A Sermon for Proper 27 ( by The Rev'd Deacon Ed Richards)
Sermon
Few human events are more weighted emotionally than weddings. Parents invest heavily—time, energy, creativity, resources, love, and hope—in the marriage ceremony for a beloved daughter or son. Because they are so loaded with emotional content, weddings are actually fragile events, with lots of potential for mishap, and even disaster. For one thing, the main characters—the bride, the groom, and their parents—are stretched thin, and deep feelings come easily to the surface. There are tears at weddings, and profound hope, but also sometimes anger, resentment, and frustration. In the midst of all that, things can go wrong and often do. In private conversations clergy share stories of wedding near-disasters: the best man got lost and never made it to the rehearsal, the bridal dress was the wrong size, the flowers were not delivered, the groom forgot the license.
It is significant that near the end of his life, at the time for summing up, Jesus chose this most human, emotionally loaded event as the context for a parable about the kingdom: "The kingdom of heaven will be like this."
It helps to know a bit about the wedding customs of the day. Weddings in Jesus' day were every bit as emotionally freighted as ours today, with the same potential for mishap. Guests assembled at the home of the bride and were entertained by her parents while waiting for the groom. When the bridegroom approached, the guests, including the bridesmaids, lighted torches and went out to greet him. In a festive procession, the entire party walked to the groom's home where his parents were waiting for the ceremony and the extended banquet that would follow and continue for several days. Jesus, his mother, and his disciples were guests at such a wedding in Cana.
In this parable, for whatever reason, the groom does not show up on time; the hours pass, and many of the waiting wedding party fall asleep. Finally, at midnight, they are awakened with a shout, "He's coming." The bridesmaids leap into action, trim their lamps, and head out to meet him. Five of the ten have used up their oil and have no reserves. Their attempt to borrow some from their wiser, more prudent sisters is rejected. Frantically, they set out in search of oil, not easy at midnight, and in the process miss the procession. When they finally arrive at the groom's home, they are locked out and dismissed. "Keep awake," Jesus concludes, "You do not know the day nor the hour." Staying alert, waiting purposefully, being prepared, is the message here.
The early Christians had to adjust to the reality that Jesus did not return as they fully expected, and that their mission was to wait expectantly and in the meantime live faithfully, courageously, hopefully. It is our mission still. At the heart of our faith is the certainty that human history has a purpose and a goal and that it is moving toward eventual fulfillment and completion. We do not articulate it very well, and (in fact) sometimes we avoid this topic because of its abuse by popular eschatologists, who sell lots of books describing the end of history in graphic and (mostly) violent terms and who focus on the end times to the neglect of this time, this world.
That is not the point here. The point is living expectantly and hopefully. Christian hope rests on trust that the God who created the world will continue to love the world with gentle providence, will continue the process of creation until the project is complete, and will continue to redeem and save the world by coming into it with love and grace, in Jesus Christ.
Christian hope is as big as the whole sweep of human history, but also as small as each individual. Ultimate issues have been resolved for the human race, but also for each of us individually. In every congregation are faithful people genuinely frightened about where human history seems to be headed. Freedom, justice, and compassion seem fragile in the face of the forces of oppression, injustice, violence, and torture. Living in hope does not mean immunity to the harsh realities of history. On the contrary, it means living confidently and expectantly, trusting that the Lord of history continues to come into life with compassion and redemption and hope.
The challenge here is to keep enough oil on hand for the lamps when the bridegroom appears, to roll up sleeves and work for the kingdom that is always coming and breaking into history.
Also in every congregation are people genuinely afraid for their own personal future, perhaps facing serious illness, surgery, or loss of employment. They, and each of us, need to hear the good news that the bridegroom will come, that the love of God will continue to appear in our lives in surprising and unexpected ways:
—Jesus Christ comes when Christian people live in hope and never give up.
—Jesus Christ comes when faithful disciples express love and compassion and work for justice.
—Jesus Christ comes when critically ill people know they are ultimately safe in God's love.
—Heaven breaks into earth when faithful women and men live in hope and give themselves to the work of the kingdom.
Rainer Maria Rilke wrote a series of letters to a young military officer who wished to be a poet. In one of them he responds to the young man's lament that he had lost his belief in God:
“Why don't you think of him as the one who is coming, who has been approaching from all eternity? … What keeps you from projecting his birth into the ages that are coming into existence, and living your life as a painful and lovely day in the history of a great pregnancy? “