The most obvious thing about the parable of the wise and foolish virgins is that it’s all about the virgins. This point is underscored by its conclusion, in which Jesus instructs his followers to “keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” The moral of the story is, of course, that we should be like the wise virgins: expectant, ready, and alert when we need to be, for the coming of the kingdom of heaven.
Interestingly, the parable does not hinge on the virgins’ ability to actually stay awake all night. There is no product placement opportunity here for Red Bull or Five Hour Energy drink, or even coffee. All ten of the virgins grow drowsy and sleep, and this is not what distinguishes the wise from the foolish. No, it’s the forethought of having brought oil for their lamps, of having anticipated that it would grow dark, and that they might be called on in the middle of the night: that is the expression of the wisdom of five of the virgins. All fine and well: the appropriate product placement, then, would be the Scouts, whose motto enjoins both boys and girls these days to “be prepared.”
As a manual for overnight scouting trips, the parable is perhaps effective, but as such it is profoundly un-interesting, and provides me with little fodder for proclaiming anything that sounds like good news, although preparedness is undoubtedly the central point of the parable. Nor does the parable provide a convincing argument for the virtue of chastity and the sanctity of virginity. Let’s just get that out of the way.
It is easy to forget that Jesus told this parable as part of a larger teaching, and as the first in a pair of parables in answer to a question. That question, St. Matthew tells us, was asked of Jesus by the disciples “in private” on the Mount of Olives, probably because it was an uncomfortable question. Jesus had just foretold the destruction of the Temple: the very dwelling place of God’s spirit and presence. “Not one stone will be left here upon another,” he said, “all will be thrown down.” We can imagine that this teaching was both upsetting and provocative, and could have aroused both great worry and great hope in his disciples. It meant that Jesus was up to something big, much bigger than just gathering a group of followers to learn his teachings and live as he instructed. It meant that Jesus was up to something cosmic, because the Temple was, in a sense, the center of the cosmos for faithful Jews. So if Jesus was predicting its destruction, then something big was afoot! He had their interest!
“‘Tell us,” they ask him, “when this will be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?’”
What will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age? This is a question that seldom excites or even interests us these days. But Jesus spent a long time responding to it, including not only the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, but also the parable of the talents that we’ll hear about next week, as well as his instruction about the so-called “judgement of the nations” when the king separates the righteous from the unrighteous, like separating sheep from goats to determine who will inherit the kingdom.
Oftentimes, we preachers isolate these texts from their context because it better suits our purposes. For instance, I am already formulating in my mind a way to convince you that next week’s parable of the talents carries with it all the urgency of the parish’s budget for 2021, and the need of all Christians to give generously to support the work of the gospel. Indeed, the parable of the talents does insist that we account for ourselves in the here and now, as I will urge you next week to consider; just as we will also be urged the week after that to remember Christ’s teaching that we should care for the hungry and thirsty, the stranger, the needy, the sick, and the imprisoned whose needs we can and should meet in the here and now.
But this entire section of Matthew’s gospel is concerned with the larger matter of Christ’s second coming and the end of the age. And these are not comfortable areas of discussion for most Episcopalians, or even most Christians these days.
Part of the reason we are uncomfortable about this discussion is that we are not truly convinced that Jesus is up to something big. We are parochial in our outlook, and we seldom think anymore about what Jesus might be up to beyond Locust Street or outside our own homes. And a key issue for us, in seeing Jesus this way; a central dynamic of the way we shape our faith so parochially and so domestically, and why we have such diminished expectations for the work of Jesus in the world, or in the entire cosmos, is to be found within the parable of the wise and foolish virgins. It’s an essential part of the teaching of the parable, even if it’s not what the parable is about. Four words in this parable have effected our faith profoundly, and have shaped our expectations of God’s work in our lives and in the world. These are the four words: “the bridegroom was delayed.”
Other translations put it this way:
“The bridegroom was a long time coming.”
“The bridegroom tarried.”
“The groom was late arriving.”
“The bridegroom was gone a long time.”
“The groom was late.”
Don’t we know it!
Unfortunately, this phrase is not a question, so it will not find a place in my book on great questions of the Bible. But the implications of the lateness of the bridegroom have affected every aspect of our faith, and of the life of the church. Because after a while, you lose track of what you were waiting for; you might even forget that you are waiting for anything at all.
The bridegroom was delayed. And have we been standing at the altar all this time wondering if we have been stood up? You make decisions differently, don’t you, if you have been jilted, and left at the altar. But remember, we are not the bride in this parable, we are only, ever, and always the bridesmaids.
Most depictions in art that I can recall, of the parable of the wise and foolish virgins, omit any representation of the bridegroom. Most artists sensibly see that it strengthens the imagery of the story to leave him out of the picture, since the gist of the parable is that the virgins have to wait, we know not how long. But the narrative of the parable does include the announcement and arrival of the bridegroom at midnight, who takes the wise virgins with him to enter into the wedding feast.
I know of an Anglican cathedral in Ireland, in County Cork - a nineteenth century, Gothic revival building dedicated to a local saint, which features statues of the wise and foolish virgins - five each on either side of the west doors, in proper, draped Gothic style. In between the two great doors that are the entrance to the cathedral there is a central statue of Christ, the bridegroom. He is wearing several layers of ecclesiastical looking wedding garments, with tassels. His hair is wavy, and seems to be plaited with a crown of roses. I think he is barefoot. His left hand is held up in a sign of blessing. And in his right hand, he is holding a flower, that I take to be a rose.
The rose, if you ask me, is a gorgeous gesture. Of course, you might think that it is a peace offering for the bride, left standing so long at the altar that her own bouquet had long ago turned brown and died. But the bride is nowhere to be seen in this parable or in this imagery. And so, it would seem that the bridegroom - at least this one standing in stone in Ireland - has brought a flower for us, the bridesmaids, who have waited so long while he tarried. It’s a gesture of his love, and his faithfulness, and his assurance that we were with him in his heart even while he was away.
What will be the sign of his coming and of the end of the age? Traditionally, the church answers this question (as Jesus did sometimes, too) with descriptions of disaster, warfare, and calamity: that’s how we’ll know that the kingdom is dawning. Those descriptions, I suspect, only contribute to the tendency of modern Christians to approach any discussion of the end times with caution and suspicion. Fair enough. But there is an important reason to remember that Christ promised that he would come again, and the reason is that his work is not finished, and his kingdom has not yet been established.
When I look around the world these days, I think it’s a good thing to remember that Christ has more work to do, because it sure looks to me like we need it.
Of course, in this parable we are being urged to be watchful and wise. But more to the point, we are being reassured that the bridegroom will come. You might even say, that we are being urged to learn that it’s not all about the bridesmaids - it’s not actually all about us, though we tend to like anything that is. In the end, it’s actually all about the bridegroom.
“At midnight there was a shout!” All the bridesmaids were asleep, but some of them were ready anyway. “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!” (Or in the locution of the older translations, “Go ye out to meet him!”)
Recent events in this city and this nation can make it seem as though it really is all about us and what’s happening just now in the moment.
But the parable of the wise and foolish virgins reminds us not only to stay awake, to be watchful and vigilant. It reminds us, that the reason to have our lamps ready is because it’s not actually all about us: it’s all about the bridegroom. He is coming. He will come. And he is up to something bigger than we can possibly expect. He is bringing the kingdom of heaven with him. We should be ready to meet him.
And perhaps, he’ll be carrying a rose.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
8 November 2020
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia
The west doors at St Fin Barre’s Cathedral, Cork, Ireland