Proper 27A (3 Before Advent)
What time is this?
Matthew 25.1-13. At a Eucharist
He stood bedraggled on the doorstep. 'Do you believe that these are the last days?' he asked. I wonder how many people have given him a hearing with an opening question like that. I’m afraid I can’t be counted amongst them. I understood the question (I think) but I wasn’t up to a doorstep discussion about it.
'Do you believe that these are the last days?' What are the times that we live in? Are we in the evening, as it were, of the world? I think there is no doubt that the parable of the wise and foolish virgins is about the evening of the world—those hours of twilight before the darkness of the final end of all days. Yes, Jesus is teaching about the last things—the very last things, if you like.
The young women are waiting for the bridegroom. We are to imagine the long celebrations of a wedding feast. It been going on all day, but now the time is nearing when the groom will go to the bride’s parents home to take her from there to her new home. The bridesmaids would have joined in the fun at this stage, and remained in the ongoing party as all awaited the marriage’s consummation. The dullards amongst them, however, hadn’t prepared for the length of time involved. It wasn’t until midnight that the bridegroom appeared, and by then their lamps were fuel-less and useless. Consequently they are shut out of the festivities. Unprepared, they have excluded themselves.
This is harsh. Why don’t the ones with plenty of oil, share what they’ve got. Isn’t sharing what the gospel is all about? Well ordinarily, yes, but this is no ordinary evening. This is the end of time and the former rules no longer apply. This is midnight—the hour of liberation of God’s people from Egypt—the civilities of an ordinary day are past.
You’ve either got enough oil to light your way to the banquet of the bridegroom, or you haven’t. There’s no second chance now—you either make it into the party or you don’t. How you prepared on an ordinary day makes all the difference; but there’s no going back now. You’re either got oil or not.
In other words, there were plenty of opportunities on the ordinary days to do the right things, to do the things that would have given you a stock of oil. But it’s too late at this point. You’ve lived the ordinary days without the preparedness that that those days offered. Now there is no going back. ‘You should have kept awake because all along you were aware of the possibility that the moment would come.’ Be certain of the times you live in. If this is the evening of the world there is no going back. Have you collected enough oil to be ready?
What are the times that we live in?
Everyone seems to have an opinion.
The constant repetition of the word ‘crisis’ in the media, outrage at the terrors of ISIL; the seemingly unending sufferings of Ebola; civil wars that will have no end; foodbanks in supposedly 'comfortable' communities; and those out of a job or struggling with a much reducing pension, join a chorus of pessimism.
The next amazing digital gadget, the reassurances offered from this or that political plan, and the amazing strides in science and its application present the counter chorus of ‘Yes, we’ll find a way’—an altogether more optimistic take on the world.
Which chorus do you add your voice to? What are the times that we live in? What times do we celebrate at this Eucharist? The answers people give are varied:
'I was baptized, confirmed and married here, and I intend to be buried here.' The times of a person’s life.
'This is the only time I get to myself other than sleep. It’s a break from everything, a space that kind of recharges me.' A gift of time in an ocean of pressing demands.
'I remember when this church was full. Mr Stokes was Vicar. He was a real tartar. If you weren’t at church he would come round to your home and demand to know why. Those were the days.' Times past that seem somehow simpler, or at least rosier.
And that’s just a sample of answers. And yes, there is a deliberate sense of space here; and yes, the times of a person’s life are marked by what’s done; and yes, we do look back, but not in nostalgia. This is a ritual of times and time and eternity. We look back to the times of Jesus from this time in which we are touched now by his abiding presence, and we look forward to the end of all times when we shall enjoy our companionship with him forever. And the ritual of it is to remind us constantly of those three dimensions—past, present, and eternity—and of that oil of gladness we need to stock up on by our actions and our attitude.
These liturgical actions that we repeat, these repeated words, this particular food, this special place, and this particular day gives us a way into past, present and future all at once. We do indeed look back to a golden age, but not out of nostalgia, for we know ourselves to be in the presence of Jesus as were those first disciples. And we are not dismissive of this present as we look forward to the golden future that is Our Lord’s completion of all things, for this present is the time of our serving, the time to gather stocks of oil. Past, present and future blended into a timeless state that we may better live in this present time.
The Eucharist is out of time and in time. We look back to the Last Supper and to Calvary; we look to Christ present through bread and wine; and we look forward to the Messianic banquet—that great celebration into which we shall carry our bright-burning lamps.
What are the times that we live in? They are the times of readiness: neither times to be overcome with gloom at signs of social decay, nor haunted by nostalgia for a better past, nor times to be nonchalant with a human-centred optimism that assumes all will turn out for the best, somehow.
