The Wisdom of Preparation

Wisdom of Solomon 6:12-16
Matthew 25: 1-13

Our scriptures today have two obvious themes: wisdom and preparation. Both, of which, I have felt woefully lacking in this past week. As I nurse a sprained ankle, I am reminded that perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing to pick up Sebastian being as pregnant as I am, and attempt to walk a stretch of sidewalk along Stewart Street, all the while unaware of the gaping holes that are so prevalent in Morgantown--one of which I ultimately stepped in at an unfortunate angle.

And as I sat watching the cars go by--sitting in a crumpled mess with a bloody knee and a swollen ankle--hoping a Good Samaritan would drive by and actually stop, I had a thought: maybe I wasn't as prepared as I should have been, choosing not to take my cell phone with me, unable to call Torin, telling him to come pick up his mess of a family off the pavement.

But I have sat and consoled myself that while it might not have been the smartest thing to pick up Sebastian and walk with him down the hill, it may have been the wisest thing to do. After all, I would rather be healing from a sprained ankle than enduring the possibility of my child getting hit by a reckless car. Of course, Torin reminded me that it probably isn't the best decision to go walking with Sebastian in this town without a stroller at this point in my pregnancy…but hey, let me heal my pride a little, too.

And as I sit with this (I sure have been sitting a lot recently), I've been wondering if being wise is the same as being smart. Often they are used interchangeably, but I think that we have all known people in our lives who have certainly been smart, but not wise, and people who have had great depth of wisdom, who conventionally would not be considered smart.

I often feel challenged on my "smartness" as Torin and I engage in our weekly pre-church ritual of listening to the Puzzlemaster on NPR. Will Shortz, the editor of the NY Times puzzle page (i.e. the "puzzlemaster") joins the morning's host and a lucky call-in contestant to engage in about five minutes of fun word puzzle games.

Now these two things, puzzles and games, are not at the top of my list of how I would like to spend my time. But, generally, the puzzles they put the contestants through are fairly obtainable for me. After a particularly good morning of getting most of the answers right, I sit back with an air of satisfaction. Then Puzzlemaster Shortz gives one more puzzle, which is the qualifying puzzle to get onto next weeks show. And generally, it is here that it all comes tumbling down for me. Most of the time, I have no idea what he is talking about, and really, no interest in spending time trying to figure it out.

Torin on the other hand will spend time ruminating on the problem and then often while shaving his face on a Tuesday or Wednesday morning he'll emerge with a cry of "Eureka!" He'll tell me the answer, I'll say he is so smart, but then console myself that really, I am the wise one for not spending so much of my time thinking about a silly puzzle.

But then, I come to church and read a parable of Jesus and think "darn it! This is just some other puzzle!" There are symbols to decipher, characters to figure out, metaphors to uncover. Even Jesus said many people won't understand the parables. Or, maybe he knows it's the smart ones who won't get them, and the wise ones who will seek within them a glimmer of truth for their lives.

In our parable today, we are introduced to an ancient ritual of Palestinian weddings. Ten women are responsible for providing light for the coming bridegroom, who is mysteriously delayed. Waiting for the groom, the ten fall asleep and at midnight when the groom's arrival is announced, they wake up, five of them realizing their oil in their lamps is running out. Persuaded to go get more they return to find they have been turned out of the party. As commentator Amy-Jill Levine says, "at this point, the story shifts from the culturally plausible to the shocking. The groom refuses [to let them in] saying ' I do not know you'"

Quite puzzling. It seems clear enough when the groom says "Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour," that this is no ordinary groom, and we're not simply preparing for any party. What is the puzzlemaster Matthew doing in this parable? While this may not be the Sunday equivalent of the New York Times crossword puzzle, it certainly is not something I would want to attempt with a pen.

In the chapters immediately before and after this verse, Matthew has Jesus speaking of preparation for God's kingdom to come. Preparation is key. Staying alert is imperative. Not having enough oil in your lamp will leave you in the dark and no amount of scrambling at the end will get you in. Being tired and foolish is no excuse.

Leave it Matthew to take the optimistic road.

An easy part of this puzzle to decipher might be the human characters. The bridegroom is Christ, the bridesmaids are us --the church. Coming closer and closer to his betrayal, denial, and death, having Jesus call some of his followers out as the bridesmaids unwilling to meet him with a welcoming light was probably more of a foreshadowing of what was to come, and less about a condemnation to half of humanity.

