I
grew up in a pretty messy home. I
am not sure how it compared to other homes, though I wondered about this a lot,
and felt a sneaking suspicion we were outstandingly untidy, like, maybe worse
than everyone I knew. When you came over to our house for dinner, what you
didn’t know is that several grueling hours of family scrambling went into
getting things ready for you. Cleaning (which often meant stuffing things into
drawers and cupboards where they couldn’t be seen), was frenzied and fraught,
so that by the time you were casually welcomed in, we were exhausted and a
little raw from the arguing. But
you would never know it, because everything would look very nice, as long as
you didn’t peek in my bedroom closet.
When
we visited other people’s houses, I did peek sometimes, in closets and
cupboards, wondering if they had done the same thing we did before guests
arrived, or if they lived in this state of order all the time. It was easy to tell the houses that
did - I had one friend in college who still freaked out if you set one toe on his mother’s
bright white living room carpet because you might mess up the vacuum lines and
she would know you had been in there. And imagining living in a house like
that, in a family like that,was as foreign and fascinating as imagining living
on the moon.
And
so, even though we were super social and pretty spontaneous people, the very
worst thing you could do to my family in the whole world was a drop in. If you stopped by unannounced, we’d
open the door and invite you in, and meanwhile the hot shame would creep up
into my mother’s face, and I would feel it mirrored in my own, my heart
pounding hard, both of us with smiles plastered on, awkwardly acting glad to
see you, but after you’d leave my mother would sometimes break down and cry,
and I would feel utter humiliation– What did they think
of us, seeing the house this way? And
then we’d fight, and clean, and swear that next time we’d be ready.
It
never once occurred to me that how things looked might not be as important to
other people as it was to us, or that they might have grace for the situation,
or that they were really there to see us, and not to
inspect our house and how well or poorly it was kept.
All
that mattered was that we felt embarrassed and lesser, unworthy of having a
guest, and desperately disheartened- if only we’d had a little lead-time so we
could’ve been prepared!
In
todays’ parable, there are foolish bridesmaids and there are wise ones. The
wise ones plan ahead; they expect the unexpected – they bring along extra oil
just in case the groom is delayed. The foolish bridesmaids, (somewhat
ironically), take the bridegroom at his word, prepare only for what is
expected. As a result, they run out of oil. They are foolish, evidently,
because they didn’t go above and beyond.
Lucky wise ones! Good
thing for them that the bridegroom was only delayed as long as he was and not
very much longer, or they would’ve been fools too!
But,
wait a minute; something is off here. Wise and foolish, smart and stupid, better
and worse, where do we hear that language? That’s not Way of God language.
Those categories and labels do not translate in the kingdom of heaven. In the kingdom of God it’s about
God’s generosity and God’s forgiveness and God’s ability to reconcile us and
restore us and transform us, and never about how well we earn, or how much we
deserve, what God provides.
So
here they are- these fools and wise ones, and it’s their job to bring the
light, to greet the groom when he comes, and to lead the way to the party. And some of them feel pretty darn proud of themselves, pretty darn wise, and others feel like total, utter
fools; they’ve failed the job. Sure, he was delayed, but they were not ready
for him when he came, and now their lamps have no oil.
Worthless!
Can’t even do the job that was given them to do! I
s
there anything more humiliating than being caught looking so stupid?
So
they ask the others to share with them.
But
the others say No – because if we know one thing in this accounting system kind
of life, it’s that there is only so much to go around, and if we don’t look out
for ourselves we will be screwed. So they did what was only smart and they kept
their own oil.
Go buy some for yourselves! They say.
And,
hang on… this too, sounds exactly like the Way of Fear and not at all like the
Way of God. The way of God is abundance and not scarcity; it’s forgiveness,
sharing and welcome, not judgment, competition and score-keeping.
So,
those foolish bridesmaids without enough oil head to a deserted market at
midnight in desperate hopes of finding some for sale somewhere, and in the
process, they miss the bridegroom when he comes. And when they finally do return – (we
aren’t even told if it’s with oil or empty-handed, because, spoiler alert, it’s
not about the oil), the groom says, I don’t know you, and they are dismissed.
So keep awake- the
parable says.
If
I were to hear this parable through the filter of my childhood shame, it would
say, Be ready for the
drop-in at any moment. Never
let your guard down for a second. Keep
things immaculate at all times, don’t step foot on the living room carpet, go
above and beyond, because you never know when the guest of honor could show up. And what if he caught you with a sink
full of dishes and laundry piled all over the couch?
This
is the first parable we’ve heard where instead of saying, “The kingdom of
heaven is like…,” it says,
“The kingdom of heaven will be like...” Instead of revealing what God is doing
in and among us at this moment, it looks to the end. It comes in a section of Matthew that
groups Jesus’ teaching about the very end, about Christ’s return, about the end
of the age. All the
messages in the verses leading up to this parable carry a similar refrain – you don’t know when
it will be over, you don’t know when the end will come. Watch for God; be ready. Pay attention. Stay awake. Be alert. It’s going to happen when you are
not expecting it. Jesus is going to show up – right here in your living room,
whether your house is clean or not.
