Matthew 25:1-13
Tara Westover wrote a memoir a few years ago called Educated. It’s the story of Tara’s upbringing in a family of survivalists. They lived out in the mountains of Utah, as off-the-grid as they could manage. Distrustful of government, these parents raised their seven children to be self-reliant. The government agents might come for them at any time, her parents taught them. They all needed to be able to fend for themselves. Each member of the family packed their own head-for-the-hills bags.
Food rations, weapons, thermal blankets – these were the kinds of things they put in their bags for the escape, if and when it would be necessary. As a small child, Tara took her bag with her to bed at night. She understood from what her parents taught her that it could happen any time of the day or night, that they must be alert, be awake, be prepared. If the moment arrived, they would each be responsible for their bag. It would be every man, woman, and child for themselves. Tara never had to use her bag. The government never came, but it’s easy to imagine what a vivid and lasting memory that would be.
Tara and her family were living in a world of darkness, full of mistrust, anger, fear – a world where most things were painted black or white, good or evil, us and everybody else.
Tara Westover’s family looked at their enemy and saw that the best course of action for them was to be prepared to flee. They would go hide out in the hills until, I suppose, they figured out the next step. Maybe flee the country, look for refuge elsewhere. Maybe organize with other like-minded folks and start a civil war. Maybe just wait it out or wait for the rapture.
In the world where Jesus lived, there were surely plenty of folks who promoted such a view of the world. There always are some. And I wonder, if any of them were listening to this parable of the ten bridesmaids, how they would have received it. I assume they would be nodding along, affirming the virtue of being prepared, ever-vigilant, watchful and ready.
I suppose they would have found nothing surprising in the parable. Of course you should have a supply of extra oil, always. You should have whatever you will need to survive. And if you fail, don’t expect someone else to bail you out. Trim your own wicks, keep your own fire, guard your own oil. Be awake. Be ready, for you never know the day or the hour.
I suppose the survivalists in first-century Jerusalem would have felt affirmed by Jesus’ words. Yes, they would have thought, we are doing the right thing. We are on the right side. We are the wise ones, everyone else is foolish.
And if this is so, then most of us ought to be concerned. Because I don’t think there are many survivalists among us. I know I don’t have my head-for-the-hills bag ready. Do you?
And so that would put me in the category of the foolish bridesmaids, the ones who neglect to bring extra supplies of oil. The ones who might not think about the possibility of this bridegroom being so late that everyone falls asleep and the lamps burn out. The ones who maybe just assumed that, should something so weird happen, it would be enough for some of them to bring extra oil that they could divvy up between the ten of them. You know, sharing?
The ones who might have thought that any bridegroom who would keep them waiting this long, might have the decency to wait for them while they dash out and grab some more oil for their lamps. I guess I am among those foolish bridesmaids who, after all is said and done, might not even want to go to a party where people refuse to help one another out, and act like they don’t know you because you failed your survivalist training.
Parables are always full of potholes and sticking points, but this one has some major impediments, I believe. The easy interpretation is actually the hardest interpretation to deal with.
The truth is, there are always the doomsday folks, looking for an apocalypse of one kind or another. An immoral and malevolent government. A natural disaster of epic proportions. Aliens from outer space. Something dire is going to happen. And so the doomsday folks are passionate about reading the signs. They want to predict the time and nature of the coming disaster. So they can be ready.
The problem, Jesus says, is that no one knows the hour or the day. No one – not even he could say. No one will arrive at the kingdom of heaven by being at the right bus stop at the right time, with their ticket in hand. No one will enter the kingdom because they packed a survival bag and ran for the hills. The kind of readiness Jesus means is, I believe, something quite different from following an “in case of emergency” checklist.
Perhaps he gave us a parable with so many strange and uncomfortable images in it so that we would think a bit more deeply about this kingdom of heaven to which he refers.
Jesus says to his listeners, the kingdom of heaven will be like this, as he launches into this story. He told so many stories that begin this way. To what can the kingdom be compared? It is like a mustard seed, like yeast – something small and yet with such great potential. It is like a hidden treasure, it is like a fine pearl, something so wonderful that a person would give up everything else to have it. It is like scattered seeds, some falling on fertile ground and taking root while others wither and die. Or a fishing net cast into the sea, catching up every kind of fish – you keep the good and throw out the bad. The kingdom of heaven is like a king settling accounts with his slaves, magnanimously forgiving, or a landowner hiring laborers, generous with their wages. The kingdom of heaven is like a wedding banquet – where many are invited, and some refuse the invitation.
The kingdom of heaven is doing the Father’s will, bearing good fruit. The kingdom of heaven, Jesus says, is near.
The kingdom of heaven is far from this world, defying explanation. And yet near to us as our next breath. If we pay attention to all his words then we know: the kingdom is a way of being in the presence of God.
And living in the presence of God? That takes some care. Some preparation.
So forget about the extra supplies of oil, you really don’t need that. You don’t need a head-for-the-hills bag or a backyard bunker. What we all need is the practice of those little habits that cultivate our readiness for the kingdom of heaven.
So I will ask you about your prayer life. I will ask you how you are doing with forgiveness – both the asking and the giving, because our world is starved for forgiveness. I will ask you how you are using your time, your energy, and other resources to serve God, to serve the least and the last and the lost.
The kingdom of heaven, if we listen to Jesus, is something utterly wonderful and completely available. It is generous and compassionate, nurturing and forgiving. It gathers up all, invites all, cares for all. The kingdom of heaven is offered with open hand. It is up to each one of us to receive it. No one can do it for you.
So when Jesus says about those foolish bridesmaids, “I don’t know you,” I am afraid what he means is, “you don’t know me because you never really tried.”
In one respect, life is easier when you just break it down into the wise and the foolish, the good folks and the bad folks and keep a checklist of kingdom entry qualifications. But the truth is the secret to the kingdom is just taking care. Taking care of yourself. Taking care of how you love your neighbor. Taking care to listen for God’s call, look for God’s light. We will best prepare by taking care.
