Hope amid Bowls of Tears (Advent 1b)

 

 

Hope amid Bowls of Tears

29 November 2020

Advent 1 B

Isaiah 64:1-9; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

Homily delivered at Trinity Episcopal Parish, Ashland Oregon

10:00 a.m. Ante-communion Live-Streamed from the Chancel

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

           

 

When I first became an Episcopalian, I was taken aback when Advent came.  For me, it had always been the time for preparing for Christmas.  But then, right there in the lectionary, it was all about the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord!  Yikes!  But a kind priest resolved my conflict.  Advent is the season where we focus on the once and future coming of our Lord.  It happened back then, but it will happen still in the future.  As the Gospel of John puts it, “the hour is coming, and now is.” 

 

It is part and parcel with the heart of our faith.  We look about the world and see it is broken.  We see it in the plague we are facing; we see it in how poorly we at times respond to the stresses caused by the plague.  We saw it this week, alas, in the altercation at the Stratford Inn  and the murder of young Aidan Ellison.  We see it it in the divided partisanship of our society, our unwillingness to listen to each other or hear truth that does not conform to our hopes and desires.  Stubborn things, facts.  We see it in our neglect of others, or our outright exploitation of others.  We see it in our abuse of the natural world.   As  the psalmist says today, because God has hidden from us, we abandon following God’s ways. 

 

We hope for God to come and set things right.  That’s what “day of judgment” means, after all.  In the Old Testament, the Book of Judges is not about legal court and people in white powdered wigs wielding gavels and being called “Your Honor.”  It is about men and women like Samson, Deborah, Judith, Jael, Barak:  military heroes who set things right and liberate the oppressed.  That’s the basic idea of the “Day of Judgment.”  But if we ask who are the wicked who might get the worse of it when things are set right, if we are honest, we see that, in the words of Pogo, “we have met the enemy and he is us.”  So we fear the day of judgment as well as hope for it. 

 

Hope.  That’s what Advent is all about.  We see the world and see that, even 2,000 years after the coming of our Lord in the flesh, it is still a profoundly broken place.  And, in the words of Langston Hughes, what happens to hope deferred?  Does it dry like a raisin in the sun? Or does it explode? 

 

As, again, the Psalmist says in today’s reading, “You have fed us with the bread of tears, you have given us bowls of tears to drink.”  And yet, we must continue to trust God, knowing he made us, and we are his.  So he cannot completely blame us for our misdoings.  He made us this way, and we are his.  And, being his, he will restore us to health, confidence, prosperity, and peace.   

 

The message of Advent, which talks about how God has come already and will still come again, is this:  don’t give up on hope. 

 

Today’s readings all have this dual past/present vs. future, this “punish the wicked!” vs. “spare us, good Lord!” character.

 

Paul today tells us that God has given us all the spiritual gifts needed to get us through safe and sound.   We need to keep on trusting, keep on hoping.   That is what “stay awake for the return of the Master” in the Gospel means.   

 

When I was young, I sometimes heard in Church sermons on what they called the “signs of the times,” or the signs of the end.  Most of these were disastrous indications of the world going to hell and destruction.   I only later learned that this was a gross misunderstanding of the New Testament idea of  “signs of the times.”  In Matthew 16:1-3, the Pharisees and Sadducees come to Jesus and ask him to show them a sign from heaven.   They have heard of his marvelous healings and acts, which he says is a sign that the reign of God has come near.  They want a proof before they’ll believe his claims.   He replies, “You know how to read the weather, but not read the signs of the times.^”  For Jesus, his marvelous acts that showed God’s grace and love and healing were the true signs of what time we live in.  

 

Paul agrees—this twilight we are in is leading to light, not darkness.  He wants the night—with its “works of darkness”—to end. 

 

As the Collect for Advent reminds us, we must put away the “works of darkness,” that is, the actions that are symptomatic of this messed up and unjust word..  That, too, is a sign that we have stayed awake in our long wait for the vindication of God.   

Keep awake!  Cast aside the works of darkness and don the armor of light.  Put on Christ.  Know that God loves us, and will help us be better.

 

In the name of Christ, Amen. 

