It’s Not the End of the World

Sermon

According to the Revised Common Lectionary, November is always the end of the world. Lectionarily speaking (if that’s a word), the final punctuation point is Reign of Christ, the last Sunday before Advent, a geeky celebration of doctrine that asserts all of creation is moving toward the culmination of God’s plan. This movement toward theocracy (God’s rule in the here-and-now) is so momentous, it needs some build up, hence the stories about the end of the world. Today’s story about admission to the wedding feast, for instance.

Now, I don’t mean the end of the world as in Left Behind or “Jesus is coming! Look busy!” Nor do I mean catastrophizing election results. I mean like the Two Loops theory, which, if you follow TED Talks or have served on the Westminster Session in the last five years, you might have at least heard about. Two Loops theory is a model for talking about social and organizational change. The point being, as the old way of doing things fades away, a new way is already emerging. The overlap between the rising new and the descending old is an interplay of two loops, hence the name. It’s life-death-resurrection on a sociological scale. Spiritually and emotionally, this is significant because how you say goodbye is how you greet the new.

My late husband was an Eagle Scout. The Boy Scout motto, you may recall, is “Be prepared.” Today’s bridesmaids might have benefitted from that motto. If you’ve been backstage at a wedding recently, you know the bridesmaids are supposed to be totally prepared for every eventuality. Online bridal guides and the wedding coordinator’s guild provide helpful checklists to support this role. Had those checklists been available to the young women in our parable, there might have been a different outcome for Jesus’ story.

I will be honest with you. This parable offends me. I’m offended that the girls who have oil won’t share with the girls who don’t. I’m offended that the bridegroom won’t just open the door to let in the so-called ill-prepared girls standing in the dark street. They had to have been people he knew, because he was coming home and their role was to greet him. I’m also offended by how this parable has been used. In the 19^th century it was a justification for Social Darwinism (the sociological theory of survival of the fittest), which justified social inequalities, opposed state-sponsored welfare, and underpinned capitalism, imperialism, and eugenics. These misuses persist, despite the rest of the chapter, which is the text that informs the Matthew 25 church movement. The PC(USA) initiative is based on the parable at the end of this chapter in which Jesus says that how people treat the most vulnerable ones is how they treat him. This parable isn’t about treatment of others, it’s about being ready for the reign of Christ. Be prepared.

I’m reminded of a little girl I regularly babysat when I was in college, a preschooler named Blythe. When we prepared to go outside to play, she would put on her jacket, throw her arms up, and sing out, “I’m ready!” Her parents thought she was destined for a career as a circus ringmaster. It was Blythe’s joy that I’ve carried all these years—the tremendous joy in accomplishing an ordinary task. Our hope-sick world could use a little of Blythe’s joy to inform this teaching about preparedness. How does joy move us through the dying-away loop and into a coming-to-be loop? We humans are pre-disposed to live as if there will be a future. We are healthier when we live for something, when we have goals and a purpose for our life, reasons for getting up in the morning. Even as we wrestle with the desire to know how it all turns out, we long to believe our lives have made a difference, that we’re part of a greater plan for the world.

I’m not usually a podcast person, but I ended up with Kate Bowler’s podcast last week. Kate is a professor at Duke Divinity, and she was interviewing Tim Shriver, the retired head of Special Olympics. Tim, the son of Eunice Kennedy Shriver and Sargeant Shriver, is now spearheading the Dignity Project. How he demonstrated “dignity” was so beautiful. Imagine, he said, you are at a Special Olympics race. Six pre-teens are at the starting line. Look into their faces and cheer them on by name, but use your name when you cheer. Shriver had the whole audience cheering with their own names as he started his “run.” At the completion of the race, jubilation was everywhere, and he said, “You came in fourth!” To have done your best is excellence, he said, because dignity is not a zero-sum game, as if my dignity robs you of some of yours. I was not the only listener who felt an essential joy of doing something as well as I could. That repeated experience is what motivated Shriver to found the Dignity Project to address what he terms the “dignity gap.” He said 90% of individuals they polled believe they have inherent dignity and are worthy of being treated as such. When asked how much dignity they ascribe to people they don’t agree with, only 30% were willing to ascribe that to others. That’s a 60% gap between dignity for oneself and the dignity others deserve. So I wonder about the end of the world. What if the Judgment Day for which we’re told to prepare, what if it wasn’t so Jesus could come to tell us what terrible people we are. What if it was Jesus coming back to say, “OK, that didn’t work. Let’s try something different.” What if it was life-death-resurrection, as if Judgment Day is a cosmic two-loops event that invites us to a deeper transformation. What if Judgment Day is an invitation to start living as if the Reign of Christ is now, as if there is no dignity gap?