But what about the oil? What is that all about? It sounds like a contemporary political and economic problem--not enough oil! But oil was used much differently then as it is now, and in Jewish tradition, oil is a symbol of good deeds. So the problem is not that they fell asleep--both the foolish and the wise did that--but that some of them were not prepared, did not see beyond their own timetable of the celebration, thought that a partially-full lamp of oil was all that was needed.

It's not a good feeling to feel foolish as the door of the celebration is closed on your face. And if we examine our own lives, we all probably question the fullness of our lamps, our preparation to meet Christ, and the energy that must be burned in order to shine the welcoming light into the world. I certainly wouldn't assume I was one of the five let into the party. I'd likely be trying to find an open window to vault through--probably spraining my ankle along the way--or a back entrance so I could slink inside.

But to give both the wise and the foolish the benefit of the doubt, it's hard to realize your not prepared when the lights are still burning brightly, when excitement is at its maximum, and when a party is about to start. We can't tell whose lamps are full and whose are only half full by the quality of the flame. We're hopeful for what's to come and at times our excitement takes our attention away from our own responsibility.

Without speaking too explicitly about my own political leanings, I will admit that I count myself among the majority of Americans who are excited about what a new political era might mean for our country--not only domestically, but how we might redeem ourselves on the world stage. (I'm not violating any church tax-exempt status issues by saying this). I, along with someny of you, and even as admitted by those who voted for John McCain, found myself tearing up as a fresh, young, president-elect accepted the position on a crazy Chicago night.

In the midst of the presidential race, the themes of hope, bright futures, and change were used by both sides. This is not new to the 2008 election. Ronald Regan announced in 1979 that "Someone once said that the difference between an American and any other kind of person is than an American lives in anticipation of the future because [they] know it will be a great place." An emphasis that in the midst of today's danger there will be great hope in tomorrow is an American bi-partisan political theme. You don't have to be Republican or Democrat, Green or Mountain Party, to hear this.

But the way Matthew portrays Jesus sharing this parable isn't along these hopeful lines. As Andrew Warner uncovers, "The American vision is one of clear hope, a confident promise; 'It will be better.' [we say]. Jesus [rather] leaves us with a question, [a deliberation]: 'Are we wise or foolish?' (“Living by the Word” Christian Century, November 4, 2008) And this isn't referring to if we made a wise or foolish choice in who we have elected. But are we wise or foolish to think that what needs to be done in this world can be done solely by political figures, rather than the participation of radical disciples filled with the works of mercy and justice and sacrifice.

We may be glowing with excitement about a new administration, or we may feel we have been shut out of the party, unhappy with the choice of new president. In my own excitement, I'm reminded of our Anabaptist heritage that actually discouraged voting, or rather encouraged "conscientious abstention." The late Mennonite theologian John Howard Yoder had been a contemporary proponent of this.

This is not to encourage us to disengage. Rather, Anabaptists have wondered if voting actually allows us to disengage, to keep our oil lamps lit for our own timetable leading up to election day, and then letting it go out just when we might need it most. When we keep our lamps lit only so it can guide us to the ballot box and then expect elected officials to carry the light on for us, it is not only unwise, but perhaps we become the foolish ones who Jesus knows will eventually betray him. Because the light is not for what God can do through us, but what politics will do in spite of us.

And yet, Torin, Sebastian, and I bounded out of the house early this Tuesday morning, marching up the hill chanting…softly…"come and vote! Come and vote!" like some political Wee Willy Winkie…only calling people out of bed

And yet, the Wednesday morning headline "Obama wins" on the front page was still followed in the local section with "Christian Help running short of winter clothes: Agency may have to cut giveaways." And we know that while the future may seem a bit brighter, we can’t let our lamps die.

No matter if we ecstatic about an Obama administration,, or if we wish the election went to John McCain, it does not affect our responsibilities to be prepared, keeping our lamps full of oil. We may have passed a torch, but we must continue to seek the welcoming light, the wisdom of discipleship that longs to be found, who seeks us, who hastens to be made known to us.

On Tuesday we may have risen early to go vote, but the rest of our days we
are called to rise early to seek the welcoming light of Christ's wisdom, which can lead us through the brightest days and the darkest nights.
May it be so. AMEN.