A Table Grace for this Thanksgiving (mid-week)

 

                                                               Robert Herrick

A Table Grace for this Thanksgiving

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message 

November 24, 2020

 

Cavalier poet Robert Herrick was an Anglican priest and supporter of the Monarchy who, along with hundreds of other priests and bishops, was deposed and deprived of a livelihood in 1647 by the “Rump” Puritan Parliament that executed King Charles I.  After 10 years of increasingly chaotic mis-rule by the military junta under Oliver Cromwell demonstrated to most Britons that parliament and republicans could be every bit as tyrannical as kings, the Anglican clergy was reinstated in 1660 along with Monarchy and the Prayer Book.   Herrick today is probably best known for his lines celebrating the bon vivant ways of youth,

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.”

Among church choristers, he is best known for his beautiful poem praising the restoration of the celebration of Christmas, banned by the Puritans, “What Sweeter Music,” usually now heard in a setting by John Rutter. 

In 1647, about the time he lost his livelihood and began a decade of living off the charity of friends and family, he wrote this short table grace, ostensibly for children:   

“Here, a little child, I stand,

Heaving up my either hand,

Cold as paddocks though they be,

Here I lift them up to Thee,

For a benison to fall

On our meat and on our all.”

 The language is somewhat archaic:  “paddocks” here means not a pasture, but “frogs”;  “Benison,” is French for “blessing.”  “Heaving,” of course, means “lifting,” but is chosen because of the echoes it makes of the great image of scripture for sacrifice, a “heave offering,” i.e. one lifted up to the Lord.  

 

Here, the deposed priest, who once raised his hands in orans posture and elevated the Eucharistic elements at the Lord’s Table, is seen as a child with cold, wet, and clammy hands, making a mess at the dinner table before him, but still lifting up his hands in thanksgiving.   The point is that even with all the suffering and fear in his life, of being infantilized by his enemies, and being deprived of thanking God in the holiest and most life-giving way, he still can thank God and be of priestly service.  He knows well that Christ taught us to become helpless and dependent as little children, and that thanksgiving, however offered, still brings with it blessing. 

 

In this Thanksgiving holiday constrained by Covid-19 measures, we cannot give thanks exactly as we are wont to do.  But we still must give thanks.  And learning to be like a child, giving thanks even while powerless, is a way of offering priestly gratitude even as we are deprived of our habitual practice. 

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

King of All the Ages (Sunday Next Before Advent)

 

“King of All the Ages”

22 November 2020

Solemnity of Christ the King 

Sunday Next Before Advent 

Homily preached at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

10:00 a.m. Sung Morning Prayer Live-Streamed from the Chancel

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24; Psalm 95:1-7a; Ephesians 1:15-23; Matthew 25:31-46

 

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

 

In 1925, the world was in turmoil.  The so-called Christian kingdoms of Europe were at an end, or collapsing.  America had thrown out monarchy 150 years before; France had guillotined its King and Queen and hundreds of priests and bishops 125 years before.  The great failed socialist revolutions of the mid-1800s had been quelled, only to see a corrupt and bitterly unfair return to the rule of the wealthy few.   One victim of the turmoil of the mid-1800s had been the secular realm of the Bishop of Rome, the Papal States that had the Pope as King, that were abolished in 1870 with Italian national unification under a King.  After a few decades of seeming prosperity, the powers of Europe—the few crowned heads remaining, the governments, and the Church—had failed to prevent the world from sliding accidentally into the Great War of 1914-18.  The ironically named “war to end all wars” killed Christendom, the union of faith and governmental power that had reigned there for 1,500 years.  A whole generation, traumatized, left the churches never to regularly return.  The Bolsheviks had taken over Russia and killed the Tsar and his family. 

 

As the post war economic depression set in, Italy’s King, Victor Immanuel III, watched on helplessly as a young former socialist and wounded WWI veteran named Benito Mussolini rose to head the government through vicious street fighting and appeals to return Italy to the glories of the Roman Empire.  In Germany, a young failed artist who was also a wounded WWI veteran, named Adolf Hitler, had just gotten out of jail for staging an attempted violent coup in Bavaria, and was clearly on his way to becoming Germany’s leader through even more brutal and violent bullying tactics joined with appeals to make Germany great again.   

