Okay, I’m going to get this
out of the way right at the beginning.
No, I’m not going to complain about
Matthew. You know by now how I feel about Matthew’s gospel. And, no, I haven’t
changed my mind.
This parable of the 10 Virgins or Bridesmaids is not the worst parable in Matthew but that’s because
they’re all pretty bad, in my estimation. I honestly believe most of his
parables are Matthew’s particular spin on what Jesus said.
I suppose he’s allowed. And, I’m
allowed not to like it.
No, what I want to tell you
so I can be done with it is about a church marquee sign I saw while I was in
Scotland last year.
The newspapers were filled with headlines about how the
Kirk (or Church) of Scotland – which, of course, is Presbyterian – had released
its Kirks from the mandatory tithe to the denomination because they understood
the churches were so poor they couldn’t possibly pay it. In doing so, the
papers said, they had placed the denomination on the certain path to
bankruptcy.
In my walks around Glasgow
and Edinburgh, I noted many Kirk of Scotland Churches that looked pretty stark
and foreboding from the outside. My grandmother would have said, “Looks like
somebody hasn’t loved that place in a long, long time.”
Except there was this one
church with a lovely yard, a manicured lawn, a few lovely trees and a well-lit
sign. I was intrigued.
As I looked closer to the sign, I read the sermon title
for that Sunday, which said, “Would you rather stay awake with wise virgins or sleep with
the foolish ones?”
I
think I said, right out loud, "O, good grief!"
My next thought was, Well, I guess
if people are going to walk by your church you might as well entertain them.
And then, I understood about the bankruptcy thing.
If
this is the first time you’ve heard the Parable of the Virgins (or Bridesmaids)
or if it’s been a while since you last heard it, let me recap. There are ten virgins (bridesmaids) who are waiting for the
bridegroom with their oil lamps.
The custom in the Middle East at that time was that the virgins
would await the arrival of the bridegroom and greet him with a procession of
light in the darkness, which marked the beginning of the wedding event. If you
missed it, you were out of luck. Five of the virgins brought extra oil for
their lamps in case the bridegroom was delayed; five did not.
When the lamps of the "unprepared five" began to dim,
they asked those who were prepared for their extra oil, but there wasn't enough
to go around. Those who did not plan ahead were left out, they missed the
procession and the wedding.
Please note that it was somehow the virgin/bridesmaids fault or responsibility that the groom was late. I mean, seriously?
Let’s set aside, for a moment, Matthew’s apparent obsession over
who can get into heaven and whether or not we will be left out of the
procession to heaven because we didn’t bring enough oil.
Let’s ask, instead, what is it that ‘fuels’ our lives of faith
so that we may be the Light of Christ for others?
What is the power source that
increases our belief and provides us with the confidence to wait “in sure and
certain hope”, even in the darkest moments of our lives?
Indeed, what is it
that we must build up our own reserves and cannot borrow from others?
When I was a little kid, I used to love to drive with my father
in his Studebaker. On Saturday mornings, we would take the trash to the dump.
That was my absolute favorite time to drive with my Dad.
None of my siblings wanted to come along. They wanted to watch
dumb cartoons which – unless they were Looney Toons – just bored me. So, it was
just me and my dad, off to the dump, sure, but there were no interruptions and
no competition from my siblings for attention. Cartoons or time with my dad? No
contest.
Besides, I liked the ritual of it. First, we would stop off at
the gas station. The gas station attendant would come bounding out of the
station house.
He always wore a gray pinstriped jumpsuit with a freshly
laundered, white T-shirt underneath. On Sundays he wore a shirt and tie because
he had gone to early mass and slipped his jumpsuit over his church clothes. And, a hat. He always wore a hat. Which he tipped when he said hello or goodbye.
He always greeted my father by he formal name and my father
always returned the favor. Mr. Gilbert was his name, and he always looked at me, tipped his hat,
and ask, “How are you, Little Lady? Why, you get prettier every time I see
you.” I would blush and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gilbert.”
If there were special uniforms to be worn, there was also a
liturgy to be followed. A greeting, a welcome, a tip of the hat, and then the petition.
“Fill ‘er
up with high test,” my father would say.
“Sure thing,” Mr. Gilbert would
respond, right on cue as he turned to twist off the gas tank cover and insert
the nozzle.
