Matthew 25:1–13

Matthew 25:1–13
(The Wise and Foolish Virgins)

Dear congregation,

Today, on Eternity Sunday, when we remember our loved ones who have died, some may also think back to the day of the funeral or memorial service.
Some remember the heaviness of that day, the solemn sadness, and how comforting it usually is to be together.
On Eternity Sunday, I wouldn’t normally expect a wedding story. Yet Matthew tells two wedding stories, one right after the other.

In the first story, a wedding is being prepared, but the invited guests have better things to do.
And today, in the Gospel we heard, again we find ourselves at a wedding. This time, ten young women are at the center of attention, with the task of guiding the bridegroom on his way.

In the first story, people are too preoccupied with themselves. And in this second story, some of the women are described as foolish.

That is sobering. Because in both stories Matthew says: this experience has something to do with the kingdom of God.
In the first story, different guests than expected end up at the feast; and in today’s story, only half of the women manage to take a seat at the table and celebrate. The others knock too late—and in vain. Since this story is preached on Eternity Sunday, one might assume: there is such a thing as “too late”—some enter heaven and others do not.

But I do not believe Matthew meant the parables in that way.

Let us go back to his time. Matthew writes about 50 to 60 years after the crucifixion and resurrection.
The first Christians believed: Jesus will return very soon. It won’t take long before he appears. Then Jesus will set the world right. Then the kingdom of God will become visible to all.
You may remember: some Christians even gave up their normal lives and spent their days waiting for Christ’s return.
But it didn’t happen. Jesus did not appear.

And with that came the danger that Christians might lose their trust and that their hope might fade.
Matthew believes that this must not happen under any circumstances.

So he uses the beautiful image of a feast. It is an old image: God and God’s people are connected like a bridegroom and his bride—full of hope.
To celebrate a wedding is to trust in a shared future. Where weddings are celebrated, love is celebrated. This is a strong image: God’s love for humanity.

At the same time, people experience that this love is not always visible.
Where is God? Where is the bridegroom? Can he be trusted? This is the perspective of today’s parable, and it receives different responses: ten young women—five keep their lamps in order, are ready, and have enough oil.
Five have, in one way or another, given up. They take no responsibility.
When the bridegroom finally arrives, it is too late for them. They are unprepared. They stand before the door and miss the feast.

Dear congregation, 

I want to move away from the interpretation that we will one day stand at the gates of heaven and find them closed. What moves me—because I can fill it with much lived experience—is this: some people are prepared for the long night of waiting. Their faith, their love, their hope is large enough; while others, foolishly, do not concern themselves with these things at all.

For me, this parable is a kind of “warning.” It says: some things cannot be shared.
The oil that brings light—for me, it represents the faith of a person. This faith can be tended and shaped: prayers, songs, texts, worship, rituals.
Some people have a whole collection of these things—not only on their shelves but above all in their hearts. They make sure there is enough oil. Enough of that which makes life bright and joyful. Enough of that which guides the way.

And then there are others who hardly think about such things. Half of them rely on the others. Half refuse to take responsibility. And in the end, they are left standing in a difficult place.

We don’t like to hear this—but isn’t it true?
Matthew tells the story in a way that invites his readers: People, dear readers, do not act foolishly, but wisely.

As Psalm 90:12 says: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a wise heart.”

And in this sense, the wedding story fits perfectly with Eternity Sunday.
This is exactly what the young women are meant to remember: one day the moment will come. Then they will need light to find their way through the dark valley of death.

But who teaches us that we must die, and how we must die?
As a parish pastor I have accompanied many people in their last months and weeks, and I have learned: blessed are those who have oil in their lamp. In other words: blessed are those who are prepared and who know that we must die.
This is not meant to frighten anyone, but to foster alertness for what truly matters in life.

There can indeed be a “too late” for that.
So start today: practice trusting God, grow in understanding Christ, practice your faith, and give it room in your life.

One thought that the story conveys clearly: not everything can be shared.
Yes, we can do a great deal for one another, and our sharing can alleviate much suffering. But some things cannot be shared: the oil, the life-elixir, the light—what gives a person strength.
I can testify to it, but I cannot hand it over.
Here we reach the human limit: each person must receive for themselves what God gives.
The five wise women are not being unkind or intentionally making life difficult for the others. This story is about something that simply cannot be passed on.
There are situations no one can take on for someone else—above all, dying, leaving this world. This path we must walk ourselves.

There are moments in which we depend on what we have gathered over time: trust, small rituals, encounters, prayers, words from Scripture that once became important to us.
Not all at once—but slowly, over years, they fill a vessel.

The wise young women are not better than the others.
But they have understood: a living relationship with God does not arise at the last moment.
Watchfulness is not fear—it is attentiveness.
An open heart for the possibility that God knocks in the midst of everyday life.

Perhaps the parable invites us:
Expect God’s nearness—
even where you do not expect it.

And today, on Eternity Sunday, the parable gains a special tone. It reminds us how fragile and limited our life is. Eternity Sunday is not a day of threat, but a day of hope:
Not to lose sight of our own light. Not to let the lamp of our life run dry. But to keep filling it again and again with what sustains us. We will soon celebrate Holy Communion—and for me, that is like refilling the lamps. Perhaps we can say: Holy Communion is like refilling the lamps.
Not with oil, but with what we need: Comfort. Belonging. Forgiveness. Community. God’s nearness. What the women in the parable could not share—God shares with us.
He gives us what we need for the next step. When we receive bread and cup, we can hear it as a promise: Take, eat, drink. Christ strengthens you. He fills your vessel. He goes with you.

May God grant us a watchful heart, a filled vessel, and the hope that his light accompanies us—
through the nights of this life and beyond them.

Amen.