Today’s gospel is
the parable of the ten bridesmaids, and this parable demands just a little
explaining because it presumes a custom that we no longer follow. On the day of
a wedding, the groom would go to the bride’s house and confer with her father. He
would sign the marriage covenant and then escort his bride back to his house,
or his father’s house. All of the bride’s family would follow. When they finally got to the house, the
wedding reception, to use our words, would begin. The ten virgins were part of
the ceremony, lighting the way for the newlyweds, particularly the groom. One
semblance of the wedding that still remains in our custom is the father walking
the bride down the aisle. The meaning is
that the bride is going from her father’s home to her husband’s home[1].
The point of the
parable is not about weddings, though. It is about being ready. Perhaps a
better way to understand the Lord’s point is if we consider playing musical
chairs. You remember how to play musical
chairs, right? You walk around the
chairs, carefully situating your sit down over each chair, (Hey this is PG
rated), just waiting for the music to stop, hoping that you can get to a chair
before a slower person.
During the month
of November, we come to the end of the Church year. We consider the end of our
lives. We consider death. And we ask
ourselves, “Where are we going to be when the music stops?”[2]
The Christian
view of death is that it is a transition from this life to a life that
hopefully leads to full union with God. Many times we grieve the loss of a
loved one. Sometimes we fear for our own lives. But through it all, we know
that if we are ready when the music stops, we will receive the reward of the
Resurrection of the Lord, the defeat of eternal death.
I love the image
of the man who goes fishing. He
announces to his family that he’s going to take the motor boar to the far side
of the lake go after some really big fish. He doesn’t know how long he is going
to be gone. When will they see him again? He doesn’t know. He loves fishing and
carefully prepares his rod and reel, and his other equipment. He fills the boat with whatever he needs. His
family comes out to the dock to see him off. He kisses them all and then
leaves. To the family the boat is getting smaller and smaller as it gets
further away. Dad is gone, and they begin to miss him. But he has everything he
needs and he is happy. That’s an analogy of the Christian belief in death. Our
loved ones whom we remember this month are gone. We miss them, terribly. But
they are happy.
How tragic our
lives would be if all that mattered to us was the here and now. But that is not
the Christian faith. Our faith is in Jesus, the Eternal One, who gives us his
life and who assures us that we can say to our loved ones who die, and to our
loved ones who remain when we die, “Until we meet again.”
Jesus Christ is
the Victor over Death. His victory is
our victory. United with Him, we also
will live forever.
So we play the
game of musical chairs to win, ready for the Lord when the music stops ■
[1] Sunday 6th
November, 2011, 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time. Readings: Wisdom 6:12-16. My soul
is thirsting for you, O Lord my God—Ps 62(63):2-8. 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18.
Matthew 25:1-13.
[2] Did you ever read the comic the
Wizard of Id? That’s the one with the
little short king, His Runtness. In one
strip, King Twerp calls the royal monk in to ask him a theological
question. He asks the monk, “How do you
feel about capital punishment?” “There’s
not much we can do about it,” the monk says to the King. The King is quite
perplexed by this answer, “What do you mean that there is not much we can do
about the death penalty?” “Well, the fact is,” says the monk, “that we are all
born with it.” That is the reality that we deal with throughout our lives. Our loved ones die, we will die. How do we deal with it?.
