The audio of today’s sermon did not get recorded, however, you can still read today’s sermon.
I want to begin this morning by taking a moment to brag on your deputation to Diocesan Convention. The folks from Christ Church were among the most diligent in the whole diocese. If it was on the schedule, they were there. They put up with a Rector who had never been through a Convention in Kentucky before and so didn’t have special plans for cocktails or a fancy dinner in the hoity toity Crescent Hill neighborhood. They were thoughtful, discussed things well among themselves, and are engaged in the work of the Diocese. You should be proud of Deacon Kellie, Sharon Valk, Billy Adams, Belinda Palmer, Jan Funk, and Hamp Moore. You can even be proud of our Parish Administrator, Heath Harper, who used his continuing education time to attend the Convention. Your Rector, on the other hand, well, I really was on my best behavior, except I do have the unfortunate tendency to get hangry. For those who maybe don’t know what hangry means, it is a combination of hungry and angry, and is what happens when a lack of food makes you grumpy. I am most prone to becoming hangry when I make bad choices, like I did yesterday morning.
After a rough night’s sleep, breakfast felt like it came very early. Even so, I made good decisions. I ate a bagel, some fruit, and had a decent cup of coffee. Noonday Prayers and the lunch break, though close to five hours away, seemed easily doable. As a group, we attended the hearing on the budget, which ended 20 minutes early, thanks be to God, and we prepared for the morning business session. As everyone got ready, two different groups of people came by each table and dropped off candy. Yesterday, the tempter looked like the Rector of Grace Church, Paducah and a nice woman in a red apron with handfuls of Fun Size candies and Hershey Miniatures. It didn’t take long before I unwrapped my first Krackle bar. Having grown up 40 minutes from Hershey, Pennsylvania, those miniatures are a real weakness for me. Naturally, I quickly opened another. Later, I ate a Milky Way and a two-pack of Starbursts: pink and orange. Boy were they good. As the morning wore on, however, the sugar rush that followed those several small pieces of candy wore off, and by the time 11:30 came around, I was crashing back to earth and in desperate need of some lunch.
The poor soul who unwittingly, and thankfully, unknowingly caught the full brunt of my hanger was the good man who re-presented the budget to us for adoption. He was doing a decent job, taking the 40 minute presentation he had given at 8am and turning it into a 20 minute rehearsal of the 2018 budget, but because I had heard it all before and, more so, because of the negative effects of a sugar crash, I spent most of those twenty-one minutes vacillating between checking my watch and rolling my eyes. As he finished, at 12:01, I calculated that with 99 deputies in attendance, we had spent close to 35 man-hours listening to a report we were all supposed to have heard three hours earlier. “How long, O Lord, how long!?! How long must I wait for lunch?”
Yesterday, I was a foolish bridesmaid. I had failed to prepare for what I should have known to be inevitable. Diocesan Conventions always run behind. There are always redundant reports. There are never not silly questions. But I had no extra oil for my lamp, and so, in that moment, I found myself outside of the joy of the bridegroom, looking for a way in. Like the foolish bridesmaids, I was frustrated, more by my own lack of preparation than by the inevitableness of the situation.
This parable that Jesus tells is a glimpse into the end of time. He tells it, not just randomly, but after some prompting from his disciples. It is late in the day on Tuesday in what we call Holy Week. Jesus has spent the day arguing with the Temple leadership. They’ve questioned his authority and sought to catch him in verbal traps. Jesus, for his part, has not backed down. He’s told parables about their destruction. He has called them hypocrites, and wept over what Jerusalem has become. It has been a really long, really tense day when Jesus and his disciples finally leave the Temple to return to Bethany. Hoping for some innocuous conversation to pass the time, a few of them begin to discuss architecture. They note how majestic the Temple is, and Jesus, still on edge tells them that soon “not one stone will be left upon another.” Matthew indicates that the rest of the trip was silent. Safely back on the Mount of Olives, the disciples mustered up enough courage to engage Jesus again, this time asking him to expand on the warning of destruction.
“When will this be? What will be the sign of your coming and the end of the age?” What follows is two chapters of Jesus teaching about the coming apocalypse. False prophets, persecutions, and the desolating sacrilege will precede the coming of the Son of Man with power and great glory, but, Jesus warns them, “about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven nor the Son, but only the Father” (Mt 24.36). Yet even as no one knows when it will happen, Jesus is clear in his warning, “be ready, for the Son of man is coming at an unexpected hour” (Mt 24.44). It is in response to that warning that Jesus tells this parable as part of a series of parables about what it looks like to be ready.
This parable is unique to Matthew’s Gospel, which was written for a unique community, fifty or sixty years after the death and resurrection of Jesus. The first generation of disciples were almost all dead, and this raised some real questions in the Church. As we heard in the lesson from First Thessalonians, written thirty years before Matthew’s Gospel, there was already some long-standing concern about why Jesus had not yet returned. The common expectation among the first Christians was that Jesus would be coming back tomorrow, if not sooner. They had kept vigilant, but after twenty years of waiting, they were nervous they had somehow missed out. Thirty more years later, you can imagine that Matthew’s community was beginning to think that maybe Jesus would never come back. Knowing Jesus, however, they should have expected this. The delay of the bridegroom was inevitable.
Jesus was always making his disciples wait. As they traveled, he would constantly stop to talk with some beggar on the side of the road. When he would heal someone, the whole nearby village might show up looking for help. When Jesus saw an opportunity to stop and teach about the kingdom of God, he would do it. Given their experience, the Disciples had every reason to expect that Jesus’ return would be delayed. Matthew’s community, having heard the stories over and over again, should have had every reason to believe that Jesus wouldn’t be coming back tomorrow. And yet, like I was yesterday, they got anxious. Waiting is hard. Sisters and brothers in Jesus were dying. They didn’t know what to do with that. Two thousand years later, he has still not returned. I’m not sure we know what to do with that.
As much as parables often have deep meanings woven within the details, I think the lesson we learn from this parable is quite simple. Be ready. The bridegroom has been and will be delayed, but the work of the Kingdom will go on. We had better be prepared to wait for as long as it takes. Friends will die in the Lord. People will be hard to deal with. Conventions will test your patience. Life will happen. In the meantime, we must be sure to pack some extra oil: spending extra time in prayer, being immersed in the Scriptures each day, and engaging in work of loving service. Don’t make the mistake I made yesterday morning. Don’t fill up on empty calories that will quickly flame out and leave you hangry, but rather, be about the Gospel work of filling your lives with good lamp oil, for the Son of Man is coming, but at an unexpected hour. Amen.