Preached on the Twenty-fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 27A), November 12, 2023, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Seattle, Washington by The Reverend Stephen Crippen.
Wisdom of Solomon 6:12-16
Psalm 70
1 Thessalonians 4:13-18
Matthew 25:1-13
“Wisdom is radiant and unfading, and she is easily discerned by those who love her… One who rises early to seek her will have no difficulty, for she will be found sitting at the gate.”
We have constructed a new light-green gate to the garden at St. Paul’s. It is simple, yet also a little bit grand. It rolls gently but heavily, along a track laid down upon a new slip of concrete. When it arrives in the fully-closed position, it readily submits to a strong padlock. If you like, you could clamber over this gate and get inside, but that would be awkward, and somehow the gate quietly discourages you from doing this. It is elegant but heavy; it is permeable but strong: it is a substantial metal fence. The gate seems to say, without words, “Respect my boundary; yield to the limit I place upon you.”
I invite you to place yourself, in your imagination, at this gate. It is of course just a physical object that functions practically to strengthen security on our campus, but this gate is more than lovely enough to become your metaphorical gate – to aid you in your spiritual contemplations. Imagine yourself at this gate, and as you contemplate this image, let your heart seek Wisdom, the one who sits at the gate. Let your every thought discern her, for she takes up her post at all of the marked boundaries of our lives.
The boundary is often where we say – and hear – the word “No.” At our new gate, there is to be no entry after hours, because we do not want anyone to be in danger, and that includes those who have malign intentions when they enter gardens. If you are not able to behave safely in our garden, then you yourself are among those who can be harmed. This insight — that the wrongdoer is among their own victims — it hit home for me this summer when a person was suspected of dealing fentanyl at the edge of our property, at the very spot where the gate now stands. In the days when I intervened repeatedly to interrupt and prevent this person’s unsafe actions, I included this person in my prayers, and I continue to do so. He is desperately vulnerable. And so I realized once more that the word “No” is often the beginning of Wisdom, even for the one who wants to hear it the least.
May I do whatever I like? No.
But the word “Yes” also belongs at the boundary, at the gate, at the seat of Wisdom. She will say “Yes” to many things. Yes, you may come inside to say your prayers, and to walk the path of discernment on our labyrinth. You can come in springtime to stand under the snowfall of our cherry blossoms, or you could come in any season to help our gardeners tend this edge of God’s verdant Paradise.
Wisdom, on her seat at the boundary, offers a particularly prophetic and full-hearted “Yes” to those who are different from one another, and want to embrace across that difference. Wisdom teaches us to approach the boundaries between cultures and peoples, to notice the tension that runs along those boundaries, and to speak across that tension, to speak peace, to speak the truth, to seek – and receive – understanding. Can you name all the boundaries in this weary world that are riven by war, or slammed shut by walls and garrisons? But at Wisdom’s gate, her wall is perforated with openings to let people through, to let light shine through, to say “Yes,” even when that “Yes” is fraught with anxiety. If I say “Yes” to someone different from me, I stand to lose: I may not emerge from the experience with as much certitude as I had before; I may even be asked to set aside privileges. Just like the word “No,” the word “Yes,” at Wisdom’s gate, is not always simple and straightforward.
And finally, today, as we linger at Wisdom’s gate, we hear a story of ten people, five who were welcomed across the boundary, and five others who were turned away. You may feel a reasonable, understandable revulsion as you hear the harsh “No” spoken at the gate by the Wise One, the bridegroom in the parable, the One who marries us, the One who welcomes us – at least, those of us who are ready – to walk through the gate, to enter the fold, to join the celebration. The bridegroom offers a delightful “Yes!” to the five wise ones who were ready, approaching the boundary with their oil lamps full and burning; but the bridegroom abruptly shuns the foolish ones, saying, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.”
Ouch.
