Today’s Gospel has a title problem. Matthew 25:1-13 is called “The Parable of the Ten Virgins,” but it’s often referred to as the parable of “The Wise and Foolish Virgins” or sometimes, simply, “The Foolish Virgins.” Setting aside the fact that the noun in the title (virgins) makes most of us think Jesus is talking about someone else, I believe the real difficulty lies with the adjectives (wise, foolish). What can I say? Once an English major, always an English major.
Permit me a quick recap. In Matthew, this chapter is the last one in which Jesus tells any stories. (The next one begins, “When Jesus finished all these words. . .” at which point the events leading up to the crucifixion begin to unfold.) So basically this is Matthew’s version of Jesus making sure he’s said everything that most needs saying.
So, what does he say?
Jesus tells three parables, starting with today’s, in which “the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were wise.” The wise packed extra oil for their lamps; the foolish did not. The bridegroom, the parable continues, was “long delayed.”
Okay, we think, with our post-resurrection brains. The bridegroom is obviously Jesus, and we know he’s coming again, but we don’t know when. This must be a parable about preparedness; obviously, the Foolish Virgins had never been Girl Scouts.
Sure enough, when the women are awakened by the cry “Behold, the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!” the foolish virgins with their flickering lamps try to bum a little oil off the wise ones, only to be told “No, for there may not be enough for us and you. Go instead to the merchants and buy some for yourselves.”
Now, stop right there. Do we really think “wise” is the right adjective for these gals? Sure, they were prepared, but they also sound like Mean Girls. Maybe this should be called “The Parable of the Stingy Virgins” or even “The Parable of the Manipulative Virgins,” because what lamp oil merchant is open in the middle of the night?
But sure enough, the foolish ones heed the advice of the wise / mean / stingy / manipulative ones; they scamper off in search of a 24-hour convenience store while the bridegroom is in shouting distance. They come back to find the door barred and themselves unrecognized and thus unadmitted, and Jesus concludes the parable with his customary instruction to “Stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
But notice this: he doesn’t say “Be sure to pack enough oil, for you know neither the day nor the hour.” Now, that’s interesting. Wasn’t that the whole point of the parable? Wasn’t that the one thing that distinguished the wise from the foolish? Maybe not.
“Be sure to store up enough fuel for an indefinite wait” doesn’t really sound like Jesus, does it? This is the Jesus, after all, who taught us to pray for our daily bread—a clear reference to the manna in the desert that rotted when hoarded—and who elsewhere told a parable actually titled “The Rich Fool” about a man who tore down his grain barns to build bigger ones for his plentiful harvest on what turned out to be the last night of his life. Jesus was pretty clear: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth . . . for where your treasure lies, there your heart will be” (Mt 6:19-21).
I believe that the real foolishness of the Underprepared Virgins was revealed the moment they stopped watching for the bridegroom and ran off to make themselves look better when he arrived.
Of course, this might be where the analogy falls apart, as every analogy does at some point. I don’t know enough about first-century Jewish marriage customs to know what would have happened if half the welcoming committee had unlit lamps. But we’re talking about the kingdom of heaven here, so it’s not some imaginary bridegroom coming; it’s Jesus. He’s not coming in rage or scorn or condescension, unhinged by our frailties. He’s coming as himself: tender, compassionate, loving.
Put yourself in the scene. Imagine for a moment this Jesus approaching as you stand there, wide awake, useless lamp discarded. Imagine how much your desire to be in his presence outshines your desire to hide your ineptitude. Imagine his face as he spots you, approaches you, embraces you.
Now, aren’t you glad you stayed?
Christine Marie Eberle 