No, Christians are realists who know the depths of human sin, but also the power of Christ to save. We are like those wise bridesmaids eager and ready to join the celebrations of eternity for we have heard the rumoured approach of the bridegroom:
Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour when the party will begin.
'Do you believe that these are the last days?' What are the times that we live in? Are we in the evening, as it were, of the world? I think there is no doubt that the parable of the wise and foolish virgins is about the evening of the world—those hours of twilight before the darkness of the final end of all days. Yes, Jesus is teaching about the last things—the very last things, if you like.
The young women are waiting for the bridegroom. We are to imagine the long celebrations of a wedding feast. It been going on all day, but now the time is nearing when the groom will go to the bride’s parents home to take her from there to her new home. The bridesmaids would have joined in the fun at this stage, and remained in the ongoing party as all awaited the marriage’s consummation. The dullards amongst them, however, hadn’t prepared for the length of time involved. It wasn’t until midnight that the bridegroom appeared, and by then their lamps were fuel-less and useless. Consequently they are shut out of the festivities. Unprepared, they have excluded themselves.
This is harsh. Why don’t the ones with plenty of oil, share what they’ve got. Isn’t sharing what the gospel is all about? Well ordinarily, yes, but this is no ordinary evening. This is the end of time and the former rules no longer apply. This is midnight—the hour of liberation of God’s people from Egypt—the civilities of an ordinary day are past.
You’ve either got enough oil to light your way to the banquet of the bridegroom, or you haven’t. There’s no second chance now—you either make it into the party or you don’t. How you prepared on an ordinary day makes all the difference; but there’s no going back now. You’re either got oil or not.
In other words, there were plenty of opportunities on the ordinary days to do the right things, to do the things that would have given you a stock of oil. But it’s too late at this point. You’ve lived the ordinary days without the preparedness that that those days offered. Now there is no going back. ‘You should have kept awake because all along you were aware of the possibility that the moment would come.’ Be certain of the times you live in. If this is the evening of the world there is no going back. Have you collected enough oil to be ready?
What are the times that we live in?
Everyone seems to have an opinion.
The constant repetition of the word ‘crisis’ in the media, outrage at the terrors of ISIL; the seemingly unending sufferings of Ebola; civil wars that will have no end; foodbanks in supposedly 'comfortable' communities; and those out of a job or struggling with a much reducing pension, join a chorus of pessimism.
The next amazing digital gadget, the reassurances offered from this or that political plan, and the amazing strides in science and its application present the counter chorus of ‘Yes, we’ll find a way’—an altogether more optimistic take on the world.
Which chorus do you add your voice to? What are the times that we live in? What times do we celebrate at this Eucharist? The answers people give are varied:
'I was baptized, confirmed and married here, and I intend to be buried here.' The times of a person’s life.
'This is the only time I get to myself other than sleep. It’s a break from everything, a space that kind of recharges me.' A gift of time in an ocean of pressing demands.
'I remember when this church was full. Mr Stokes was Vicar. He was a real tartar. If you weren’t at church he would come round to your home and demand to know why. Those were the days.' Times past that seem somehow simpler, or at least rosier.
And that’s just a sample of answers. And yes, there is a deliberate sense of space here; and yes, the times of a person’s life are marked by what’s done; and yes, we do look back, but not in nostalgia. This is a ritual of times and time and eternity. We look back to the times of Jesus from this time in which we are touched now by his abiding presence, and we look forward to the end of all times when we shall enjoy our companionship with him forever. And the ritual of it is to remind us constantly of those three dimensions—past, present, and eternity—and of that oil of gladness we need to stock up on by our actions and our attitude.
These liturgical actions that we repeat, these repeated words, this particular food, this special place, and this particular day gives us a way into past, present and future all at once. We do indeed look back to a golden age, but not out of nostalgia, for we know ourselves to be in the presence of Jesus as were those first disciples. And we are not dismissive of this present as we look forward to the golden future that is Our Lord’s completion of all things, for this present is the time of our serving, the time to gather stocks of oil. Past, present and future blended into a timeless state that we may better live in this present time.
The Eucharist is out of time and in time. We look back to the Last Supper and to Calvary; we look to Christ present through bread and wine; and we look forward to the Messianic banquet—that great celebration into which we shall carry our bright-burning lamps.
What are the times that we live in? They are the times of readiness: neither times to be overcome with gloom at signs of social decay, nor haunted by nostalgia for a better past, nor times to be nonchalant with a human-centred optimism that assumes all will turn out for the best, somehow.
No, Christians are realists who know the depths of human sin, but also the power of Christ to save. We are like those wise bridesmaids eager and ready to join the celebrations of eternity for we have heard the rumoured approach of the bridegroom:
Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour when the party will begin.
