Homily for 32d Sunday of Ordinary Time

Homily for the
32d Sunday of Ordinary Time
Nov. 8, 1987
Matt 25: 1-13
Holy Cross, Fairfield, Conn.

“Father, why’d you fail me?”  It’s a question I hear after every report card, and I’m sure every teacher does.

Of course, the kid asking the question is the same one who does several of the following:  sleeps in class; whispers to his neighbor in class; copies someone else’s math homework during history class; raises his hand only when he needs a tissue; doesn’t have a clue when asked to comment on part of the lesson; can’t understand how come half his book report reads word-for-word like the article in the World Book; studies history for an hour at home—the nite before a test, that is.

You probably know that student, or did way back when.  You probably also know his cousin—the gal who can’t hold a job, can’t keep an apartment, can’t keep the house clean, always needs a favor, whose kid always gets into trouble because of someone else’s little brat, who needs you to cover for her at work all the time.

Temptation and Fall (William Blake)

In fact, that type of person is as old as creation.  “The Lord God said…‘You have eaten from the tree of which I had forbidden you to eat!’  The man replied, ‘The woman whom you put here with me—she gave me fruit from the tree, and so I ate it’” (Gen 3:9,11-12).  In other words, it’s the woman’s fault and yours for putting her here.  “The Lord God then asked the woman, ‘Why did you do such a thing?’  The woman answered, ‘The serpent tricked me into it, so I ate it’” (Gen 3:13).  In other words, it’s the serpent’s fault, not mine.

More recently, we’ve heard Gary Hart and Bess Myerson blaming all their troubles on the press.

Or, as Flip Wilson got rich explaining, “The devil made me do it.”

I needn’t remind parents how many times they’ve heard, “He started it.”

So we can reasonably draw the conclusion that we human beings like to dodge responsibility for our action, or at least that most of us have a ferocious tendency in that direction.

That’s what Jesus is talking about in today’s parable.  “The kingdom of heaven is like (the situation of) 10 virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom” (Matt 25:1).  Apparently these are the man’s maidservants, and they’re waiting for him to come home with his bride so the feast can begin.

As you know, 5 were responsible enuf to bring not only lamps but oil; the other 5 were thoughtless, lazy, dumb, or something of the sort.  Now when the groom, their master, appeared, suddenly the 5 foolish ones realized their plight.  They weren’t ready for him, and he probably would be angry with them.  Like the student begging a homework to copy at the last minute, they beg their fellow servants to bail them out.  “Give us some of your oil” (Matt 25:8).  The wise virgins are wise also because they refuse:  why should they all get in trouble when all 10 lamps fail?  They’re also kind enuf to make a practical suggestion:  go buy some oil.

The Wise and Foolish Virgins (William Blake)

And as we know, while the 5 foolish girls were buying their oil, their master returned, the feast began, and the door was barred.  Apparently the foolish maidservants thought they could sneak in unnoticed by banging on the locked door and getting one of their fellow servants to let them in.  Unluckily for them, it’s the master himself who answers their knock.  They find out how responsible they are for their own foolishness.  He says he doesn’t know them—perhaps meaning they’ll have no share in his wedding feast; perhaps, even worse, that they’re dismissed from his service.

We’ve come to the last 3 Sundays of the church year, as we’ve come to the dying of the calendar year and of Mother Nature.  Matthew is throwing parables of judgment at us today, next Sunday, and the Sunday after that, reminding us servants of the Lord Jesus that we must be ready for his return.

Some interpreters understand the lamp oil the wise virgins have and the foolish ones lack to be repentance.  Other commentators take it to be good deeds, concrete acts of love for God and neighbor.  Either way, this oil isn’t something any of us can borrow from a friend or neighbor.  We are responsible for ourselves.

Just as Adam couldn’t shove his responsibility to Eve, nor Eve hers to the snake, we can’t shove off ours, nor can we dodge it, nor can we borrow it.  Our sins are our own, and we must acknowledge them.  Only we can repent for ourselves.  Only we can respond to God’s love by deeds of love.

And we must act before the master returns.  On judgment day there’ll be no time to go shopping for oil.  At the moment of our deaths, either we’ve owned up to our personal history and confessed it, or we find the door barred and ourselves dismissed.  At the judgment, either we’re there with our kindness, our generosity, our perseverance in doing good, or we miss the wedding feast, the banquet of life.

We won’t be able to whine, “Father, why’d you fail me?”