Amos 5:18-24; Matthew 25:1-13
So, I’m kind of the family organizer when we pack to take a trip somewhere. I make up a list of how many sets of clothes each kid needs, and me too, and I figure out what kinds of shoes we should bring, and how many hair elastics, and socks and shirts, and don’t forget your toothbrush. I write each child a list, and me too, and we all check them off as we pack. I hate it when we’re in the middle of a trip and it turns out that someone forgot their toothbrush and we have to detour to get one. I think it’s important to be prepared.
Except that, if you ask my husband, he will tell you that I never pack toothpaste. I don’t know why I don’t pack toothpaste. Actually, I do know why, and it’s because I assume that he will always pack toothpaste. Somewhere along the way, we just got into the habit, or rather I got into the habit, of using his toothpaste when we travel, and assuming that it was okay. Why shouldn’t it be? We use the same toothpaste at home. I know he’s going to bring some, so why should I bring my own? I’ve arranged everything else - I should be allowed to use his toothpaste. He should be happy to share!
And I think this is why I get kind of annoyed at the wise bridesmaids in our parable today. They couldn’t share their oil? Really? Not even a little bit? Isn’t that what Jesus is always saying? Share your cloak, go the second mile, give your food to the hungry, that kind of thing. At the very least, couldn’t they even let the bridegroom know that, hey–half the bridesmaids had to get some oil so hold the door for them? Or even remind the bridegroom that actually, yes, he does know those bridesmaids outside the door? Why is Jesus saying that the ones who don’t share are the ones who get into the kingdom of heaven? What’s going on here?
Well, like so many stories in the Bible, this is one of those passages when there is much more going on than meets the eye. You see, the Gospel of Matthew was written just a little bit after the Second Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed. In the year 70, the Roman Empire, who had occupied Palestine from before Jesus’ birth, completely leveled the city of Jerusalem. They destroyed everything, and they set fire to the Temple, the central place of worship for the Jewish people, including Jesus and his first followers. The fire was so intense that the stones that the Temple were built out of cracked and the gold in the Temple melted into rivers, and the Temple collapsed. And this was devastating for the Jewish people. They believed that God’s Spirit was present to them in the Temple and that when the Temple was gone, God’s Spirit had left them. Imagine going through not only the complete devastation of your city but then feeling completely bereft of God’s presence.
And to make matters worse, Rome then levied a religious tax on all Jews living in the Roman Empire, and only on Jews. And that tax was used to build and maintain the Temple to Jupiter that was in Rome. Rome destroyed the Jewish Temple, and then taxed the Jews to build a Temple to an idol. It was a deliberate maneuver by Rome to keep the Jewish people humiliated.
And if that wasn’t enough, the Roman Empire took control of who would be appointed the religious leaders of the Jewish people. The Empire had in fact started that before they destroyed the Temple - the Romans were the ones who appointed Herod to be King, and appointed Caiaphas and Annas and all the other priests in the Temple - and this Roman-controlled leadership continued even after it fell.
This is the background of the Gospel of Matthew, our gospel for today and in fact this whole past year. The Gospel was written by a Jew who followed Jesus Christ’s way of being Jewish. The Gospel was written by a Jew who had been the victim of Rome’s extreme abuse of power, and who was still expected to “share” his resources in order to build a foreign Temple.
And so we come to the ten bridesmaids. To the five wise ones who had brought oil, a religious symbol of righteousness, to the wedding feast, a religious symbol of worshipping God, and we come to the five foolish ones, who had no oil, or righteousness, of their own, and yet who still expect to be let in to the presence of God.
And the key here, at least for us this morning, lies in what the foolish said to the wise, “Give us some of your oil.” Give us. They’re not asking for oil. They’re not acknowledging that they failed to prepare. They are demanding oil. “Give us some of your oil.”
