Matthew 25:1-13

[Jesus said,] “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five of them were wise. The foolish took no oil with their lamps, but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, they all became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom. Come out to meet him.’

“So the bridesmaids got up and began to trim their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ The wise replied, ‘No. There will not be enough for you and for us. You had better go to the dealers and buy some more for yourselves.’ And while they were out, the bridegroom came and those who were ready went with him into the banquet and the door was shut. Later, the others returned and, knocking on the door, cried, ‘Lord! Lord! Open to us!’ But the bridegroom replied, ‘Very truly I tell you, I do not know you.’

“Keep awake, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

The fun and faithful thing to do with any good parable is to imagine where we fit into the narrative of it all. In the one about the Prodigal Son, we’re supposed to wonder if we are the son who ran off with all of the father’s money, or the older sibling who stayed at home, followed the rules, and pouted about the father’s generosity. In another parable we’re supposed to wonder if we are the one sheep who got lost and separated from the fold, or if we’re part of the 99 who huddled safely with the rest of the flock. Are we the hardest working laborer in the vineyard or are we the ones who show up long after lunch and still get paid a full day’s wage? Are we the priest, the Levite, or the Good Samaritan in that story about the guy who gets beaten, abused and abandoned by robbers on the road to Jericho? You get the idea.

And this morning is no different, though it does seem a bit harder to distinguish where we should look to find ourselves here – or who’s who at all in this strange story. The more traditional and obvious interpretations of the parable of the ten bridesmaids invite us to wonder about whether we’d find ourselves in league with the wise or the foolish. Are we wise, faithful and prepared, with enough oil to keep our lamps lit and be on time for the wedding banquet? Or are we foolish procrastinators, running out of oil and running to the store for more oil, just in time to miss the party?

Isn’t that what it seems to be about at first glance? Like someone is suggesting we keep awake, be prepared, keep our lamps trimmed and burning; that we keep the faith, practice our piety, do all the right things; so that when the bridegroom comes – who is clearly Jesus in this scenario – we’ll be welcomed into the party.

But this traditional interpretation requires us to wonder if Jesus is a jerk – like the bridegroom seems to be in this story; like he’s some sort of bouncer at the bar, checking IDs and deciding who gets in and who is kept out of the pearly gates of paradise, rather than the loving, generous, merciful, forgiving, gracious host I’ve been told my whole life to expect to greet me when the time comes. It’s a nightmare to suggest Jesus would leave us locked outside the Kingdom’s door, saying “very truly” that he doesn’t even know who we are.

Because, think about it, Jesus promised, earlier in this same Gospel, “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.” So that can’t be the guy standing at the door this morning at the wedding; the guy who lets the first five, wise ones in, and pretends he doesn’t even know the other late, foolish bridesmaids who ran out of oil. Are you with me?

This can’t be the same Jesus who, just two chapters earlier in this same Gospel, warned the scribes and Pharisees, “…woe to you … hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. For you do not go in yourselves, and when others are going in, you stop them.” Why would Jesus chastise gatekeepers and door-lockers in one breath and then invite us to imagine him to be one of them in the next? I don’t think he would. And I don’t think that’s what he’s doing this morning.

In a blog I read this week, a pastor named Michael Krey confirmed something I’ve preached before about this parable – that it’s fair and faithful to see the bridegroom at the door in this parable, not as Jesus at all, but as Peter – as Cephas – the rock on whom the Church is built. And he made it seem more obvious and concrete than I have ever thought before.

Remember that story about Peter? In this same Gospel, Matthew, Chapter 16, after Peter declares, with great faith, that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the living God, Jesus says that he’s right, and that, because of his faith, his name going forward would be Cephas, which means “Rock,” and upon that rock, he would build God’s Church; that he would give him the proverbial keys to the front door… I mean the keys to the wedding banquet… I mean the keys to the Kingdom… along with the power to bind and loose sins, and ostensibly, then, to choose who’s in and who’s out; who’s wise and who’s foolish; who wins and who loses; and so on and so on.

And if all of that’s true… if Peter is the one working the door and if Peter represents the Church… and if we are the Church – you and I… THAT’S where we find ourselves in this parable in the end. And THAT leaves us to wonder some pretty big stuff – not about how wise and foolish we are, like so many bridesmaids. But, we’re left to wonder, instead, how we manage the blessings of the Kingdom we’re called to share.