 

Looking on this scene of turmoil, Pope Pius XI did some serious theological reflection on the failure of the monarchial system and the future of Christianity.  He issued a circular letter on the subject, Quas primas (In the first).  In it, he encouraged Christians to celebrate a feast near the end of the liturgical year celebrating Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.  The Feast is now celebrated by not only Roman Catholics. All churches that use the Revised Common Lectionary now observe Christ the King Sunday, the final Sunday of their liturgical years.  These include most Anglican and Episcopal churches, as well as the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America, the United Methodist Church, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), the United Church of Christ, and the Moravian Church. 

 

This is not because all the motives and reasons of Pius are accepted.  He was arguing not only for the independence of the Church from the state, but also for its immunity to secular law.  Just 4 years after the feast was initiated, Mussolini ingratiated himself with Pius by granting the Vatican independent sovereignty as a city state, a status it enjoys to this day. 

 

The reason we have all seen fit to celebrate this feast is found in an idea that is indisputable:  human governments—whether they are monarchical, despotic, socialist, nationalist, republican, or democratic—all fail, in greater or lesser degree, in standards of supporting justice, mercy, security, and prosperity. 

 

The idea is similar to the idea discussed by Augustine of Hippo in The City of God:  human politics, even when they are as good as human politics can get, fall short of the ideal.  This is because they are all based in human self-interest.  And where there is self-interest, there is rivalry.  And where there is rivalry, sooner or later, there is favoritism for some and alienation or abuse of others.
 

For the ideal, we need the reign of God. 

 

This is not to argue for a theocracy, whether expressed in monarchial or republican institutions.  It is to argue for transcendence and not losing our vision of the ideal of justice and fairness. 

 

I think all of us have had the experience of being led by a charismatic and convincing political leader who knew how to play the right chords of our hearts, and how to inspire our hope.  And then we had the experience of that leader failing us, of disappointing our hope, and sometimes, even disgusting or frightening us.   One of my mentors in the ordination process told me his wakening as an adult Christian came when some of the religious socialists (including priests) he had supported in Nicaragua as a young man in a hope that they would help usher in the Reign of God, in some small way, turned out in office to be petty tyrants and corrupt officials. 

 

I am not saying that all political systems and leaders are equally corrupt or problematic.  I am saying that they all fall short of the mark.  In a democracy, we are responsible to seek out good leaders, honest leaders, who will serve the common good.  As Christians, we pray that they serve the common good in the fear of God, or at least, in fear of popular approbation.  But as the meme puts it, “No matter who President is, Christ is King.”

 

Thanks be to God.  Amen.   

 

Disorder and Wickedness of Every Kind (mid-week message)

 

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

Disorder and Wickedness of Every Kind

November 18, 2020

 

“Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom.  But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth.  Such ‘wisdom’ as that does not come down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish.  For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.  But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.  And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.” (James 3:13-18)

The Latin word honestus, which translates as “honest,” means “full of honor”; in turn, honor means “worthiness to be distinguished and suitable to emulate.”  The most basic idea is having one’s words conform to reality, i.e., not lying, and having our actions conform to our duties and obligations.   While honesty and honor preclude deliberate distortion or denial of truth, it is possible to be honest and all the same mistaken about matters.  But once we are informed of error, duty requires that we submit to it.  To not do so is dishonesty at its core. 

 

The Letter of James says that envy and ambition impair our ability to tell the truth and be honest, and bring with them “disorder and wickedness of every kind.”  Lying, boastfulness, unkindness and mercilessness result.   Opposed to such devilish craftiness is wisdom, whose hallmarks are gentleness, peace, and the ability to yield, that is, give up one’s own desires and opinions in the pursuit of truth, mercy, and good works.  Impartiality, that is, applying the same rules and standards to us and ours as we believe should apply to others, is a sine qua non of honesty and decency.  

 

As our country enters the third week of political crisis caused by partiality, dishonesty and lying about the election and its results—lying that seems par for the course, unhappily, for some in our national leadership—I would ask each of us to pray for honesty and honor, and the courage to speak truth, not just for us, but for all our fellow Americans.  Decency and honesty are not too much to ask. 