One wonders about the nature of the preparedness of the “wise” bridesmaids. Prepared for what? It comes across that they are prepared for their greeting alone. They have chosen self-preservation over communal care, leaving the others literally out on the street. If being prepared is the point of the story (and not the ceremonial duties to greet the groom; no bride is mentioned), we might consider the nature of waiting—how we wait and the kind of people we are as we wait. The wise bridesmaids have enough oil, but they do not have enough compassion. Jesus’ message is usually to call his followers beyond self-preservation into lives of mercy, generosity, and love. Maybe the wisdom we see in these prepared bridesmaids is not necessarily wrong, just an incomplete wisdom. The wedding party isn’t just for the cool kids who have the chops to keep their lamps burning to make it through the night. Maybe the wedding party is a place where our own lamps light the way for others, where there is enough light for all. You came in fourth! You did your best! Others got to run, too!

Did you know there is a Doomsday Vault in Norway? This remote facility secures more than a million varieties of crop-seed samples from around the world. Its purpose is to support food security by protecting crop diversity against climate change, national disaster, disease, and war. Nations retain ownership of the seeds they deposit, withdrawing them as needed. It’s a form of bridesmaid preparedness, but grounded in regard for all of creation, not limited to just the so-called wise ones. So then, let’s look at our nation, post-election. Wendell Berry’s vision of a sacred world is one in which we are called to a type of citizenship not based on passports but on strengthening human-scale bonds of mutual accountability. What sort of preparedness would that party need? Would it narrow the dignity gap?

The Hebrew scripture assigned to accompany this parable has Joshua addressing the Israelites literally on the verge of entering the Promised Land. “The time is now,” he says. “Choose today whom you will serve.” Their choice is between the God of their ancestors or the gods of the local kids. There is an urgency to the choice. NOW, this day. Is this choice about an ending or a beginning? As humans, we live forward in time, toward futures and goals and purpose statements. It’s why churches have vision committees, why the time of transition between pastors works best if there is an interim who helps the congregation clean up any unfinished business. We like to believe our lives have coherence, that we are part of a larger story (God’s story), that what we do and who we are matters. Jesus affirms this in today’s parable. But it’s not a prescriptive parable: do this and your life will have meaning and you’ll be happy. This is a parable that asks us to choose what kind of bridesmaid we are. Do our lamps burn so that we ourselves get into the wedding party, or do our lamps burn so that others can see as well. You came in fourth! Hooray!

San Francisco is famous for its painted ladies, colorful Victorian houses. This has not always been the case. In 1963, artist Butch Kardum bought one of the typical gray Victorians and painted it in colors befitting my young friend, Blythe. At first the neighbors were offended, but Kardum hadn’t painted his house to convince other people about beauty, he just liked how it looked. And soon others did, too. By the time 7 years had elapsed, there were colorful houses all over San Francisco. One person had changed the look of the city by doing what he genuinely loved. I’m not saying we should change the colors of Portland’s architecture. This is about changing our understanding of what it means to be prepared as we wait for the end of the world, for God’s plan to be accomplished. It’s not complete if the people we don’t agree with can’t get in. We need to look at our own dignity gap to see if it reflects the kind of wisdom grounded in compassion. A letter of the law wisdom is satisfied to keep one’s own lamp burning. A deeper wisdom looks for ways to shine so that others may join the party. You might imitate the San Francisco artist who used colors he genuinely loved. You might imitate my little Blythe, so ready for what comes next. You might imitate Tim Shriver’s Special Olympics athletes who do their best (and come in fourth). You prepare for the end your own way, doing what you genuinely love. It might be during your commute or shopping for groceries or around the water cooler or trying to remember your locker combination. Friends, it might be the end of the world, but prepare for it like it’s as a party, as if it is part of a new beginning.