Preaching Paths 12 November 2023


Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary

Attention to literary and historical context will be essential as the preacher moves from text to pulpit this week. The parable of the wise and foolish bridesmaids (or virgins) and their lamps (Mt 25:1-13) is the second of four parables set within Matthew’s “Eschatological Discourse” (Mt 24:1-25:46). These parables address the question, “What shall we do as we await the return of the Son of Man?”—a pressing question for Matthew’s community after the devastation of Jerusalem and its Temple (70 CE). In the aftermath of that disaster, apocalyptic speculation intensified in Judaism and, unsurprisingly, among Christian communities like Matthew’s.

                  The first of these parables (Mt 24:45-51) contrasts faithful and unfaithful servants whose master has left them in charge of “distributing food” to the household “at the proper time.” (Thus, care for the less powerful is in view.) But presumptuously, the faithless, gluttonous servant consumes the provisions and beats lesser slaves. Suddenly, the master returns. The slave, caught in negligence, is consigned to wailing and teeth-gnashing (Matthew’s trope for ultimate judgment).

                  The narrative structure of today’s parable is similar: there is a dichotomy—wise bridesmaids and foolish ones—and there is waiting, this time for the bridegroom to arrive at the wedding.  (God’s “wedding” of Israel at the end of time would have been a familiar eschatological metaphor.) Yet this parable has awkward features. Its closing “tag line” admonishes “keep awake!”—yet both wise and foolish bridesmaids in fact fall asleep. (An alternate translation, “stay alert,” is plausible.)  What separates wise from foolish is alertness to the possibility of delay. The alert ones have brought oil reserves. Perhaps the foolish presume the wait time will be typical (they presume to know “the hour of his coming”?) and their oil has run out. The wise can’t spare theirs. The foolish rush to the market and back, but now, the doors are shut. They cry, “Lord, Lord!” and hear, “Truly, I do not know you.” Anyone who has raced to the departure gate only to hear, “Sorry, the door has closed,” understands.

                  Yet, our 21st century listeners will very likely find features of this parable either implausible (oil shopping in the market at midnight?) or offensive (the wise bridesmaids’ refusal to share, the locked door, and the rebuff by the host of the feast). This is where literary contextualization may help.

                  The parable seems quite deliberately composed using phrases and tropes already familiar from Jesus’ earlier teachings. First, an anticipated wedding feast frames the story (Mt 22:1-14). In Mt 5:15-16, shining lamps are associated with good works (and, as we will see, good works will be the ultimate test of faithfulness at the final judgment in Mt 25:31-46). The wise/foolish binary echoes Jesus’ parable about wise and foolish house-builders (7:24-27); the foolish fail to anticipate possible storms, much as the foolish bridesmaids fail to anticipate possible delay. Sudden, harsh judgment (e.g. the closed door) is a familiar feature in Mt’s gospel (see esp. passages that speak of being consigned to outer darkness and “weeping and gnashing of teeth,” (8:12; 13:42; 13:50; 22:13; 24:51; 25:30). The pitiful cry, “Lord! Lord!” and the rebuff, “I never knew you” mirrors Mt 7:21-23. In a culture that relied on oral/aural transmission, these resonances would have been striking and arresting.

                  The parable hands us unmistakable clues meant to send us eagerly searching all that Jesus has said and done heretofore, reviewing what Jesus asks us to do in his name. Reinvigorated, we keep the lamp of good works shining, prepared to confront obstacles and endure delay. We live each present moment, no matter its challenges, with a hope that only makes sense to those who truly anticipate joining Christ at a feast of joy. We respond wholeheartedly, generously, to human need, our ears keenly tuned to hear a distant, joyful cry, our heart’s gaze fixed on the far horizon.


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