Sermon for the Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost, November 12, 2023
Amos 5:18-24+Psalm 70+1 Thessalonians 4:13-18+Matthew 25:1-13
Given the number of times that I dive into word studies on the original Greek and Hebrew words found in our readings, it probably won't surprise you that I subscribe to a daily e-mail called A Word-a-Day. There is just something about language that I find fascinating. In this daily e-mail, there is a word definition and used in sentences, and then there is a quote included at the end by some renowned person who was born on the day the e-mail arrives in my inbox. These quotes often make their way onto my social media accounts if they are especially apropos of what's happening in the world. And that is why, on Tuesday of this week, I shared this one by the French-Algerian philosopher and author, Albert Camus:
Don't wait for the Last Judgment. It takes place every day.[1]
So many people of faith are looking toward being right with God at the end of time that they lose sight of being right with God now, of doing those things that demonstrate faithful living now. News from around the world is dire, yet we detach ourselves from our fellow humans who are in need and who are suffering. The problem is too big. I don’t have time. Someone else will do it. I work hard every day and just don't have the energy. And the daily litany of tragedies continues.
A few weeks ago, we heard a story in Matthew about another wedding, this time a banquet, and all the respectable types came up with excuses why they couldn't come, so the king invites all the outcasts and rough-dwellers who show up en masse except for the one guy who forgot to wear the proper garment. As we read these parables toward the end of Matthew, known as the Parables of Judgment, we can't simply take them to mean we are to be alert for the end times. No, we are to do those things that make us ready for them, like putting on a required garment or acquiring sufficient oil for a lamp.
Of course, in Matthew's time, the judgment to come was the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the temple, not the end of the world. Similarly, in the time of Amos, his prophetic words were not about some far-off event but about the impending Assyrian invasion of the northern kingdom of Israel. He challenges the people to question why they want the day of the Lord to come when that day is not going to be pleasant for them because, as he says earlier in the chapter we just read from
you trample on the poor
and take from them levies of grain,
you have built houses of hewn stone,
but you shall not live in them;
you have planted pleasant vineyards,
but you shall not drink their wine.
For I know how many are your transgressions,
and how great are your sins—
you who afflict the righteous, who take a bribe,
and push aside the needy in the gate. (Amos 5:11-12)
With God, it's always about how one takes care of those who are hungry and destitute and oppressed. That justice that is to "roll down like waters" is not for the privileged and comfortable. No, we are the ones who are supposed to seek justice and righteousness for all God's beloved.
So, the issue with the women who didn't bring enough oil is not that everyone fell asleep and wasn't keeping watch for the bridegroom, it was that they had not done what they needed to do to be ready. Time and again, Jesus says that we don't know the day or the hour that the Messiah will return, but that doesn't mean that we build a bomb shelter and fill it with canned goods and make sure we have enough gas for a generator to see us through to the end. That's what is meant by building bigger barns to store what we believe to be ours, stuff that we earned, that no one else has a right to because we worked so hard for it.
Jesus says just the opposite. Give it all away. Those who are last will be first. Sell everything and you will have treasure in heaven. The key seems to be that we don't do these things, we don't prepare ourselves, in order to save ourselves. Jesus seems to be suggesting that we not think too much about ourselves at all. In a couple of weeks on the day we call Christ the King, the last Sunday in the Church calendar year, we will hear the story of the great judgment, the separation of the sheep from the goats, and both of them will claim to have no knowledge of when they did or did not feed or clothe or visit in prison the one Jesus says was himself. I think Albert Camus must have been at least been familiar with this great judgement scene, because he is right, that judgment happens every day when we, knowingly or unknowingly, take care of God's beloved or fail to do so.
When the world is on fire - Gaza, Ukraine, gun violence, the gaping divide between the haves and the have nots - to have oil for our lamps is to take care of those around us who need our help. For some of us, that is having conversations with residents of The Lighthouse so that they can practice speaking English. For others, it is preparing and serving a meal at the Hoboken Shelter. For others, it is taking part in the ministries of this parish in order to strengthen this community to serve the world. And one tangible way we do that is by offering financial support to this place, which we are all invited to do in this annual giving season.
At the end of the parable today, the bridesmaids beg to be let into the banquet, and Jesus tells them he does not know them. If Jesus walked through these doors today, would he know us?
[1] https://wordsmith.org/words/today.html