Make no bones about it; the bridegroom was late in coming. That is what the parable clearly says.
My husband Joe’s parents were late in coming to our wedding because they got lost on the drive from Westport, Connecticut to Montclair, New Jersey. Two of his sisters missed the wedding ceremony completely because they did not leave on time and neglected to bring along the directions to the church.
But this was different. The bridegroom was late in coming – not because his tuxedo didn’t fit, or he couldn’t find the cummerbund that would match the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses. He was late because he and his friends were heading across town – as tradition dictated and the parable stated - to pick up the bride.
I suspect the custom was not unlike the procession which took our son, Tim, to his future wife’s home and the site of their wedding last year in India. The tradition is called a barat, and the groom is seated on either a white stallion, an elephant, or in a white car. Because this was a relatively simple Indian wedding (and because Tim is who he is), he was perched on the back seat of a convertible as he took the ¼ mile drive up the roadway to Viveka’s home.
Now, one would think that a ¼ mile ride would fly by, but this one took about 45 minutes, and the word from the bride’s mother was to hurry it up. You see, at a barat, wedding guests cluster on the roadway to watch the spectacle, and the male family members and friends of the groom do whatever they can to stop the procession and keep the groom from meeting his intended. That might involve sitting on the hood of the car, lying in the road, standing belligerently in front of the car, etc. Often there is music and dancing. For example, Tim was accompanied by a drum corps. Always there is much merrymaking.
That, I believe, is why the bridegroom in our parable was late. It was a no-holes-barred, unrestricted barat event – followed by an exuberant and disorganized parade through town once he had picked up his bride. Here is how Anglican priest Jeffrey Smead describes the scene, “When the bride was ready, she would be placed on the back of a riding animal, and the groom, with his friends…would take the longest possible route back to the (wedding site). (We would find them) deliberately wandering through as many streets of the village as possible so that most of the people could see and cheer them as they pass.” Quite the spectacle!
So much for the groom. Now, back at the wedding venue….The guests have arrived. They are pouring out into the streets to await the immanent and expected arrival of the wedding couple. The wedding planner has instructed the bridesmaids, and all ten of them are in position, their oil lamps already lighting the path of the bride and groom on their way to wedded bliss. But the groom was late in coming.
The caterer is pulling out his hair because the iced champagne is getting warm, and the hot hors d’oeuvres are getting cold. The wedding planner is nervous too because it is late, and it is dark (midnight) and the bridesmaids – all ten of them – are getting sleepy, and soon they are gently snoring in a friendly heap in the corner.
However, at this point, it should be noted that, even though asleep, thank goodness, they are not unprepared. They are doing their job. Their lamps are lit – all ten of them. But unfortunately, as the hours pass those lamps begin to flicker and extinguish themselves one by one.
Now, back to the goom….his parade continues to slowly wend its way through the village until, as Jeffery Smead picks up the story, “Finally the front of the parade enters the alley, and the cry goes out, ‘Behold the bridegroom. Come out to meet him.’
Guests and the family still in the house rush into the street. The ten young women arise quickly, recognize that some time has passed and begin to ‘service their lamps.’ The loose unattached wicks must be adjusted, and the oil reserves inside the lamps replenished.
To their horror, however, five of the bridesmaids realize their lamps are almost out of olive oil, and they have no reserves. The other five take out their little clay flasks and calmly replenish their lamps. The five foolish ones crowd around them, demanding oil.
Politely and no doubt firmly, they are in effect told, "We do not have enough for you and ourselves. Go to the dealers and buy more!" No doubt irritated and sputtering, the five stomp off to beg, borrow, or buy a bit of oil.
In the meantime, the groom and his new bride and the entire crowd sweep into the house, and the door is shut. In the final scene of our parable, the shortsighted five women finally acquire some oil, get their lamps working again, and arrive back at the house.
"Sir! Open to us!" they shout through the door, but the groom replies (ominously), "I do not know you."
And that’s that! Five of the bridesmaids are locked out, mascara running down their cheeks mixing with their tears. That is the story – except for Jesus’ equally ominous remark: “Watch out, then, because you do not know the day or the hour.”
The coming of God and the Kingdom will be like that, Jesus is telling the peasants, scribes, and Pharisees who listened to him preach. The arrival of the Messiah will be like a fig tree blossoming in the spring as a sign that summer is near. It will be like a master landowner who returns home from a long time away. It will be like bridesmaids awaiting a bridegroom, so that the party can begin. And you better be ready! Jesus warns. You just better be ready.