 

Grace and Peace, 

Fr. Tony+

I Was Afraid (Proper 28A)

 

“I Was Afraid”

 November 15, 2020

Proper 28 A

Homily preached at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

10:00 a.m. Sung Morning Prayer Live-streamed from the Chancel

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

Zephaniah 1:7, 12-18; Psalm 90:1-8, 12; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; Matthew 25:14-30

 

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh. Amen

 

When I was growing up, my dear mother and father often quoted from today’s Gospel to me. “To whom much is given, much is expected.” I came to hate that phrase. Whenever I boasted of some accomplishment, desperate for parental and sibling approval, my mom quoted it to set a higher standard. Whenever I failed in the slightest degree, perhaps a B on test, or a slight scuffle on the playground that sent me to the principal’s office, my dad quoted it to bring me up short. They wanted to make me feel how grievous for me were failings that might pass in any other, less gifted child. At least that’s how it felt to me. In fairness, I should note that my parents were trying to gently break down some of the arrogance and prissiness they saw developing in their third child. They applied the principle to themselves and my other siblings as well.

 

Today’s Parable of the Entrusted Money is called the parable of the talents in Matthew and of the pounds in Luke. Despite some differences, the underlying parable seems to almost certainly go back to the historical Jesus.

 

When he told it, like many of his parables, it was a non-too-subtle indictment of the unfair political and economic systems of the time. That it is a story of the careless rich is seen in the astronomical sums involved: five, two, and one talents of silver, respectively approximately worth in today’s money two million, 650,000, and 350,000 dollars. Thus Jesus is being highly ironic when he has the master say to the servant who has doubled his million “you have done so well with a trifling sum, I intend to start giving you real money!” The servants here are retainers of a great holder of lands and property—wealth gained through extortionate lending to poor peasants who end up losing their surety, the land. He expects the servants to use such means to further grow his money. When the third man simply buries his “paltry” $250,000, afraid of losing the principal, the land owner’s response is guaranteed: anger, abuse at the “lazy” and “unprofitable” servant for not having the sense of at least putting the money into low yield, risk free ventures akin to today savings accounts. At least then some interest would have been gained! On the lips of Jesus, this was the parable of the extortionists. The third man, while perhaps not a hero, represents the values of Jesus’ audience. He alone represents solid peasant virtues, and the common sense to bury money rather than risk losing it or engage in immoral business practices. By refusing to go along with the extortionate system, he is a sort of whistle-blower. And the story tells what happens to whistle-blowers: they get burned.

 

On Jesus’ lips, the story is not only a critique of the system of land grabbing and exploitation. It also might be a dig at his religious competitors’ cautious efforts at keeping God’s commands by building of a fence around the law and trying to maintain the ultimate in purity. Again and again Jesus criticizes this approach to faith taken by the Pharisees and Scribes: he tells of a fruitless fig tree, a barren olive tree, a gate closed to others by those who refuse themselves to enter it. Such a fearful approach to faith prevents us taking the risks necessary to do really great things in God’s name, says Jesus.

 

The Church, especially when it began to wait longer and longer for Jesus to return, turned the parable into a moral exhortation of those waiting for his return. “Lazy and unprofitable servant” lost its irony: now it meant overly cautious Christians whose fear at going all out in following the Gospel limited their success in ministry and “producing fruit.” It was in this setting that the Gospel writers appended to Jesus’ parable the phrase that bothered me so much in my childhood, the moralistic commonplace of the ancient world about those who have received much being expected to turn a bigger profit.

 

No matter how you read the parable—a crooked master punishing an uppity employee for siding with the exploited peasants or a righteous master Jesus returning to earth with judgment rather than healing in his wings—they both agree that the third servant, the one who buried the money, did so out of fear.

 

And therein lies the point.

 

Fear of scarcity means not feeling God’s abundance. It means we stop or reduce our sharing. Fear of rejection prevents some from ever truly loving, and making themselves vulnerable to the beloved and running the risk of having their heart broken. Fear of death means some people never fully live.

 

The opposite of love is not merely hate, it is fear of vulnerability. The opposite of generosity is not just stinginess, it is fear of loss. The opposite of wisdom and knowledge is not just foolishness and ignorance, but it is fear of the truth.

 

FDR said it well: the only thing we truly have to fear is fear itself.

 

Many of us, in receiving spiritual direction or doing what is called a moral inventory have had a similar experience: we find that at the heart of most of our negative emotions and unproductive or harmful acts lies some kind of fear: fear of loss of self-esteem, of money, of pleasure, of family, or of social standing.

