SunNov92008
Scripture: MATTHEW 25:1-13
Now that’s a bracing, sobering story. What a harsh, even repulsive feel it has to it. Whatever happened to the kinder, gentler Jesus we adore, the God who inspires us to sing, “Jesus loves me, this I know”! Here, half are apparently in, and half are out because they don’t have enough oil in their lamps.
I know people who never let the gas tank in their car go below half. They must be the wise bridesmaids. I, on the other hand, always let mine get down to empty. If a crisis hits when my tank is empty, I won’t be able to get out of town. I’ll be one of the foolish bridesmaids. And what will be Jesus’ reaction? ‘Sorry, you’re out of luck!’
Or at least that’s the way many of us hear the story. The thing is, though, as we spend some time with it, it begins to seem a lot less like a story about a punishing God who only accepts some people, and a lot more like a story about what it takes to have fullness of life. This story isn’t so much about God’s rules, in other words, as it is about how we’re invited to live our lives. Jesus wants us to be prepared. The wise bridesmaids see what’s needed, and they’re ready for it. Preparation is at the heart of this story. Being prepared to indulge in the presence of God is what we’re invited to.
To be prepared means something different, of course, in every context. Here, as Jesus comes close to the end of his life, I think he’s urging his friends to be prepared for the fullness of God in every moment. If we’re not prepared for that fullness, it’s not that God will rule us out or check us off the list. It’s that we rule ourselves out. When we’re not prepared for a sacred arrival, we keep ourselves from the fullness of a life lived with God—it’s a self-imposed penalty.
So the admonition that comes to us is to be prepared. And what underlies these words is the conviction that, at every moment, there is something particular and distinctive that God offers to us, and that our role is to take up that gift and run with it.
So here, perhaps, is some of what a Christian can do to be prepared to share in the fullness of God. First we can pray. We pray in all kinds of ways, of course, but one great way is just to be silent and breathe before God. The other day in our Inquirers Class, as Mary Senechal was leading a session on spiritual life, she had us sit in silence for a full two minutes. Sitting silently for that long makes you realize how seldom you may sit in silence, and how long two minutes seems. It’s a gift that many of us seldom give ourselves, though. So we’re going to do it now. Not for two minutes, but for one full minute. Try not to think of it as wasting time. Don’t try to make something happen. Simply take the opportunity to breathe deeply for a full minute and with every breath, as the images and chores and worries of your life flash before you, to say simply “God.” I’ll tell you when the minute is up. [SILENCE]
You and I can do that every day. We can do it two or three times a day. We can stop and pay attention to the presence of God in our breath, in the rhythms of our life, in our shaving and making toast and watching the soccer game and driving to work. We can take our worries and concerns, our joys and thanksgivings, and lift them before God. To pray is to join in the fullness of God. It’s to be prepared.
We can play, as well. Most of us don’t think of playing as preparation for the glory of God. To let down with friends and watch Ohio State beat up on Northwestern, to play Wii tennis or an afternoon of bridge, to die laughing at a hilarious movie: that’s to invite God into our lives. You may not know that there’s a hymn tune called “Hilariter,” as well as an ancient Christian tune called “Phos Hilaron,” both of which pick up on the idea of hilarity or joy. If you promise not to criticize me for having us sing new tunes, we might sing one some time. (A couple of weeks ago, by the way, a kind and warm man in the church genially said to me after worship that we had sung too many new tunes that morning. Then in the next breath, he said with a huge grin, “Of course, if you had had us sing only old tunes, I would have criticized that, too.” That was pretty good!) The light we know in that sort of good-natured banter or in belly laughs makes room for the joy of God. Hilarity is preparation for the presence of God.
Praying and playing are both vessels for God’s coming. So also, in so many contexts of our lives, is giving a primary mode of preparing for the advent of God. Many Federated members and friends have seen the extremely well-done DVD of Rob Bell’s called “Rich.” If you haven’t seen it, you still can, after worship today. It’s a striking reframing of our reality. It reminds us how rich we are even when we don’t feel it. Most of us see so clearly the people who have more than we do, and it’s easy to feel a sense of jealousy because they have what we seem to lack. What Bell reminds us is how amazingly blessed we already are, how much God has given us. He echoes the overwhelming witness of the Bible, and reminds us that when we give out of gratitude for what we have, we are living in that sort of preparing stance to which Jesus invites us.
