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| Lent 2 “Watching and waiting |
What’s a current example of waiting? Perhaps it’s personal – the friend who showed up an hour late for lunch. Perhaps it’s communal – another delay in rebuilding a dangerous intersection. Perhaps it’s international – will our soldiers ever come home? No one likes waiting. Why? Perhaps it’s because we feel helpless; things are out of our control. Caged animals react in different ways. At a zoo or animal farm, some pace endlessly. Some curl up and go to sleep. Just like us. Time for the parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins. While they waited, they slept. Forget about whether they were really virgins or not – it’s unimportant to the point of the parable. The essential point is that some were ready, and some weren’t. I would point out that this parable is the culmination of a series of teachings that run through the previous chapter of Matthew about being ready for the unknown. I could expand on any of them:
Excuses won’t suffice. Personally, I would have trouble NOT talking about Matthew’s obsession with judgment and punishment – the virgins who were locked out, the servant cut in two, the workers chosen or left in the field – but I recommend avoiding it, if only to avoid sounding like a tedious bore. Many movies have been made that end with a beloved pet returning home unexpectedly (Old Yeller, Big Red, Three Against the Wilderness, The Incredible Journey...) If I had the suitable technology, I would show a video clip of the beloved pet being welcomed back; if I didn’t, I would re-tell the story, to tug at a few heartstrings. (See also excerpt below from The Spirituality of Pets.) It’s that kind of expectant watching and waiting that Jesus calls us to.
I remembered our first dog. Mickey was just a mutt – a happy, yappy, brown and white terrier. We found him in the dog pound. Something bright in Mickey’s eyes, something in the way he cocked his ears and puckered his brow, attracted us. We paid our fee and took him home. The first evening we had him, we had to go out and leave him alone. I can still see his look of sorrow, of bewilderment, as we closed the front door and left him inside. And I will never, ever, forget the welcome he gave us when we returned. He didn’t merely wag his tail. He wagged everything. He vibrated himself into such ecstasy that his paws barely touched the floor. Through the years we had him, he always greeted us with the same exuberance. The overflowing joy of his welcome helped heal the pain of temporary separation. Mickey never understood why we had to leave him alone sometimes, any more than we can understand why God seems absent in times of depression or turmoil, or when violence and injustice engulf the world. But while we were absent, he guarded our property. And he waited patiently for us. Mickey showed me what to do during those times someone called “the dark night of the soul.” Look after God’s concerns. Be faithful. Believe that God still cares and will return. And whenever God is present, live in overflowing joy. |