighbors. A people who have forgotten that worship is rehearsal for the rest of the week, that the passing of the peace is meant to extend outside of the walls of the sanctuary, and the Table at which we are fed means we go and feed others who are hungering for community. The people Amos speaks God’s words to have closed themselves off from their neighbors, have decided they will remain unsullied by the outside world, and have separated God’s community into those they themselves deem worthy or otherwise. A bit like those bridesmaids the Gospel calls ‘wise,’ who refuse to share their oil with the ones who did not bring enough. Now, yes, they had a point that they probably would not have had enough for their own lamps to be full - but what sort of bridegroom does not have light at his own party?
If Amos had met those characters in the Gospel story today, he would have had those same words for the ones called ‘wise’ that he had for the people of his day. Unless, of course, we read that the oil is works of charity, faith, and hope. In which case, the lesson to be had is that you can’t expect everyone else to do all of the loving so that you don’t have to. If the ‘foolish’ bridesmaids expected what Bonhoeffer calls ‘cheap grace,’ they would have been foolish to take their welcome for granted, to feel entitled to the party even though they had contributed nothing to the bridegroom. He did, after all, tell them he did not even know them. And crashing the wedding party of a stranger just isn’t kosher.
So there are a couple of ways this parable can be read. So far the possibilities have all pointed to the question of ‘what must I do to be saved?’ To make sure we’re not the ones left outside in the cold and the dark, on the other side of a door that’s never going to open to us, how do we make sure we’ve got enough oil?
Amos is clear that God cares about the whole community and gets angry when we leave people out. Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians is meant to comfort those who are afraid their loved ones who have died will miss out on the second coming, because God cares about everyone who has ever lived, not just those who are alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic right now. Matthew’s parable in light of these other readings is, to put it lightly, problematic. Even without the other readings, it can raise one’s anxiety to unhealthy levels. Looking forward to the end of this present age is mostly hopeful for those whose current situation is one of powerlessness, despair, and dread, but this parable seems to just increase despair, rather than to relieve it.
That’s only if it’s read out of context. Like most end of the world stories, to take it out of context will muddle it nearly beyond recognition. We’ve got to know the audience this story is being told to if we’re going to make sense of it. Can’t read the book of Revelation and expect to make heads or tails of it without knowing what was going on in history. If I quote movies and news stories in my sermons that nobody here has seen or heard about, they’re not going to make sense, either. And please tell me if I start doing that so I can fix my preaching accordingly.
In the context of Matthew’s Gospel, this parable is not the whole story. It’s kind of a starting point for thinking about the world we’re looking forward to. Kind of a test of our expectations. It’s in the context of a longer story that began with ‘the beginning of the Good News’ and ends with Jesus telling the disciples ‘I am with you always, even to the end of the age.’
In Matthew’s Gospel, this parable ends with an exhortation to ‘keep awake!’ even though all ten bridesmaids fell asleep while waiting for the bridegroom. Who else fell asleep even though Jesus asked them to keep awake? The disciples in the garden. When all else fails in understanding a passage of Scripture, we Lutherans look to the cross of Jesus. As the scenario plays out, where the bridesmaids had fallen asleep, so did the disciples. They fell asleep, then they ran away, but they were gathered again after the resurrection.
Not only that, but there is an image in the parable of a door being shut, right? A door between God and people, presumably. We’ve got all sorts of places and ways that we put up this door. Either somebody needs to get sober and cleaned up before we welcome them to church, or they need to have complete and unquestioning faith before they are allowed to come to the Table, or something like that. Which is nonsense. But we do it all the time, even to ourselves. Are we faithful enough as a people of God for God to take care of us? How do we know? Where are the signs of success? Serious questions, but they put up a door.
Here, then, is the Good News. There was a sort of door in the temple, a fabric between the holy of holies and the people, a tapestry with the heavens embroidered upon it, and only the high priest could pass beyond that tapestry, once a year, to speak directly to God on behalf of the people, and then vice versa. They even tied a rope around his ankle that trailed out behind him, so that if he died on the other side of that door, they could pull him back out without passing through the door themselves. This door, this curtain, was destroyed at the crucifixion. When Jesus died on the cross, Matthew tells us that the curtain was torn in two, from top to bottom. That door between humanity and God was not just opened to all, it was shattered, rent, destroyed so that nothing could ever again come between us.
So no matter where you feel your oil levels are today - high from a beautiful fall day, low from seasonal sadness, or somewhere in between - no matter how brightly you feel your light is burning, or if it seems to be burning at all, Jesus has broken down the door and come to meet us. He knows each of our hearts and has promised to be with us even to the end of the age, even as we are waiting for him. It’s a weird thing that he can do with time, to be with us while we wait for him, but he has promised it. The Spirit gives us courage, and community, in the waiting time. So keep awake for all of the wonderful things God is doing in and around you in these days. Keep awake to be surprised by the Spirit’s work. Keep awake to find Jesus in the people and situations you will meet in the coming week. Because God is here, and God is there, and God has broken down the door to be with us all, always.
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