So, my husband will tell you, and has given me permission to tell you, that when we’re traveling and I don’t pack my own toothpaste, and I just assume I can use his, that he gets really annoyed. He does. And I don’t blame him. It’s annoying when someone acts entitled to what’s yours. There’s no question about that. In fact, it’s more than annoying. It’s unfair. It’s unjust. Moving beyond the issue of me feeling entitled to his toothpaste, we are, as a society, currently at the beginning of a long-overdue conversation about what it means to act out of entitlement and what it means to be the one on the receiving end of those acts. The Truth and Reconciliation movement, and the #metoo campaign are both lifting the veil on the ways in which people in power feel entitled to the property and to the bodies of those under their control. Our eyes are opening to the ways in which the “foolish” ones in power say, “Give us.”
And God is not okay with this. In our parable, we see that those who act out entitlement and demand things from others are not welcome in the kingdom of heaven. Even in our first reading from Amos, God is angry at those who try to enter God’s presence through offerings and songs and at the same time, as it says just before our reading from Amos, “push aside the needy at the gate [to the Temple],” “trample on the poor” and tax them to build their own majestic houses, and “sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals.” God condemns those who assume that their positions of power make them entitled to neglect and abuse and exploit others. “Let justice roll down like waters,” says God. A flood to sweep away any culture of entitlement.
As someone who feels entitled to toothpaste, this makes me kind of uncomfortable. As someone who puts on this collar and will soon be installed as the pastor of this congregation, “entitled” to the rights and privileges therein, this makes me really uncomfortable. I admit that, because of my professional position, I sometimes act out of a sense of entitlement. I expect that when I stand up here and give a sermon, that I am entitled to speak without interruption. I expect that when I say something in Bible Study or Confirmation or even meetings or when I stand at the front of a seminary class to teach, that I am entitled to a quiet and attentive audience. And maybe you agree that I am. I hope so. But there are times when my entitlement leads me to talk over people, or to dismiss what others are saying, or to minimize their contribution. When I demand that people be quiet when I talk, I am acting like the foolish bridesmaids who say, “Give us some of your oil.”
And I think that if we are honest, we will all find that there are situations in our lives where we do the same. Whether it is as parents, or grandparents, or as bosses, or in any number of situations where we are accustomed to having a say, we can act out of entitlement. We might feel entitled to having the final word, to putting our arm around someone else, to deciding when the conversation is over, to using something that belongs to someone else without asking. And when we do, we need to remember that Jesus is watching us, to see if he needs to say that he doesn’t know us or to keep us away from others.
Luther said that the proclamation of the Gospel, the speaking of the Good News, should afflict the comfortable. And I think this parable afflicts us when we get too comfortable. But Luther also said that the Gospel should comfort the afflicted. And I think that just as much as we have all acted out of entitlement, we also have had those times when we ourselves have suffered from the entitlement of others. When people have talked over us, or felt entitled to what we have, or to our bodies. I’m sure that there have been times in your life, when people have said to you, “Give me...” Give me your undivided attention, give me your unqualified support, give me your immediate obedience, give me the use of your body. In my professional life, people have talked over me, silenced me, dismissed me. People have felt entitled to make comments about my body, I’ve hashtagged #metoo.
And in those situations, God’s words are a comfort. To know that God does not support or encourage entitled behaviour, to know that God will send justice to wipe away “Give me” behaviour, to know that God will establish a kingdom where power is used to protect and to provide, and not to exploit or abuse, to know that we can, like the wise bridesmaids, say “No!” and Jesus will invite us in and close the door behind us. This is a comfort. In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is offering what is essentially a zero-tolerance policy towards entitlement and abuse, welcoming us in and keeping those who abuse their power out.
The Gospel of Matthew presents the world in a very black-and-white way. There are wise bridesmaids and foolish bridesmaids. You’re either one or the other; you’re either inside at the wedding banquet or you’re outside with the weeping and gnashing of teeth. But life is more complicated than that. Sometimes we’re wise and sometimes we’re foolish. But our hope lies not in our own wisdom, but in the wisdom of God, in Jesus Christ, who opens our eyes to our own entitled behaviors so we can leave it behind and take part in the feast that purifies us of our tendencies towards exploitation and entitlement and “give us” behaviours. Our hope comes from trusting that Christ will know us and welcome us as his own, whatever the day or hour. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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