Today's Gospel lesson is another parable.
Ten attendants are waiting to meet the bridal party.
They have their lamps.
They know what they are supposed to do.
They are ready to welcome the bridal party.
But five are prepared, and five are not.
When the bridal party is delayed, everyone gets tired and falls asleep.
And when the announcement that the bridal party is arriving finally comes, the difference between the wise and the foolish becomes apparent.
The five foolish attendants have run out of oil.
They ask the others to share, but the wise attendants refuse.
The foolish ones leave to buy more oil, and while they are gone, the bridal party arrives.
The door closes.
They are left outside.
And then comes the line that seems to hang over the entire story: "So stay awake, for you don’t know the day or the hour."
It is tempting to simplify the story as being prepared for Jesus' return.
Making sure you have enough proverbial oil.
Making sure your spiritual batteries are charged.
Making sure you’re awake when Jesus comes.
But, as we have said many times before, parables are not simply morality tales with an obvious lesson.
They are stories designed to challenge us, unsettle us, and make us look at the world differently.
So perhaps we need to ask some harder questions.
Why is the bridal party delayed?
Why won't the wise attendants share their oil?
What does it mean that all ten fall asleep?
And what meaning are we supposed to discern from a wedding celebration where some people are shut out?
These questions are meant to unsettle.
Because Jesus is not telling a story about a world in which everything goes according to plan.
He is telling a story about waiting, uncertainty, disappointment, and the consequences of being unprepared.
And perhaps that is how this parable applies to our own lives and our own time.
We are living in a time when many people are waiting.
Waiting for food.
Waiting for housing.
Waiting for healthcare.
Waiting for a society where immigrants are welcomed rather than demonized, detained, and deported.
Waiting for a time when LGBTQ+ folks are affirmed rather than having their right to live and love questioned.
Waiting for the conditions where people of every race, gender, sexuality, nationality, and economic class are treated as the beloved children of God who they are.
We are waiting for Kin-dom—the world that God has promised us.
And that waiting can be exhausting.
It would be easy to be discouraged because the second coming of Jesus hasn’t happened yet.
We wonder whether our efforts matter.
The election results of last Tuesday should tell you our efforts do matter.
Even though we get tired, it matters that we speak up.
Even though we get tired, it matters that we stand up for the marginalized and the oppressed.
Even though we get tired, it matters that we’re consistent in our message that another world is possible.
Because last Tuesday, the country rejected fear and cruelty and corruption.
The parable tells us that delays do not mean the promise has disappeared.
Jesus is coming.
The question is not just whether we believe that.
The question is also what we are doing while we wait.
In today’s first lesson, the prophet Amos had a similar message.
The faithful have their feasts and their solemn assemblies.
But he challenges their righteousness.
They assume that the Day of YHWH will be good for them and bad for everyone else.
They imagine that, because they are God's people, they have nothing to fear.
But Amos reminds them, “You who wish for the Day of YHWH to come—why do you want it? What will the Day of YHWH mean to you? It will be a day of darkness, not light! It will be like running from a lion only to meet a bear, or like getting home safe at last, only to get bitten by a snake hiding in the corner!”
In other words, God’s people shouldn’t be overly confident that God's judgment will work out in their favor.
Because we cannot assume that the coming of the Kin-dom will be good for us while we participate in injustice.
We dare not sing about God's love while we ignore the suffering of our neighbors.
We dare not celebrate God's blessings while we exploit the poor and the undocumented.
We cannot expect God to be impressed by our worship when our lives reveal that we have forgotten God's priorities.
Amos says, "Let justice flow like a river, and righteousness flow like an unfailing stream."
He doesn’t say that God wants better hymns.
He doesn’t say that God wants longer prayers or more elaborate rituals.
He doesn’t say that God wants us to build bigger churches.
He says God wants justice.
Not occasionally.
Not when it is convenient.
Not when it costs us nothing.
Justice like a river that never stops flowing.
Amos reminds us that worship and justice cannot be separated.
The magnitude of our faith is not measured by what happens inside these walls.
It is measured by what happens when we go outside them.
Which brings us back to the parable.
What does it mean to keep our lamps burning?
There’s a clue in John's gospel.
In it, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me won’t walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”
I believe one way to hear the parable is to think that keeping our lamps burning is to keep the light of Jesus shining brightly within us.
That light dispels darkness.
It exposes how we have rejected humility in favor of power.
It exposes how we have rejected compassion in favor of fear.
It exposes how we have rejected Jesus’ radical hospitality in favor of exclusion.
But Jesus’ light does more than just dispel darkness.
It also invites us to another way of living.
Jesus' light reveals the image of God in people we might be inclined to ignore.
It shines on the hungry, the poor, the sick, the stranger, and the prisoner.
Keeping our lamps burning is not simply about maintaining our personal spirituality while waiting for Jesus to return.
It is about living in such a way that his light is visible in the world.
It is about feeding people who are hungry.
It is about welcoming people who are strangers.
It is about visiting those who are imprisoned.
It is about standing with the oppressed and the marginalized.
It’s about refusing to accept a world in which some lives are more valuable, and some people are more worthy.
It is about making sure that our faith is not only a declaration but also a practice.
Our lamps don’t burn due to our own good works.
Our lamps burn because we received the light as a gift.
We receive the light by God's grace, and we are called to reflect that light into the world.
Our Lutheran faith tells us that we are saved by grace.
But grace does not leave us unchanged.
Grace transforms us.
Our faith results in acts of love.
We are freed from the burden of proving our worth so that we can devote ourselves to loving our neighbors.
Our works cannot buy the light.
They are the evidence that the light has taken hold of us—that it burns within us.
The light of the world is not something we hoard.
It is something we share.
Unlike the oil in the parable, Jesus’ light is not diminished when it is shared.
It burns brighter.
Think about what happens when a community chooses to live this way.
When one person stands up against racism, another finds the courage to speak.
When one person welcomes an immigrant family, another discovers that the stranger has become a friend.
When one person affirms an LGBTQ+ neighbor, another begins to understand that God's love has always been greater than our boundaries.
When one person refuses to give in to hatred, another discovers that hope is still possible.
This is what it means to be the church.
It’s not a gathering of people who have everything figured out.
It’s not a community that never gets tired or never makes mistakes.
Remember, all ten attendants fell asleep.
We are all human.
We get tired.
We forget what really matters.
Sometimes, we are blind to the opportunities God places before us.
But Jesus’ light continues to shine.
So perhaps the most important question for us today is not whether we have enough oil.
It is whether we are willing to let the Jesus’ light shine through us.
Are we willing to let that light expose the injustice we have ignored?
Are we willing to let it challenge our assumptions and our prejudices?
Are we willing to let it lead us beyond the comfortable boundaries of our own communities?
Are we willing to be a church where strangers finds welcome, where the marginalized find dignity, and where the brokenhearted find hope?
Amos reminds us that God is not looking for empty religious performance.
God desires justice that flows like a river and righteousness that flows like an unfailing stream.
The darkness may sometimes seem overwhelming.
The work may sometimes feel exhausting.
We all know that feeling of being overwhelmed—that feeling of utter exhaustion.
But the promise is absolute.
Jesus is coming.
In fact, he is already here.
He is the light that no darkness can overcome.
So let’s keep our lamps burning.
Let’s keep showing up.
Let’s keep welcoming.
Let’s keep loving.
Let’s keep working for a world in which justice flows like a river and righteousness flows like an unfailing stream.
If we do those things, the world will never need to ask where the light is.
Because it will always be shining brightly within us.
May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.