But
interestingly, the directive is not – so expect him when you don’t expect him,
keep your house always clean so you make a good impression no
matter when he comes… it’s Watch for him. Be ready to welcome the bridegroom.
In
my twenties I grew to love a family who loved the drop in. They wanted people to stop by any time. And they were completely intriguing to
me, because they didn’t need to have the house in perfect order to sit down and
enjoy a cup of coffee with you. They had young kids, and in fact, the house was
often a mess, but that didn’t stop them for a second being present and
hospitable, making you feel like the best part of their whole day just may this
moment when you dropped in.
It
was absolutely novel to me – I had never considered before that instead of
being totally prepared, with the clutter hidden away, homemade muffins on the
table, and the fresh vacuum lines in the rug, hospitality could mean
encountering another, seeing and hearing and welcoming another, meeting them
just as they are and just as you are- however that is in the moment.
Do
we read this parable through the very lens that these parables are made to
confront? In lots of ways,
the church has fallen prey to the same anxiety that dictates everything in the
accounting system, and we’ve spent centuries, off and on, painting God with the
brush of judgment and threat, to fit our way of competition and scarcity, until
the good news of God’s grace gets buried underneath another layer of pressure
and guilt and striving - do better, don’t mess
up, get it right, try harder, go above and beyond, or you will be left out of
the party altogether, and it will be as though God doesn’t even know you.
The
truth is, the parable stirs up all of these anxieties and then doesn’t say,
“Have it all together! Don’t let your lamp go out!” It says, keep awake. Watch for Jesus; let him see you when
he comes.
It’s
not about how full your lamp is when the moment arrives, how together you’ve
got things. If it was about
the oil, the bridegroom would’ve said, Oh good, you found
some oil after all. Come on in, then. Or, Sorry, no oil? You substandard lamp-bearers. What
inferior, inadequate bridesmaids you’ve turned out to be, not keeping your
lamps lit properly! You are not worthy to be in this party.
But
instead he says, Who are you? I don’t know you. I
came and you were not here. It’s
not about the oil. It’s about the relationship.
So,
hooray if you can be prepared when the drop-in happens, when the bridegroom
arrives. More points for you- if you’re keeping track of that sort of thing. But if you can’t be prepared, for
whatever reason, show up anyway. Let him see you as you are. Be ready to welcome him whether you
are “ready” or not.
The
truth is, we can only burn so long before we burn out. Can only wait so long
before we get drowsy. We
can only carry so much oil before we run out. None
of us can go above and beyond in perpetuity, be prepared for company at every
moment, be ready to impress and perform at the drop of a hat. That is the opposite of a biblical,
Sabbath, Way of God kind of life.
We
have no idea when God will show up. In fact, the truth is, God shows up all the
time, every day, and more
often than not, we miss it.
In
the middle of writing this sermon my daughter had a nightmare. I left the
sermon and went to sit with her, but she was too afraid to go back to sleep. I
said a number of, I thought, helpful things, coached her through some
techniques. They maybe
helped a little, but there was no breaking the nightmare’s hold. Instead of saying, “I have to go back
to work now, you’ll be ok.” I stayed put. And if I had left, I would have
missed when Jesus silently showed up, in the form of her big brother getting
out of bed, coming into her room without words, carrying a speaker with a
playlist of music he had made for her, and plugging it in beside her. I would have missed watching love cast
out fear, right before my eyes.
That
did it – she went right to sleep.
Some
of us may have full lamps, may be in a position to share and give, may be able
to light the way for others, others of us will have run out of steam, or will
be falling apart at the moment. And
if that’s the case, the very worst thing we can do is go running off to
frantically patch together some futile way of looking like we have it all together.
Stay put. The parable advises. Stay put, and watch
for the bridegroom. And
even if your lamp has gone out, greet him when he arrives, and come with him to
the party. Meet him in the
vulnerability of your reality – light or no light, stockpiled goodness, or bone
dry and exhausted, wise or foolish in the world’s eyes, overly-prepared or
desperate, just show up, and
watch for Jesus to show up too (which, we’ve said,
is the very definition of Prayer).
This
is not a competition. And it’s not a solo act.
There is enough light to lead the way for each other; there is enough light to welcome the bridegroom all together. Even if all of our lamps went out – he is the light of the world!
And we are all supposed to show up, just as we are, however we are, ready or not, and welcome him.
There is enough light to lead the way for each other; there is enough light to welcome the bridegroom all together. Even if all of our lamps went out – he is the light of the world!
And we are all supposed to show up, just as we are, however we are, ready or not, and welcome him.
This
parable is a reminder that you can’t stop it from happening.
The one who brings healing, who lifts up the weak and comforts the despairing, and will wipe every tear from our eye when death and sorrow and shame are no more, is coming.
The one who brings healing, who lifts up the weak and comforts the despairing, and will wipe every tear from our eye when death and sorrow and shame are no more, is coming.
One
day once and for all, and also all the time, every day, today, he is
coming.
So keep awake and watch for him.
Don’t miss when Jesus shows up.
So keep awake and watch for him.
Don’t miss when Jesus shows up.
Amen.
