Then the kingdom
of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet
the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish
took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with
their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and
slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come
out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps.
The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are
going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for
us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while
they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with
him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other
bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly
I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the
day nor the hour. [Matthew 25:1-13]
Only Matthew records this parable -- and it bristles with
questions. Who are the bridesmaids? Who
is the bridegroom? Is foolishness really a reason for exclusion from the
kingdom? Is indeed anyone excluded? Why were the wise bridesmaids so uncaring?
Why was the door peremptorily shut and no one else allowed in? What does the
oil signify? This is not my favourite
parable. Is the form in which it reaches
us through Matthew the same as the form in which it was told by Jesus? Or does this form of the parable reflect more
the 1st or 2nd century church under adversity and
wondering how long before the Saviour returns? I don’t
know you, says the bridegroom to the foolish bridesmaids who still asked to
be admitted. He did know them… and that
is not my understanding of faith.
It is clearly about being ready when the time comes. So what time is that? The time of our need in life, one might
think. Last Friday in our brief
discussion, it was mentioned that we experience different seasons in our lives,
seasons of experience and maturity which change us, sometimes deeply. In mindful, contemplative understanding, a major
thread which runs through these changes over the years is the constant challenge
to our ego. The young adolescent, we
think quite properly, must be thinking about self and the self’s future –
perhaps we worry if they are not. But our
prayer of silence and stillness is a daily calling into question of the ego’s
requirements of us, examining what we assume to be our needs. Humility, letting go, relinquishing control, which
may have been unimaginable at age 18, may indeed start imperceptibly at first
to replace more familiar ways of reacting.
Nothing stays the same, even if we devote ourselves to
control and safety – as indeed some people do.
Change for them becomes our
enemy. But in a climate of prayerful
silence, when we have ceased asking for things, and instead are still with
empty hands and a consenting heart, the Spirit of God – the oil for the lamp,
as it were – is able to continue God’s work of creation in us, replacing fear
with love, and making all things new.
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