When my kids were little I used to carry bandaids in my wallet. I felt prepared for almost every parenting emergency, because bandaids heal basically every childhood hurt. We all know that, right? It seemed so easy then. But then we grow up, and wonder: will there be a bandaid—or its comforting equivalent—when we need it? Will there be one for our children and grandchildren?
The other day our creative stewardship team—those are the people inviting you to make generous commitments to Trinity for the coming year—they were meeting in my office. And one of them mentioned that she had a small blister on her heel and could use a bandaid. I don’t carry bandaids around anymore, but the team swung into action. Shane Patrick quickly found the office first aid kit, but by then Pat Hubbard had already pulled out one of her purse. If there were a prize for being prepared for small emergencies, Trinity would have won the day. So by the standards of today’s Gospel—in which wisdom seems to be equated being prepared with extra supplies on hand—we were doing well.
Now let me offer for context that the person with the blister was Debbie Richardson. Not all of you know her, because she’s a recent San Jose transplant from Atlanta, where her elderly parents still live. We’ve been praying for them for a while, and Debbie recently returned to Georgia to help with her mother’s care. But her husband Greg is the CFO of VTA, and when they are in San Jose they are really committed to sustainable mass transit. They walk everywhere, hence the need for bandaids, and—when it’s too far to walk—they take public transportation.
Because of how they get around, Debbie and Greg know that things will take a while. They know to rely on someone else’s schedule to get places by the light rail or bus, or walk with patience. So it’s important that we have a community to provide a bandaid when needed, just like it’s important for us to have water for a long hike, or a clipper card to get on the train, or enough oil in our lamps if we happen to be a bridesmaid in one of Jesus’ parables.
Jesus tells us to keep awake, for we know neither the day nor the hour. Of God’s coming with power and glory to redeem our hurting world, which is typically what the wedding metaphor means in the Christian scriptures. But there’s actually more than constant vigilance being taught in this parable. Notice that all ten virgins became drowsy and slept when the bridegroom’s arrival was delayed, and all awoke at the announcement of his arrival. So readiness for the wedding is not simply a question of remaining continually awake and alert. That’s equally true of the many other things we might busy ourselves with for God’s sake. The God of Sabbath does not call us to exhaustion.
Was the problem, then, of the foolish bridesmaids one of becoming impatient with a long wait, or not being excited enough about the bridegrooms arrival? Surely not the latter, because all of the bridesmaids awakened to the good news and trimmed their lamps in anticipation of the celebration. Neither the character nor the faith of anyone seems to be questioned either: even the foolish bridesmaids clearly recognized the bridegroom when they pleaded “Lord, lord, open to us.” So the parable doesn’t seem to be about who prays the right words or gets their testimony right.
All ten bridesmaids did bring lamps with oil, so it’s not like anybody was completely unprepared. Now I kinda wanted the wise ones to share their oil, which is a good instinct for Christian people. In general that’s what our scriptures teach, when—for example—Jesus demonstrated God’s generosity in the feeding of the 5000. Or when the early Christian community in Acts shared everything that they had in common. That’s what happened when Debbie needed a bandaid last week, and what Alan Fong’s team does when he cooks for the family shelter, or when we offer gift cards to our hungry neighbors, or open our space to Hillbook School or Octavia’s Kitchen. We’re supposed to share things when our neighbors have needs.
To further complicate the question of interpretation, it would actually have been the wedding host’s job to provide for the guests, as we learned from the parable few weeks ago when a guest showed up without the proper robe. So it seems to me that the significant difference between the wise and foolish bridesmaids is only this: the wise ones brought extra oil because they were prepared for—and maybe even expecting—to have to wait a long time. Like we might have to when we’re waiting for a bus or a train, or for a friend arriving at the airport. Or even wait for our church to fill up again.
Some long waits are unavoidable, and we’ll miss an important journey or a long-awaited arrival if we distract ourselves by doing something else in the meantime. Kind of like the foolish bridesmaids who ran off in search of extra lamp oil at the twenty four seven convenience store. While they were away, the bridegroom arrived, the doors were shut, and five bridesmaids missed the opportunity to celebrate what all ten had been waiting for.
I invite you to stay focused, friends. That doesn’t mean be awake all the time, but do be alert to who is here, and who might have gotten lost on the way to searching for oil, or friendship, or connection with God. Our upcoming 160th anniversary Evensong is a great time to invite new friends or invite back those whom we’ve missed. Our doors are wide open for both the mighty and the meek, and nobody has to be left out of this party. Stay connected to a community that shares bandaids and food and welcome for all. That’s the real wisdom: none of us can be prepared for everything, but all can be part of a community that patiently awaits the presence of our God: already here, and always coming anew.
If you were here last week, you got a foretaste of the something like the wedding feast. First of all, Graciela and her faithful team cooked a great meal. But we also had a pretty full church: so many people that we actually ran out of bulletins. So guess what: we did the wise and foolish bridesmaids one better and we shared, and then there were enough bulletins for everyone. We have the capacity to do that: to provide enough for those in need, and also to host a feast fit for a king. We are a bandaid, and we are a burning lamp, shining with love.
And, as our stewardship team has been reminding us, we are rooted in abundance. Recently it’s been something of a season of drought for churches everywhere, but we have 160 years of roots to grow from. Let’s not allow ourselves to get distracted when the attendance is low and some people wander off in search of something else on Sunday morning. Instead, let’s grow this, as Ned Nix said in his stewardship testimony!
What is the lamp oil that we need while we await the new church that is being birthed, right here and now? Is it encouragement of one another? Is it the time we give to needed and new ministries at Trinity? Or is it the talent of people like Arturo and Joaquin who volunteered to renovate our office bathroom, or is it the treasure you share when you pledge to Trinity’s ministries in the coming year? Yes, yes and yes.
Or is the practice of readiness expressed in our patience and our Christian hope? Last Sunday we lit three baptismal candles for new members of the body of Christ. That required literal lamp oil, and there was plenty enough on hand. But the oil was there because of the time, talent and treasure of those who waited upon the Lord in years past, and left a legacy that allows us continue ministering here in lean times, and in times of celebration, while we trust in the coming of the Lord. Who is always opening the doors to the feast, right here and right now.
