Good Shepherd Sermons & Blogs

2026-58
sermon preached at Church of the Good Shepherd, Federal Way, WA
www.goodshepherdfw.org
by the Rev. Josh Hosler, Rector

The Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 27A-tr 2), November 8, 2026

Wisdom of Solomon 6:12-16; Psalm 70; 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18; Matthew 25:1-13

Every year in the weeks leading up to the season of Advent, things seem to be ending and falling apart. Running through today’s readings from scripture is a sense of urgency … coupled with a strong wish to reassure.

We hear Paul’s words to the Thessalonians, who, as he writes, have formed a joyful Christian community. The earliest Christians assumed that since Jesus had risen from the dead, the end of the world must be near. I imagine the people felt so overwhelmed by this unprecedented divine action that they figured there must not be much history left. Paul counsels the Thessalonians not to worry about the end of the world, but just to continue to live joyously and generously with everyone. And it’s just as well, because Paul and all the other evangelists were mistaken: two thousand years later, the universe continues to unfold. Yes, to each one of us does, indeed, come an end. But Paul reassures his hearers with a compelling vision of the dead being reunited with the living.

In the past 200 years many Christians have tried to conflate Paul’s vision and other Bible passages into a blow-by-blow account of what will happen when the world ends. When people tell you about the supposed “rapture,” recognize that they’re completely missing Paul’s point, which was not to worry about such things. The Episcopal Church has never recognized any sort of “rapture theology,” which always seems to devolve into a self-righteous revenge fantasy anyway.

Meanwhile, in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is in the final days of his earthly life, and he is also trying to communicate an urgent message: “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” What were the earliest Christians waiting for? And considering all our science and everything we have learned since then, are we still waiting for the same thing in 2026? It’s a fair question. But Christian faith requires no specific beliefs about the end of the world. The more salient point is that in every generation we ask, right along with the Thessalonians, “If Christ has destroyed death, why are people still dying?”

Like the disciples, and like the Thessalonians, we also live in the in-between. We live in faith that the Kingdom of God is at hand but is not fully realized in our timeline. Perhaps you felt a shift this past week with our country’s elections—for most of us, a shift toward greater hope. I myself pray that political change in the United States will lead to a reduction in suffering and an increase in working together for the common good—both here and around the world. We will all have a role to play in that. But nothing about our political situation speaks of the end of the world. On that front, nothing has changed.

As Christians, we wait for “the coming of the Lord,” the Greek word for which is parousia. It’s the same word that would have been used to describe the ceremonial arrival of a king, or as in today’s parable, the ceremonial arrival of a bridegroom. Today Jesus tells us a story of ten bridesmaids who have been invited to this wedding banquet. But it’s a strange story.

A little bit of cultural background is helpful. The bridesmaids are waiting at the home of the bride’s family, as was traditional, but the party will take place at the home of the groom. Momentarily—or so they believe—the groom will arrive to pick up the wedding party, who will escort the happy newlyweds, by lamplight, to the groom’s house and to a grand banquet. But the groom still hasn’t shown up. Where on earth is he?

In the bridegroom’s late arrival, we catch the anxiety of the early Christians of Matthew’s community waiting for the ascended Christ to come back and set the world right. Ever since, we in the church have been the bridesmaids; after 2000 years, can we really be blamed for dozing off? And then we have to figure out what to make of the distinction between “wise” and “foolish” bridesmaids.

Five of these girls have brought extra oil for their lamps. They are prepared for a long wait. Episcopal priest and author Robert Farrar Capon described these girls as dragging along giant Clorox bottles full of lamp oil; he also imagined them to be a gaggle of giggly fourteen-year-olds. Now, in what world do five out of ten teenagers plan ahead so painstakingly? Yet these over-prepared bridesmaids are vindicated as the wise ones in this parable. Meanwhile, the other five girls have brought whatever oil is currently in their lamps, but no extra. They have the minimum ... if that.

All the bridesmaids begin simply as adolescent girls on their way to a party, excited to be seen in their pretty dresses, chatting gaily away as the night wears on, and finally sacking out as if this has become a slumber party. Are they concerned about when the bridegroom will arrive? Maybe, or maybe they’re just enjoying each other’s company. But when the foolish girls realize they will not have enough oil left for the procession itself—the whole reason they’re in the wedding party to begin with—the wise girls refuse to share their own oil. There might not be enough to go around, and at least some of the girls need to process, right?