Just like that, he’d return to the window and say, “Check your
oil?”
“Hmm… ,” daddy would always say, “I think she’s okay but you better
check.”
And then, my daddy would get out of the car and join Mr. Gilbert
as he lifted the hood and the two men would talk about the Boston Red Sox or
the Patriots or the boxing match the night before, or what was happening in
politics.
While they chatted, Mr. Gilbert would pull out the long dipstick and
then the two men would examine it, and then Mr. Gilbert would wipe it off and
put it in again and then pull it out with a flourish and then he and my father
would Really Examine it.
Most times, Mr. Gilbert would always pronounce it well by
saying, “Yup, you’re good for another week, Mr. Souza,” as he took the oil
cloth from his back pocket, wiped the dip stick, placed it back in the dipstick
holder, and then carefully closed the hood of the car.
The two men would chat some more before daddy took out his
wallet and fished out a couple dollars which Mr. Gilbert would take inside the
station.
He’d come out with change and . . . this was the BEST part, the part I
never told my siblings or even my mother . . . a Tootsie Roll pop.
Before my father could return to his seat, Mr. Gilbert would
always lean into the window and hand me my treat and say, “Here you go, Little
Lady. You win the prize for being the prettiest little girl at my gas station.”
I would smile and clap my hands and say, “Thank you, Mr.
Gilbert,” and even though it was only 9 o’clock in the morning, I opened it and
started eating it. And, my father didn’t stop me. My mother would have. Not my
father. It was my reward and our secret. Besides, I would have polished it off
by the time we got back home.
Now, I dare say that what I have just described no longer
happens at gas stations any more. I
would be thrilled to know that it did, but it certainly hasn’t been my
experience. No one knows your name. No one asks to check your oil. You’re lucky
if anyone washes your windows. In fact, here in Delaware, you have to pump your
own gas. And, if your oil needs checking, you can do that on your own as well.
I’m not sure how often my father changed his oil but it
seemed to me to be pretty often. It used to be normal to change the oil every 3,000 miles, but
with modern lubricants most engines today have recommended oil change intervals of 5,000 to 7,500 miles. Moreover, I’m
told that if your car's engine
requires full-synthetic motor oil,
it might go as far as 10-15,000 miles between services!
So, it’s pretty easy to fall out of the habit of checking
your oil – or being prepared, being ready – especially if you don’t have to
anymore. We can get complacent with our lives. Worst, we can become careless,
as in care less.
I have come to see that some of our cultural liturgies and
rituals served as guardrails on life’s journey. Most of them are gone now, and,
I think, our lives are the poorer for their absence.
It’s been eight months since many of us have been back in
our churches. Eight unbelievably long months. And, even those of us who have
been back into our church buildings find it not as satisfying and long for us
to “get back to normal” – and, we know exactly what we mean when we say
“normal”.
This might be a good time – especially as we face repairing
the breach in our country after one of the most contentious election cycles in
history and the country remains very much on edge – to check in on each other.
Yes, COVID has made that important but I’m not talking about just the status of
our physical condition.
Maybe we need to set up little rituals of relationship. If you
haven’t already, maybe that starts with actually introducing ourselves to our
neighbors. Maybe the next time we’re at the gas station, we introduce ourselves
to the attendant or, if we’re at a self-serve place, to talk to the attendant
in the little booth.
Or, try to go grocery shopping on the same day and talk to
the person behind the deli counter, the bakery, the meat or fish counter and
the checkout register. Ask for their names. Tell them your name. Say ‘please
and thank you’. Smile.
I'm told that it wasn't so long ago when people greeted each other with the question, "Is it well with your soul?" How lovely.
Relationships are fuel for our soul, they are the stuff that
make us shine with the love of God which seeks the Christ in every person and
respects the dignity of human being.
Forming relationships, respecting the dignity of every human being, are the ways we can heal the soul of this nation.
I don’t know and I can’t be sure, but I’m
thinking that setting up little social and cultural rituals and liturgies can
help us form those relationships – even in the midst of the COVID pandemic.
So, let’s not worry about who will get into heave and who
won’t, shall we? I keep thinking of that little Kirk in Glasgow. Instead of a
snarky sign about staying awake with wise virgins or sleeping with foolish ones,
what if it said, simply, “Check your oil?”
Amen.