Who are we keeping out and who are we welcoming in? Are we a place that plays host only to the wise and the well-healed; those who have all the oil, if you will; all the resources; those who refuse to share with those the world would call foolish? Are we throwing a party for the wise bridesmaids who don’t have time or space or grace or mercy for the less fortunate; the less privileged; the late… or less desirable… or lazy… or whatever else the world encourages us to call those we don’t deem to be worthy of God’s fullness?

If you prayed over the course of this weekend’s 36 Hour Prayer Vigil, or if you paid attention to the materials we shared regarding this morning’s Commitment Sunday, or if you’ve just been around here for a while, I hope you have received the message that we are trying to share our oil and the light of our proverbial lamps with the world around us in as many ways as we can manage.

Remember, we’ve transformed our Building Fund into a Building and Outreach Fund, since we paid off our mortgage over a year ago. And that means we have plans to be prepared and ready, like so many wise bridesmaids, by saving some of our money for future expansion, and by saving for maintenance and repair needs, as they come. It also means we’re committed to giving 50% of those offerings away, outside of ourselves, to the tune of about $80,000 this year alone.

For me, that’s our way of saying, this isn’t all or only about “us,” by any stretch; that we’re always working to make room for more. That we’re always being called to give outside of ourselves. And that we’re forever being challenged to open our doors and our hands and our hearts to whoever comes knocking, looking for the banquet of grace we enjoy in this place, on behalf of the world.

Which brings me back to Peter, and the challenging invitation it is to see ourselves, in him, as God’s church in the world, manning the door to the Kingdom among us. See, the other evidence and justification we have for imagining that bridegroom to be Peter, is the last, awful thing he says to the bridesmaids he keeps locked outside of the wedding banquet. Do you remember what he said? “Very truly I tell you, I do not know you.”

Peter did that one other time, remember. Or three other times, actually, when he denied Jesus just before the crucifixion. “I don’t know the man,” he declared when he was accused of being one of Jesus’ disciples. The denial of the bridesmaids in the parable this morning is a foreshadowing of Peter’s denial of Jesus, himself. And it’s a warning for us, just that same, that that is not who or how we’re called to be as God’s Church in the world.

So may this parable be an invitation, not just to be wise instead of foolish and prepared at every turn; not just to store up and share our oil in faithful, responsible ways; not just to wait patiently and with hope for the coming of God’s Kingdom and, indeed, to recognize it in our midst.

But may this parable be another invitation to look for Jesus, himself … in the outcast among us … knocking at the door when we least expect it. And may it be encouragement to do our best to be prepared, with resources and with grace, with hospitality and with hope, to welcome him in to the feast that is his in the first place … and that is ours to share … always, for the sake of the world … until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream for all of God’s children, just as it has been promised to you and to me.

Amen

John 8:31-36

Then Jesus said, to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word you are truly my disciples and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” They said to him, “We are descendants of Abraham, and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘you will be made free?’”

Jesus answered them, “Very truly I tell you, anyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave has no permanent place in the household; the Son has a place there forever. So, if the Son makes you free, you will be free, indeed.”

We can’t deny that it’s hard to be human these days, right? I can make lemonade out of lemons with the best of them, but life on the planet – and in our little neck of the woods, even – is daunting, more often than not, it seems to me. Maybe that’s nothing new under the sun. Maybe I watch too much 24-hour news. I don’t know. But with Reformation on the horizon – the perennial message for which, in my opinion, is simply “grace upon grace upon grace upon grace.” So I’ve been keeping my eyes open for examples of grace lately that stand up, over and against, the hard stuff, and the ways of the world, that seem to win too much of the time.

A few weeks ago, Pastor Cogan had someone, out there in the world, question the fact that we give Needler’s grocery store gift cards to our food pantry clients. That’s not exactly something new under the sun, either. It’s happened before. People know – and have noticed – that sometimes our food pantry clients by pop or cookies or beer with the gift cards we give them, along with the other food we share. They wonder if that’s a good idea… if we should police that somehow… if it’s a waste to give gift cards to people if they’re going to buy anything other than fruits and vegetables, meat, cheese, or milk, I guess … if we should stop the practice of gift cards altogether.

I think it’s an expression of grace … a small act of generosity with no strings attached. Sometimes a person wants pop, or a cookie, or a beer … and the gift of dignity to make that decision is good news and grace, plain and simple, especially when someone suggests they aren’t worthy of it. Grace, upon grace, upon grace.