There are all kinds of ways to give back some of our richness, of course. I want this morning to lift up a striking example of it in this church. Three years ago, we discovered we had a debt of $1.4 million. Quietly and steadily, Federated givers have chipped away at that debt. This past week, a sizable gift arrived from the estate of a member who recently died, and with that gift, we passed a notable milestone: one million of that 1.4 million dollar debt has now been erased. In only three years, nearly three quarters of that debt has been eliminated by people like you who cared so much for the mission of God that they offered their resources to ensure the thriving of this wonderful church. All of that has happened without a capital campaign and while the daily programs and spirit of the church have continued unimpeded. It’s a fabulous achievement, and one worth celebrating as we chip away at that debt and continue to be a flourishing witness to the spirit of God in this marvelous valley.
Of course, as great as erasing that debt is, that’s not the primary reason we’re here. Service is. We are here precisely to give ourselves to others. And that is even more true now than ever. In the economic crisis that faces this country, what’s going to be asked of us is not belt-tightening and reduced giving, but expansiveness and more giving. Jeff Larsen, who succeeded me at the church I served in Barrington, RI, wrote eloquently of this in that church’s November newsletter. “I will go out on a limb here,” he wrote, “but I believe that for the most part those reading this will not be suffering as much as many, many others. We still will ‘have’ and will still be those who can give, and we must not lose sight of that. In many ways, the ministry of this church must expand just when the finances are going to lead many to recommend we contract. . . . In this time of great fear and uncertainty . . . we must put our faith into action. Get off the couch of self-pity, use your gifts in ways you have never stretched yourself before. The rainy day has arrived for many. Be thankful for how relatively dry you are and don’t be afraid to go out and get wet” (Barrington Congregational Church, UCC, newsletter, November, 2008, p. 1). That’s a striking reminder of who we are. Jeff puts his finger on the great privilege, and the great call, to give out of the abundance with which we’ve been blessed. In this sort of giving, the same sort of giving asked of us in our Stewardship campaign, we “ride the glory train,” as the old hymn goes. We prepare for a rich and rewarding life in God.
Praying, playing, giving: all of it prepares us for the presence of God. I’ve been struck recently by one final way in which we see the wisdom of the wise bridesmaids. So often, it seems to me, life is about balancing opposites. Are we able to navigate the yin and the yang of our lives? Sometimes, for example, our children need to be pushed. They need to be held to standards that build up instead of breaking down. At other times, though, instead of being pushed, they need to be cradled. They need to be held. They need to encouraged and forgiven. The same is true of co-workers, spouses, partners, parents. What time is it? Is it time to scold, or is it time to praise? When we get it right, we’re the wise bridesmaids, we’re prepared. But it takes a kind of prayerful attention to get it right.
Here’s another instance of the balancing act: sometimes we’re asked to work vigorously, to dedicate ourselves to the task at hand, to do more than we think we can. At other times, though, precisely the opposite is needed: there are times when the only healthy thing to do is rest. Remember, the wise bridesmaids don’t stay up all night. They sleep. In a society that prizes hyperactivity, motion, busyness, sometimes the old saw is true: “don’t just do something, stand there.” In each moment, which one gives us the prepared stance of the wise bridesmaids?
One last example: the balance between life and death. We all know how sublime is the life we lead. It is an unparalleled gift. The charge of physicians is to protect it and honor it. We weep bottomless tears when death steals someone we love. Many of us can’t imagine our lives without our spouses or partners or children or parents. Life is, in many ways, everything to us.
But then eventually, the time comes to let it go, for ourselves or for one we love. When that time comes, we stop protecting it. We stop pursuing it at all costs. We simply give it up. Not too long ago, a long-time church member, whose husband is dying, says that her hospice social worker had recently spent time with her husband, and she saw a noticeable change in him. The social worker said to this woman, “He needs you to give him permission to die.” This woman had never talked to her husband about death, and the whole idea seemed so counter-intuitive. Why would you ever want to say to someone you loved, “It’s time to let go. It’ll be OK. And I’ll be OK”? We do, though, because life runs its course and comes to an end. And we do because we know that death is not the final end. As the apostle Paul reminds us, when death comes we do “not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with Jesus those who have died” (I Thess. 4:13-14). Yes, life is amazing. But so is death. And it behooves us to be prepared for whichever is ours at any moment. Sometimes we’re called to life. Sometimes we’re called to a trust in the face of death. And in all of it we belong to God. At any moment, what sort of stance toward life and death would let us be as ready as the wise bridesmaids to gaze on the face of God?
It’s a strange story, that story of the wise and foolish bridesmaids. But what an incisive reminder it offers. We’re invited to prepare for the presence and the coming of God in every way, and particularly, perhaps, by praying and playing and giving and finding the balance between all those opposite truths that pull on us so forcefully. May we be prepared for God in every moment. And may we know that God holds us always.