But before you cast aside this parable as unnecessarily judgmental and harsh; before you reject another religious teaching that condemns some while welcoming others; before you throw up your hands in frustration with yet another nasty story from church; recall that Wisdom, sitting at her gate, says both “No” and “Yes”, and both judgments administer God’s grace. And though we might assume that the “Yes” answer is lovely, even Wisdom’s graceful “Yes!” could startle us, especially when she says “Yes” to people who — let’s be honest, now — we would really prefer were kept outside the gate. And we’ve already been told that the “No” answer is necessary, often enough, to protect the health and safety of the community.
The preacher and professor Matt Skinner says that the harsh rejection of the five foolish bridesmaids makes sense — or at least it seems less awful — when we consider the damage that unprepared people can inflict on their community. In their action — and in their inaction — they reveal their lack of concern, their lack of commitment, their lack of love for their people. The wedding in this parable is not just a romantic sweetheart ceremony for two lovebirds. It is the reconciliation of a whole community. It is a tremendous visitation of God’s justice and peace on the face of this battle-scarred earth. And so, if I am unprepared, if I did not bother to do my part, if I did not rise early (figuratively or otherwise) to meet Wisdom at her gate, or hear her voice in every thought, then I need to hear that terrible yet just boundary judgment: “No.”
So is that it, then? Do the foolish bridesmaids stagger away in despair, fade to black, roll the credits? If I blow it, am I done, banished, condemned? Definitely not. God in Jesus goes all the way to hell itself to persuade every last soul to approach the gate again, but to be ready this time: ready to hear a new teaching; ready to accept correction; ready to “mortify” — to put to death — all that is deathward within.
And it is here that I want to direct your attention to the future tense that Jesus employs when he gives us this difficult teaching. “The kingdom of heaven will be like this,” he sings to us. God always, always opens up a future for every human being God has so lovingly made. Which bridesmaid do you want to be when you next approach the gate? Wise, or foolish? You’ll have another chance.
There’s a story that Bill Wilson, one of the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, begged for a drink at the very end of his life, as he lay on his deathbed. In fact they say he made four separate appeals for a glass of whiskey. The assisting nurse evidently did not grant his request. She spoke with Wisdom’s voice, it seems, when she said “No”, and Bill died a sober man. I hope so, for his sake; and whatever actually happened, the official story of his sober death – his holy death – is reassuring to the countless addicts who have been inspired and guided by Bill for nearly a century. But if the nurse ever did reveal — in a newly discovered diary, say — that Bill died under the influence, that’s okay. It really is okay. He may just be standing on the “No” side of the gate for a little while longer, that’s all.
“No,” says Wisdom, when we are not ready to cross the gate safely, to tread the border safely, for the life and health of the community. “No,” Wisdom will say to me, if I am not ready, if I am dangerous. If I focus on myself before others, if I mulishly resist God’s compassion for those who suffer, if I continually fail to open my heart and mind — then I will remain a person who harms the community. But no matter how long I struggle with all of that, I affirm that one day – when I am ready – I will hear the glad, lovely “Yes.”
We Protestants tend to stop short at theological concepts like Purgatory, rightly viewing them with a critical eye, understandably wary to imagine a complicated and judgmental cosmology in which people have to be cleansed or reformed before they can stand in the presence of God. It’s not like that.
It’s more like Wisdom sitting at her gate, saying “No” when that is the wise answer, and saying “Yes” when that is the wise answer. And so, in a few moments, after we pray for the world – that is, after we pray for all who are thronging both sides of the gate – we will gather at this Table, we will sing our triumphant songs of thanksgiving, and we will tear apart a loaf of bread, bread from heaven, bread from the “Yes” side of the gate. We will share this bread so that we might be nourished and strengthened: strengthened to get ready; strengthened to repair (always with God’s help) all that we have damaged; strengthened to meet Wisdom behind our every thought; and strengthened, finally, to hear Wisdom pronounce her unimpeachable judgment upon us. Even today, even now, we are invited to perceive Wisdom turning toward us, and saying, with God’s own grace and gladness,
“Yes.”