Last week I had a mother of three call for help with a few nights’ stay at the an extended stay hotel in Greenwood. At least one of her three kids was sick, she had just gotten a new job, but her first paycheck hadn’t come yet. She couldn’t move into her new apartment until the first of the month. She claimed to have called “every church in Greenwood.” And so on and so on…

I’ve heard all of that before. Whether she had actually called EVERY church in Greenwood, I don’t know, but she had surely given the same spiel to enough people that it rolled off her tongue with as much ease and detail as there was apology and desperation in her voice. There are times when I don’t oblige. And I could have been a sucker on Thursday, but I believed her and was able to get her and those kids a couple more nights of safety and sleep thanks to the gracious abundance of our Pastors’ Discretionary fund. Grace, upon grace, upon grace.

And, I heard an interview with the father of one of the victims shot and killed at that bar in Maine, on Wednesday. Through tears and choking on his words, he expressed an unfathomable amount of compassion and understanding for the stranger who killed his child, so violently and thoughtlessly, just days before.

This father said, he believed that, if the shooter had been in his right mind, he would have been a loving person, but that something went wrong. He was sure this man wasn’t born to be a killer and that he was sorry for whatever happened to make him that way. And, even though he had killed his son, he couldn’t hate him for that. He said he believed in the Lord and that he believed the Lord would prevail in the end. Grace, upon grace, upon grace, upon grace.

And because of this man’s words of compassion and understanding and mercy, it seems to me, that the Lord – and the grace of God we’re here to celebrate today – has already won, as hard as that can be to see sometimes. And not just as some high-minded theological concept, or cosmically, somehow, at the end of time, as our faith promises us: that God’s love is greater than this sort of hate; that life wins over death; that light shines in the darkness, and all the rest.

But I mean, that man reminded me that the Lord has won – and wins – here and now, all of the time if we allow it. Whenever someone can muster some measure of grace and kindness and humble compassion in the face of the horrible, ugly, terrifying sinfulness that seems to surround us, God wins. When a person can choose mercy and hope in the throes of such grief, God’s way has won. When a man can choose patience and understanding and empathy instead of all justification for judgement, vengeance and rage, God’s kind of grace and good news has – absolutely – won.

See, we can theologize all we want on Reformation Sunday. We can sing the praises of Martin Luther’s life and work and ministry… about the changes his theological insights meant for God’s church in the world … stuff like grace alone, faith alone, Word alone, the priesthood of all believers, and all the rest.

But, in all of that, Luther was pointing us, plainly and simply toward Jesus and to the kind of grace and good news his life, death and resurrection experienced, expressed and extolled for all people.

I also heard an interview with Jeffrey Myers, the Rabbi and Cantor from the Tree of Life Synagogue, in Pennsylvania, which was the site of that hate-filled, horrible shooting and massacre, where 11 people were killed five years ago, this Friday. He was sharing his perspective about the persistence of anti-Semitism in our country in light of the war between Israel and Hamas, overseas. He was talking about how there are still members of his congregation who haven’t been able to return to worship or feel safe in the world, generally, because of the fear and trauma they suffered that day, and because of the continued attacks and threats against the Jewish community in our country still.

When asked something about if, when, or how this might change, or if he had any hope for that change to come, Rabbi Myers said something about his hope that what he called the “silent majority” would become a “vocal majority” and start speaking up and speaking out and speaking more loudly than the voices of hate and discrimination and fear that dominate too much of our public life and discourse.

And that’s my reformation hope this time around. That something will change and be stirred up in Christians like us and in congregations like ours, who claim – like Jesus did – that God’s grace is the way to freedom; that to be loved by the Son – as he says this morning – is to be made free in spite of ourselves and in spite of our sins.

I think we are called, as people of God in this broken, hurting, sad and scary world, to lay claim to the gift of God’s grace – with no strings attached – and to be the vocal majority, Rabbi Myers is hoping for: to proclaim and practice this grace and good news in ways that are extravagant, surprising, and foolish, even, by the standards and expectations of the world around us.

I think we are called to be as aggressively gracious with the kind of mercy, forgiveness and love, we proclaim and long for, as those who proclaim, long for, and practice the opposite. And I think when we have the faith, courage, generosity and hope to put that kind of grace into action, God wins, here and now … and so will we and the rest of God’s children, just the same.

Amen

Bouncers and Bridesmaids

Grace, Upon Grace, Upon Grace