“…the
wise ones replied: No, for there may
not
be enough for us and you. Go
instead...and buy some for yourselves.”
–Matthew
25: 1-13
The “no” of the wise virgins has always
troubled me. There are (of course)
allegorical readings to justify the seeming coldness of their response, to make
theological sense out of its apparent heartlessness, but despite all that, it
still feels painfully discomforting. In the end, we are still left asking: why? Why can’t they share their stinking oil? And
even more importantly, why would Jesus present us with such an uncomfortable
vision of the Kingdom of Heaven?
A standard way of looking at this parable
is this:
God is the bridegroom and we don’t know when
He will come, and like the wise bridesmaids, we are called to be ready when He comes.
The oil is read as some element of that preparation: grace, good works, love,
faith, etc. The wise virgins have stored up enough of this element, while the
foolish have not. And then when the Bridegroom (God) comes those who are
prepared enter into the feast (the Kingdom of Heaven?) while those who were
not, are left behind, knocking at the door but unrecognized by the Bridegroom.
And yet, even in such a reading,
that image of the oil that cannot be shared is woefully troubling. Why can’t the oil be shared? Why doesn’t the story involve a miraculous
abundance of oil? Something like a Hanukah miracle or the story of the widow
and Elijah (cf. 1 Kings 17:12-16). I
want to hear that God’s grace is overflowing and inexhaustible. Like the loaves
and the fishes. A kind of multiplication
of the oil miracle would have made this a parable of God’s generosity, His
overflowing grace that inspires and overflows into acts of grace and faith in
all whom it touches. It overflows from
my lamp to yours. And if I give you some, I won’t have to worry “that there may
not be enough” for me, because in the economy of grace, there is always enough
–pressed down, shaken together and running over (cf. Luke 6:38). But that isn’t
the vision Jesus gives us here. Why?
One answer could be that the
lesson He offers here isn’t about grace or faith, it’s about commitment and
preparedness. And though I can accept
that, it feels insufficient to address the discomfort of the wise virgin’s
“no.” Why, then, would Jesus include
this detail? In the end I am still
troubled by why the Lord chose to depict the Kingdom of Heaven in this
way. So, what if we try that famous
“four-fold” method (literal, allegorical, moral, anagogical), and see where
that gets us.
First, the literal level: based
on the story, and on the little historical research I have done, it is highly
unlikely that the virgins would have been able to share their oil. The need of
the bridesmaid to make sure she had enough oil for what might amount to a long
walk with lengthy stops to greet neighbors, receive greetings, and pick-up
tacos at the Jack-in-the-Box, would have required that these lamp-carrying
virgins come prepared. One scholar pointed out that bringing a lamp without oil
would be like us bringing a flashlight with no batteries.
But allegorically and morally, I
still want to ponder: can we share “our” grace?
Can we share with another person the grace we have received? Or, can a person touched by grace simply
light her own lamp and let it shine for all to see? Is that do-able? Is it grace-ful? And
anagogically I wonder: what does this mean about the efficacy of grace.
Pondering this passage, I am
struck by the existential question at the core of it: the foolish virgins ask
the wise to share their oil (their grace, their faith, their love, etc) and the
wise say they can’t (or won’t). Which is
the most puzzling thing about this story told by a man who could literally turn
a handful of fish and a small basket of bread into more than enough food for over
5000 men (not counting women and children). Why isn’t the point of this story something
about the wonders of sharing? Why is it instead a story about not having enough
to share? For me, that question seems to knock at the door that Jesus opens here. And yet, stepping inside, I must say, I don’t know where it leads.
Some might say my confusion comes from
paying too much attention to a small (unimportant) detail. The story is really just about being ready. Don’t get so distracted by the oil! But, isn’t this Jesus guy the same guy who
said: His Father knows when a sparrow falls to the ground; and even the very
hairs of your head are numbered. Clearly, the God He preaches cares about even
the littlest details.
So –what
does this little detail mean? Is it
something about our individual existential problem: As Delmore Schwartz wrote: no
one can take your bath for you. In other words: perhaps no one can fill my lamp for me. And that could be the anagogical lesson
addressed in this seemingly eschatologically aimed story. Both existentially
and eschatologically we have to have our own faith? When I stand before God to
be judged, to be recognized as one of His children, God won’t be asking me who
my parents were or what schools I attended or how often I went to mass. Perhaps the eschatological reading of this
parable has something to do with how God knows we are His –does our lamp burn?
Does it shine its light so that He can see our face and know we are His?
And yet, why can’t the virgins share their
oil? Is it because, I can’t burn your oil in my lamp? I have to have my own. Not
because you don’t want to share with me, but because your oil won’t light my
lamp. Because your grace won’t illuminate my faith. And your faith won’t shine
in my soul. I have to have my own. Is that weirdly existential lesson part of the
beautiful paradoxical perplexity of this quite troubling parable? Maybe.
But something else I’ve been wondering
lately is this: maybe sometimes the point of the parable isn’t to offer us an
easy (or hard) answer. Maybe sometimes the point of the parable is to offer us
a question. Something to get us thinking… Food for prayer and contemplation.
God Bless you. If you read this, I am
heartily grateful, and know that I pray the Lord’s grace fill your jar and
light your lamp.