 

Fear separates us from ourselves and others. It divides us from God. It makes us sterile, unfruitful branches, lazy, unprofitable servants by any standard.

 

Please note: we are pausing face-to-face church during these two weeks not out of fear of the spike in Corona virus infections and deaths. We are pausing out of a hope to bring the spike under control and save each other from illness and early death.

 

I invite us this week to look at the things of which we are afraid: name them, reflect on how fear colors our various emotions and actions.

 

And let us pray for boldness, and confidence, and trust. Jesus will give us such gifts. He has promised us he will.

 

In the name of Christ, Amen

 

Pause, Rest, Reset (Midweek Message)

 

The statue of Christ outside Our Lady Star of the Sea Church in Atlantic City, wearing a medical mask. 

Photo courtesy of Press of Atlantic City's staff photographer, Edward Lea.

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

Pause, Rest, Reset  

November 11, 2020

 

Governor Kate Brown announced earlier this week that in nine counties in the state where Covid-19 infection rates have skyrocketed in the last month, health authorities have called for a Nov. 11-25 “pause” in social gathering, public events, and indoor group activity.  Our own area, Jackson county, is included.  While the state rules provide an exemption for faith-based groups and none of the current rule changes applies to churches, the grim spike in Covid-19 infections mean that we need to take this very seriously.  In accordance with our initial plan for re-engaging our spaces, and after prayer and consultation with many of our parish leaders, I have determined that we will again stop face-to-face worship, small group meetings, and 12-step gatherings at Trinity until after Thanksgiving.  During this interim, I intend to offer “solo” worship services on-line for our Thursday noon and 10 a.m. Sunday services.  We will send out bulletins and the homilies ahead of time. 

 

We have been experiencing breaks in the live-stream over the last few weeks, and believe that we have identified three possible reasons for this, and hope to resolve this problem during this “pause.” 

 

This was a hard decision, because I know how much some of you have been supported by being able to come into the church for worship these last six months.   But we mustn’t listen to the siren call of “God will protect us from Covid if we come to worship.”  Such a view is little different from snake-handling fundamentalist Christians or a Christian Science adherent’s “I’d rather die than seek medical care.”  The virus gets transmitted because of breathed aerosols and failure to mask, to keep physical distance of 2 meters, to wash hands, or use proper ventilation and filtration.  It doesn’t care about whether you did any of those things “on account of faith.” 

 

I am encouraged in this decision by the fact that St. Mark’s Medford has also decided to curtail F2F worship for the present. 

 

When facing this decision, I was reminded of the Biblical line about a time to “gather stones together” and a time to cast them apart, a “time to embrace,” and a time to “refrain from embracing”: 

 

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.” (Qohelet 3:18)

 

Grace and Peace,  Fr. Tony+ 

 

 

 

The Delayed Host (Proper 27A)

 

William Blake, The Parable of the Ten Virgins

“The Delayed Host”

 November 8, 2020

Proper 27 A

Homily preached at Trinity Parish Church

Ashland, Oregon

The Very Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

8:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. spoken Mass

Wisdom of Solomon 6:17-20 Psalm 70 1 Thess 4:13-18 Matt 25:1-13

 

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

 

What a week!  Waiting, watching for newly counted poll results, waiting.  And even now as things seem to be closer to being settled, enough un-certitude remains that some question the reliability of the electoral results.

 

We don’t wait well.  I think all of us have memories of long car trips either as children or with children.  “Are we there yet?”  “How much longer?”  “When are we stopping for a potty break?”  “Are we there yet?” “When do we cross over into the next state?”  “Where will we be eating dinner?  What will we eat?”  “ARE WE THERE YET?” 

 

Waiting is something our modern American culture does not value or particularly equip us for.    We want what we want, when we want it.  Long lines in most states’ Department of Motor Vehicles offices symbolize for many of us what is wrong with government. 

 

But not all cultures share this loathing of waiting.  In many cultures, especially Asian and African ones, the ability to gracefully manage oneself during wait times, patience, is highly valued, and time when you have to wait is seen as an opportunity to develop this virtue.   

