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Proper 27

Matthew 25
‘Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. 2Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. 3When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; 4but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. 5As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. 6But at midnight there was a shout, “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.” 7Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. 8The foolish said to the wise, “Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.” 9But the wise replied, “No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.” 10And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. 11Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, “Lord, lord, open to us.” 12But he replied, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.”


In his introduction to the book Mr. Lincoln's Army, Bruce Catton recalls his boyhood impressions of the veterans of a conflict fifty years past:

A generation grew up in the shadow of war which, because of its distance, somehow had lost all resemblance to everyday reality. To a generation which knew the war only by hearsay, it seemed that these aged veterans had been privileged to know the greatest experience a man could have. (p.xii)

Through the lens of fifty years of peace, the conflict developed an aura that seemed almost legendary, and for a young man, romantic. As a scholar, he draws a different conclusion: "War, obviously, is the least romantic of all man's activities, and it contains elements which veterans do not describe to children." Perhaps legends develop best in silence, and as the voice of experience grows ever more silent, we need to pause to heed and remember.

With the loss of five hundred veterans per week in Canada*, we begin to feel the scope of loss that comes when first hand experience passes on. Soon no one will be able to describe D-Day or the Liberation of Holland, and for this we will be greatly diminished. Stories of valour and sacrifice need to be recounted, lest we forget. From Catton: "Those men are all gone now and they have left forever unsaid the things they might have told us, and no one can now speak for them." (p. xiii)

***

As we edge closer and closer to the season of Advent, the cycle of readings we call the lectionary take a rather ominous turn. There is a “world-ending” quality to the lessons found in 1 Thessalonians and Matthew, as we wind down to a season of preparation and the new world that will follow. These apocalyptic readings are seldom listed as favourites among preachers, but confront them we must. To be a Christian is to live in the “not yet,” the unrealized future that takes shape in scripture. Following Paul, we “see through a glass darkly,” but see nonetheless. What is reflected in the dim glass of scripture has a deep resonance in our tradition, and cannot be ignored.

The “parable of the ten maidens,” found in Matthew 25, sometimes called “the parable of the wise and foolish virgins” is most often lumped in with all the other “watchfulness” lessons. Knowing neither the hour or the day, the Lord cautions against inattention. Phrases like “keep awake” and “keep alert” frame these passages, as the unknown hour may soon appear. The difficulty with our parable is everyone, wise and foolish, has fallen asleep. And so we begin to suspect that the parable may be about something more than simply keeping watch: that there is some wider lesson here.

This passage, like the others, is based on a delay. The bridegroom is late coming, and all must wait. We already know that some have laid in an extra supply of oil and some have not: already we have been told some are wise and some are foolish. When the bridegroom finally arrives, the trimming of lamps leads to an expected conclusion: some must beg for extra oil. The wise one’s refuse. The foolish maidens are sent out into the night to fetch their own oil and miss the celebration.

Recalling the work of Tom Long, parables describe a world, which sours, than is recast as the parable ends. We follow the arc of the story and receive comfort or a sense of pause. We either inhabit this recast world or should strive to do so. In the case of the ten maidens, we either have extra oil for our lamps or we do not. And the teller, with that glint that I most often imagine in the eye of Jesus, knows that we know which maiden we are, even before the end of the story. And this is precisely the power of the parable to comfort or convict. As we “try on” each character in a particular story, we know in our heart of hearts which character we are. I know which maiden I am, and I’m gonna be looking for some oil, so I hope you have some extra.

When I’m looking for parallels in scripture, the kind of parallel that will help me see through the dim glass that so often appears, I might turn instead to the clue of sleep rather than the clue of keeping awake. Why else does everyone, wide and foolish, end up in slumberland, if not to locate us in some other place in Matthew’s gospel?

39Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will." 40Then he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. "Could you men not keep watch with me for one hour?" he asked Peter. 41"Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak." 42He went away a second time and prayed, "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done." 43When he came back, he again found them sleeping, because their eyes were heavy. 44So he left them and went away once more and prayed the third time, saying the same thing. 45Then he returned to the disciples and said to them, "Are you still sleeping and resting? Look, the hour is near, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. 46Rise, let us go! Here comes my betrayer!"

There, in the very next chapter, is an episode of tragicomedy that centres on sleep. We smile and scoff at the foolish disciples who can’t stay awake, there during the last hours of Jesus life on earth. We know in our bones that the spirit is willing but the body is weak, and we fear that we too might miss the crucial hour in the unfolding of this story.

When Jesus set his face to Jerusalem, he didn’t know the hour or the day the betrayer would come. He knew the location, the city at the centre of the world that has a nasty habit of killing prophets sent by the Most High. But he didn’t know the hour and he didn’t know the day. “Watch and pray” he said, knowing full well that the spirit is willing but the body is weak. And while the disciples, fools everyone, fought heavy eyes, Jesus did the only thing he could do in that moment, saying "My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done."

The line between wise and foolish appears like a fault line through the centre of the Holy City. Jesus enters the city aware that each hour may be his last, and the disciples sleep. Jesus says “keep watch with me” and the twelve look for pillows. Jesus insists that the hour is near and his friends nearly miss it altogether. Everyone sleeps, and some will wake with extra oil and some will not, buy everyone sleeps.

It is what we do, in those hours before midnight, in the hours before eyes grow heavy, that defines us. It is what we do, knowing that the final hour is coming, that defines us. It is living as those prepared to meet the bridegroom, the Christ, the cross, that separates wise from foolish.

Some one once said “valor never sleeps,” and as we turn our attention this week to sacrifices made and lives lost we remember the quality of the short lives we commemorate. We remember some refused to sleep in the face of tyranny and paid the ultimate price.

Bruce Catton’s observation—that things will forever be left unsaid—is true of Civil War veterans but not yet true of our veterans. We still have time to hear their voices, to allow them to tell their story, to give us a first-hand account of the valour and the courage they showed and they saw in lost comrades.

We must not sleep in these final hours. We must listen and pray, pray and give thanks for the sacrifices made, the lives saved, and a willingness to lay down lives for friends.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 9:03 AM