That is what we call apocalypticism – a big word that basically means a deep and abiding concern about the end times. Many Biblical scholars believe that Jesus was an apocalyptic – someone who believed fervently that he was living at the end of the age and who was of the impassioned opinion that all of us could – and should – expect that a new day would soon – very soon - be dawning.
The Gospel of Matthew is in fact filled with rhetoric from just that apocalyptic perspective. For example, prior to the string of parables including the one we have read today that point to the coming of the Kingdom of God is a long and impassioned speech that Jesus gives on the Mount of Olives about the imminent end of the world and all the signs that point to it. Jesus also makes it abundant clear that no one – including apparently himself – has any real clue as to when all this will take place.
As Reformed pastor Scott Hoezee wrote: “Despite the cottage industry that has arisen around making apocalyptic predictions, Jesus says that all such speculation and calculation is wrong. And since Jesus himself indicates that even he doesn't know the date or time, it's a cinch that no one will calculate that date based on Jesus' words.” There will be no missing it when it happens, but we don’t exactly know when that will be. So you better be ready! We better be ready!
That is the point of the parable, I think. As blogger Marcus Curnow wrote, “it’s not really a story about (bridesmaids), or weddings, or lamps and flat batteries, or falling asleep. It’s not even about high or low intelligence; and it isn’t about not sharing what you have! It’s a story about choices. Jesus is telling a story about making choices.” And the primary choice, of course, is whether to be ready – or not.
Now the word that Matthew uses at the end of the parable when Jesus says to watch is a word that means to "wake up" from slumber, to "arise" from lethargy and waiting, even to "rise from the dead". Interestingly enough, the only other time that the Jesus uses this word "watch" is in the Garden of Gethsemane when he asks the three disciples that he has taken with him: “Watch with me; don't fall asleep! Wake up, could you not watch with me? Don't fall asleep at the wheel: watch!”
The word is a kind of shorthand for “get up, and be about what you are supposed to be about". It is kind of like "get up, let's get going, let your behavior today be of the kind that you would not be ashamed to be found doing by Jesus himself.”
What Matthew is seems to be telling us is that what happens now – today – on this earth is what is important. Whether some aspect of the Kingdom of God is in the future or not, from Matthew’s perspective it is most certainly in the present, in the here and now.
That message was a fundamental one for the Gospel writer to get across to his first readers – and to us these millennia later. Because for first century apocalyptics – like Jesus himself and certainly many in the early Christian church - the bridegroom was late, the end of the age was delayed.
And for the church today? Well, it’s been a long time for us as well – more than 2000 years long – and too often that Gospel message of compassion, forgiveness, justice, and peace-making seems crazier – and riskier - than ever.
I mean, who’s right – Israel or Hamas? Can both be right but also be so wrong? How are you supposed to forgive in a world of terror? How can you be just when the economics of justice are so bound to the distribution of resources and to the interplay between scarcity and abundance, fear and trust? How do you make peace when a war continues in Ukraine and tensions and decades of resentment seem ready to boil over in the Middle east?
And yet, Jesus challenges us to be ready, to watch, to be prepared - and to have an oil can within reach. “Having some extra oil, being prepared for the delay, may mean no more than that we just keep plugging away for the kingdom. It may mean no more than simple acts of compassion and kindness,” Scott Hoezee reminds us.
In short, to be ready, to be prepared is to learn to live – day in and day out – and I know I have said this before – live as if the Kingdom of God had already arrived – like the bridegroom – better late than never - and the amazing thing is that when you do, all of a sudden, you are not just learning to live in the kingdom, you are in fact living in the kingdom. In short, surely the kingdom of God is among us when we are living the Gospel of Jesus.
This parable then is a parable about readiness. It is a parable about making choices, wise choices, compassionate choices, each and every day, whether we think God is watching us or not, whether we trust that Jesus will return or not, whether we believe that we have been given the tools to usher in the kingdom right now or whether it is only some future event. The parable is about making the choice to be prepared – and understanding that every choice we make is a choice about the kingdom, is a choice about being wise in the eyes of God – or foolish in our misguided perspectives and priorities.
And don’t get me wrong! Being prepared and making those choices have consequences and involve taking risks. It’s like the poem entitled “Free” that I came across as I prepared this sermon.
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool. To weep is to risk appearing sentimental. To reach out for another is to risk involvement. To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self. To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss. To love is to risk not being loved in return. To live is to risk dying. To hope is to risk despair. To try is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing.
As we prepare to enter the season of Advent then, may we prepare ourselves by making our choices – day in and day out - based on the message of Jesus, trusting that each one will bring us to the kingdom, the bridal procession, the party – because if we don’t, he warns us, we will be left with our mascara mixing with tears in a locked and darkened courtyard.