 

St. Paul lists patience as foremost among the fruits of the Holy Spirit.  St. James says that patience is the hallmark of true faith.  The Psalmist says, “Wait upon the Lord.”

 

“Waiting upon the Lord” has been a major value for Christians since the beginning.  You cannot read any of the medieval monastic writings, or any puritan dairies or sermons without coming upon the idea repeatedly.  The idea is that we should not get impatient with God when our prayers are not answered, when our hopes are not fulfilled, or our fears not averted.   Trust and humble confidence that in the end all it be well is the way through such disappointment. 

 

Today’s parable is about waiting graciously.  A host at a wedding banquet is delayed.  Half of the guests get impatient and wander off, looking to refill their lamps.  The modern equivalent would be they go off to find an outlet to recharge their i-phones.   Those who stay behind are admitted, but they are unable or unwilling to help their fellow guests get into the party.  

 

This parable is strange, even for Matthew.  The young women excluded are called “foolish,” morai, the word from which we get our word “moron.”  The other women are called “wise,” phronimoi, which means something more like “prudent,” evidenced by their planning ahead.   They are clearly not kind, generous, or empathetic—they refuse to help the fools by sharing their oil with them, and then remain silent as they are excluded from the party, though the delay, the running out of oil, and the falling asleep are all really the fault of the delayed host, who refuses the fools entry with the brutal words, “I have no idea who you are!”

 

Strange.  The bridegroom might be unacquainted with the friends and family of the other side of a new marriage, but getting to know them is the point of the wedding feast, isn’t it?  Why doesn’t he just ask the bride or her clan to identify them rather than simply assuming they are wedding crashers? 

 

Matthew places what he sees as the moral of the story on the lips of Jesus: “Stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”  

 

This is not the only case where Matthew takes a simple parable of Jesus and turns it into an allegory by adding details of exclusion expressing his need for boundaries, for basic standards to be imposed on gentiles coming into the Church.

 

Clearly, for Matthew, this parable is telling us to get ready for Jesus to come again.  We must stay awake and watch, metaphorically trim our lamps and fill them with oil, to recharge our i-phones,  so that we may not be asleep or off somewhere when Jesus comes again.

 

But what would this tale have meant on the lips of Jesus? 

 

Jesus proclaimed the coming of the reign of God.  Look around—see that God is already at work, is already in charge, right here, right now.   A fool refuses to see, and is distracted by the wait for seeing the kingdom come in full power. 

 

Jesus here is not saying God is brutal or bigoted.  The contrast in this sad tale between the rude turn-downs at the door and the welcome and joy of God’s table is the very point Jesus wanted us to see in telling this parable.  A parable has one point—and the point here is that once the door closes, it is closed.  You can be late and miss the party simply because you delayed.   

 

It is like that other parable of Jesus—the narrow gate and the tight path.  The point is not that only the very few will get the blessing while all the rest will remain in outer darkness.  The point is that you have to give up what encumbers you to get in, and it isn’t always an easy or soft path.

 

On Jesus’ lips, this story is about how we react to Jesus’ announcing of the Kingdom of God.  It is about decision, not preparation.  That closed door at the end of the story on Jesus’ lips says “Don’t wait until it’s too late.” 

 

I personally think that those wise virgins ought to have shared their oil and their light.  The host ought to have let the moron girls in, and probably apologized for being so late.   But that is another story.  The story here tells us: wake up and look at God at work in the world around us.  Don’t put off seeing things clearly until it is too late. 

 

The foolish ones need to stay put even with lamps sputtering out, rather than leave in search of oil.  Dry times will come in our spiritual lives, be sure of that.  But be equally sure that leaving and wandering in the night on the off chance of finding a merchant that might, just might, sell you new batteries, is not a good strategy for dealing with dryness and depleted spiritual life.  Hanging in there is the smarter choice. 

 

I pray that all of us can come to know in our hearts that God knows us and loves us.  Know that you are beloved.  God has always loved you and has already done everything needful for you.  Whether you found joy or fear in the results of this week’s wait, know that God is in charge and will care for us.  We must shake off the fear of sputtering lamps and darkness, of that flashing “low battery” light.  We need not fear being abandoned by what appears to be a perpetually late host.   All we need to be concerned with is hanging in there and keeping our eyes on the prize.

 

In the name of Christ, Amen.