So they send their friends away to buy more. Will the five underprepared girls find, somewhere in ancient Judea, a 24-hour convenience store ready to sell lamp oil at midnight? We never find out. But either way, the “foolish” bridesmaids miss the procession completely. And when they finally make it to the groom’s house and ask to be let in, they hear the chilling words, “I do not know you.”

None of the girls is punished for falling asleep; all ten fell asleep. And nobody is punished for not having enough oil, at least not directly. But it’s like starting on a business trip without the laptop that contains your presentation, and then missing your plane so you can retrieve it. Or like realizing you don’t have bus fare, and then leaving to get change just before the bus arrives. If you’re not there when the bus comes, nothing else matters. If you miss your plane, you don’t get to do any presentation, no matter how ill-prepared.

Time waits for no girl. But what were they doing earlier in the day? Getting dressed up. Getting their hair and nails done. Sure, all of them wanted to look really fetching. But five of the girls stopped and realized, “I have a job to do at this party. I am one of those who are escorting the bride and groom to their home. If I don’t have enough oil for my lamp, there’s no point in my being here.” Perhaps the other five girls merely thought, “I can’t wait to be seen at this party! Maybe that one boy will be there—ooh, I hope so! He’s so cute!”

But what’s wrong with that? It’s not like these girls have been terribly irresponsible. Who could expect to need more oil? The groom’s arrival was supposed to be imminent!

Theologian Jürgen Moltmann pointed out that eschatology—the theology of the end—isn’t so much about endings, but beginnings. To each one of us does, indeed, come an end. The hour of the party will arrive, and in this moment, right now, we can begin to get ready. Life is a series of closing doors—but every closed door gives shape to the life we live. No matter how many things we never get to do, we are privileged to be able to do so much! Life is, to some degree, about preparing for death without feeling defeated by it—about preparing our lamps for the inevitable moment when we must step out into the darkness in the hope of processing to a big party.

So maybe the oil has something to do with how we choose to spend our time while we wait for Christ’s return, whether we hold out hope for some slam-bang cosmic ending or merely anticipate our own individual deaths. Our call from Christ is simply to love, freely and without reservation. Are we practicing? Are we developing the disciplines of patience and forbearance and mercy and forgiveness that mature love cannot flourish without? To be sure, we have all received our invitations to the wedding banquet. The host wants us all there—every one of us! But when we get there, will we find that we’re able to perform the functions we’re asked to perform?

Worse still, if the bridegroom arrives and finds us unprepared, will we face him and admit to our failure? Or will we forget how loving and insistent that original invitation was? Will we scramble at the last second to make ourselves worthy for the banquet all on our own, and only after yet another round of pigheaded insistence on self-reliance come crawling back and beg to be let in? In so doing, we would demonstrate that we haven’t learned a thing about love or forgiveness, because we don’t even recognize our own need for it. Indeed, the host may not recognize us at all.

The question I want to ask today is this: What would have happened if the five unprepared girls had not left to buy more oil? Maybe, just maybe, if they had been willing to admit embarrassed defeat, the best man would have said to one of the groomsmen, “Hey, get these girls some lamp oil. They can’t process like this!” Maybe the one wise thing those five wise bridesmaids did was not to bring extra oil, but simply to be there when the procession left. Maybe when it came time to go out into the darkness, they would have been shocked to discover just how much light had been provided for them. I don’t know. It’s a parable, not an allegory—so we are free to play with it!

I heard a story once about a little boy whose mother died by suicide. The family’s congregation wondered how best to minister to the boy. In Sunday school the week after her death they happened to tell this very story, using Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, a method similar to our own Godly Play. Later the boy was working with the storytelling materials, which included a house ready for a banquet, five little figures with lit lamps, and five with unlit lamps. He processed the five with lit lamps into the house and positioned them at the windows, looking out. The door shut. Then he took one of girls with an unlit lamp and had her peek into each and every window, one at a time. Finally, the door opened, and the unprepared girl entered the party. The boy explained to his teacher, “She didn’t have a light. But they let her in anyway.”

It may be that there are those who, like the five wise bridesmaids, are perfectly prepared for Christ’s return. I pray that I may count myself among them. But if not, I pray that at least I won’t run away and hide. Our trust in our creator, redeemer, and sustainer must be such that we can be there to hear the words: “There you are! I created you, but you squandered your existence. I redeemed you, yet even in that knowledge you acted selfishly. I sustained you, but you were still unprepared. Nevertheless, you are here now, and I know and love you. Please, please ... come in and join the eternal party. It won’t be the same without you.” Amen.