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Gospel: Matthew 25:1-13
Jesus told his disciples this parable:
“The kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins
who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom.
Five of them were foolish and five were wise.
The foolish ones, when taking their lamps,
brought no oil with them,
but the wise brought flasks of oil with their lamps.
Since the bridegroom was long delayed,
they all became drowsy and fell asleep.
At midnight, there was a cry,
‘Behold, the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’
Then all those virgins got up and trimmed their lamps.
The foolish ones said to the wise,
‘Give us some of your oil,
for our lamps are going out.’
But the wise ones replied,
‘No, for there may not be enough for us and you.
Go instead to the merchants and buy some for yourselves.’
While they went off to buy it,
the bridegroom came
and those who were ready went into the wedding feast with him.
Then the door was locked.
Afterwards the other virgins came and said,
‘Lord, Lord, open the door for us!’
But he said in reply,
‘Amen, I say to you, I do not know you.’
Therefore, stay awake,
for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Imagine you’re one of the five foolish virgins in today’s Gospel, standing outside of someone’s home trapped in darkness, because the oil in your lamp has run dry.
Meanwhile, other guests are joyfully celebrating a wedding inside. You can hear the music, smell the roasted meats, and see the warm glow emanating from the windows.
Fearing you’re missing out, you start pounding on the host’s heavy wooden door, begging to be let in. Suddenly, the music stops playing and the host hollers from within, “I do not know you!”
Then the music resumes and the door stays locked.
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Why were these five guests invited, then excluded, from the wedding? And what is it that Jesus is saying to us today?
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Many of us have heard this Gospel parable before and, because of our familiarity with it, we might conclude that we already know the answer.
Traditionally, the oil in the virgin’s lamps is symbolic of faith. Just as we cannot borrow another person’s faith, so these virgins cannot borrow oil from one another. Meaning, you have your relationship with God and I have mine.
Those who’ve nurtured that relationship will be the ones rewarded when he returns.
Statistically speaking, it is highly unlikely that Jesus will return any time soon. It has already been 750,000 days since his resurrection – and he hasn’t come for us yet. As a result, some people live their lives as if he never will.
But what would you do if you knew that Christ was returning tonight?
I’d want to resolve every conflict; forgive every wrongdoing; offer an apology wherever needed; and go to confession.
I’d tell my family and friends that I love them; I’d thank those who have been good to me; I’d hug a friend; say a prayer; and perhaps keep vigil in the chapel.
Even if Christ is delayed, why should we not live in this way?
Sometimes we may take our time in this world for granted.
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That’s the traditional take. But what if we went out on a limb and tried hearing something different?
After all, the joy of Jesus’ parables is the fact that they’re like diamonds; there’s always another facet, another perspective, to examine.
Often we focus on the fact that five of the ten virgins ran out of oil. So, they went off to the marketplace to replenish their lamps. Meanwhile, the bridegroom returned in their absence, leaving them behind.
What if the real mistake was not running out of oil, but going to the marketplace?
These virgins defined their value by how much oil they did – or didn’t– have. But what really mattered was whether or not they were present when the bridegroom came.
Perhaps there’s someone here in church today who feels like they’re on their last drop of oil; they’re barely keeping the flame of faith flickering in their heart, making it terribly difficult to sing, and even harder to pray.
Or maybe you feel like you’ve already run out. Do not go elsewhere! What matters more than the oil in your lamp is your presence here today.
It takes courage to linger in the darkness, to hope against hope, to sing without feeling, to be the one waiting for the bridegroom’s return when you have nothing left.
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What about the other five, those who kept their oil reserves to themselves? Perhaps they were just as foolish as the ones who abandoned their post and went to the marketplace.
Instead of interpreting the “oil” as a symbol of faith, what if it’s faith in action?
As Saint James writes, “Faith without works is dead.”
How often are we like those who keep their oil to themselves? We are filled with blessings, yet can we fail to share what we have – our time, our treasure, our talent, even our love – with others out of fear that we’ll run out.
Slowly, we begin defining ourselves, not by who we are, but by what we have, more or less “oil” than our neighbor.
Perhaps the Lord is directing us, not to hoard our reserves, but to give them away. What might it look like for us to share what we have with those whose lamps have already run dry?
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Imagine those five guests standing outside in the darkness, banging on the host’s heavy wooden door. They can hear the music, smell the roasted meats, and see the warm glow emanating from within.
They beg to be permitted inside, but as the music stops, the host declares, “I do not know you.”
Maybe what kept them out was not how much oil they did or didn’t have, but whether or not they abandoned their post.
May we keep watch, waiting for our master’s return, even if our lamps run dry.
Come, Lord Jesus.
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Image credits: (1) The Armenian Church (2) LDS Living (3) iStock





