A sermon preached at the Church of the Epiphany, Euclid, Ohio, on 12 November 2023

There is something missing from this parable. Do you know what it is?

While you think about it, I want to mention that earlier last week, I confessed to the entire Bishop’s staff that this is a parable that seems designed to poke at an anxious person’s anxiety. The fear of running out. The fear of getting left out. The fear of looking foolish.

But this parable is not about that. It can’t be about that, because the Gospel is about God’s abundant love for all of God’s children. The scriptures, our salvation story, are full of the oil of blessing that runs down the beard and that soothes the wounded. In the familiar psalm, after protecting the lamb through the valley of the shadow of death, God anoints her head with oil, while her cup overflows. There is nothing that we can do to diminish the availability of God’s oil of blessing, and I say this in full knowledge of the obstacles to access that we are imposing just now through the instruments of war. 

In the world of worldliness we have used oil as an instrument of oppression and inequality and war and worse. But God is God, and in God’s economy, oil is a blessing.

In the world of the parable, perhaps the foolish ones just didn’t notice God’s providence. If this story were a painting, or a cartoon, I suspect that somewhere in the shadowy background there would be a cask of olive oil, barely obscured, waiting to be discovered by those in need.

Like Hagar in the desert parched for water, or the widows visited by Elijah and Elisha, the miracle was right there, waiting for them to turn to God and ask for it; for God to turn to them and offer it.

If the parable discriminates, perhaps it parses out those who dwell in the abundance of God’s mercy, and those who believe it to be scarce. At least, it would, if the wise bridesmaids were also a little kinder. Perhaps the moral of the story is that, in fact, we all fall short sometimes of noticing the abundance, that there are enough blessings to share.

Have you worked out yet what is missing from the story?

There is a bridegroom. There is a wedding night. There are bridesmaids – that implies that there should be a bride for them to attend to. But the bride is not mentioned in the parable. I wonder why not.

Of course, a parable is not a perfect allegory. As we discussed at Tuesday night’s Bible Study, it is not a cipher where one equals a, and 3 equals bridesmaid, and 9 equals oil. It is not a code to crack but an invitation to move closer to the mind, the imagination of Christ. Perhaps, then, if we ease ourselves into the story, we will find the bride.

Think about it: in the Hebrew scriptures God is often identified as the bridegroom or husband of Israel, of Jerusalem, of God’s people. In the New Testament, we see Jesus take on the mantle of the bridegroom, and his bride is the church. Church, if we are the bride in this story, where are we? Why are we silent when our sisters, our siblings, our beloved friends are outside in the night? Why are we not speaking up for them, and bringing them in to the feast?

Now, I have to admit that this is not an authorized or orthodox interpretation of the parable, as far as I know. And you may argue that if Jesus, as bridegroom, has shut the foolish maidens out, far be it from us to reopen the doors; but I say to you what about all of those times when Moses wearied God with pleas for the people wandering in the wilderness, even though both God and Moses had had quite enough of their moaning? What of his mother, Mary, who came to him at another wedding to say they had run out of wine? Can’t we, then, intercede at our own feast for those who we running out of oil? 

If a parable is an invitation into the mind and imagination of Christ, it may be that we are supposed to find ourselves in the very heart of grace, in the midst of mercy, eyes open to the secret stash of oil, invited and authorized to pour it out for the healing of those outside our doors, for the trouble of the world.

In the Hebrew scriptures, oil is a constant sign of God’s providence towards the people, and it is part of the tithe, the offering that the people offer back to God. In the New Testament parables, we see the good Samaritan pouring oil into the wounds of the man assaulted by bandits on the dangerous road Jerusalem and Jericho. Oil is a symbol both of loving God and of loving our neighbours.

A few weeks ago we had our first Clergy Day with our new(ish) Bishop. At the end of the Eucharist, which included prayers for healing and anointing between colleagues and cousins in Christ, Bishop Anne gave to each and every one of us a small capsule, just right to hang on a bunch of keys. She explained that it has inside an even smaller vial in which we can carry the oil of unction, the oil consecrated, set aside for the sacrament of healing, the outward and visible and tactile sign of God’s invisible and quiet grace. We can carry it out into the world, wherever we go, ready at a moment’s notice, without a moment’s notice, whenever the need presents itself to share the oil of blessing that we have been given with those who feel as though they are running out. Because that is what the church is for, isn’t it?

The challenge of the parable may be that this beautiful gesture only works if I fill the vial with oil and remember to refill it whenever it is running low; if I remember that I have it with me, with me to share the oil of blessing. If only I have that much wisdom.

I am back to being a bridesmaid challenged to keep her oil filled in service of the bridegroom and of the bride, in service of the church and of Christ, whose heart is for the world.

So my challenge to you is to find yourselves within the parable – not as a matter of anxiety or of judgement of whether you are wise or foolish, but trusting in the immeasurable blessings of God poured out first. Jesus has told you elsewhere that you are light for the world. You are oil for the lamp. You are beloved. You will never, ever be shut out of God’s love and mercy. You have light to shed and blessings to spare and to share. 

So let your light, your oil lamp, so shine that all may see and know God’s mercy, and find their way into that joy alongside you. Amen.