When it comes to a wedding ceremony, timing is a most unpredictable thing. At wedding rehearsals I usually say to all the participants who are a bit nervous about where to stand and how to walk and what to say, I usually say “getting here tomorrow will be the hardest part.” I remember a long time ago the bride and her father were so nervous about timing and everything, I guess, that when they arrived they rushed from the car dashed through the narthex and made a bee-line down the aisle. When the groom and I came through the door to the first notes of Canon in D, the bride was already there waiting for us. One afternoon here as the hour came and passed, we had to send someone to find the entire bridal party. It seemed the photographer had a favorite arch over on the campus. Hopefully we can laugh now about the maid of honor who had to stop for a new pair of pantyhose and arrived 15 minutes after we should have started. I have often wondered if I knew all the guests at weddings whether I should tell couples about those arriving late, sometimes very late. Because of course, the bride and groom can’t see whose sneaking in there in the back. My personal pastoral record was a bride who arrived 45 minutes late. The hard work was the pastoral care offered to the groom, for about 44 minutes. Timing can be an unpredictable variable, even on important days.

Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. “Meeting the bridegroom” was part of the celebration like tossing the bouquet or the best man’s toast or cutting the cake. The bridegroom had set out in ceremonial fashion to pick up the bride at her parents’ home. At the first sign of their return, the wedding party would light their lamps and lead a procession to the banquet hall where the party would begin. The bridesmaids would go “meet the bridegroom.”

There were ten bridesmaids that took their lamps. Five of them took some extra oil. Flasks that could be used to keep the fire burning. They were the wise ones. The foolish ones headed out for the “meet the bridegroom” part with only the oil in their lamps and the clothes on their back and the change in their pockets. And since timing can be an unpredictable variable, even on important nights, there was a delay. Every single bridesmaid fell asleep. They fell asleep on the job of “bridesmaiding”. The shout went up when night was at its fullest; at midnight; “here they come! I can see them.” The ten brides maids scrambled and fumbled. No one likes to wake with such a start! They had to straighten and freshen and waken. They wouldn’t want the couple to know they fell asleep, or they snuck in late.

Then they had to trim their lamps. Tend their wicks. Set the torch. Light the way. And like every wedding reception known to humankind, still there was another delay. It was more than a one tank procession. All the lamps started to go out. The wise bridesmaids had those flasks. They could refill. They could keep burning. The five flaskless maidens asked for some oil to be shared; “a little help here?!” Someone there in the bridal party new that a five lamp procession was better than a no lamp procession. If they spread the oil too thin there would be no light at all by the time this party started, by the time the couple of the hour finally arrived, finally finished with the photographer. The foolish had to go search for some oil. They had to go buy some. They probably had to find a MAC machine first. Sure enough, the bridegroom arrived while they were gone. When they returned the party was in full swing. The banquet was full. And the five foolish maidens who now smell like oil and look a bit of a shambles, they’re left on the front porch begging to come in and reeling from the harsh words that come from the one now married. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” And the sound of the slamming door suddenly drowns out the joyful noise coming from inside the party.

For those who like their symbolism served up on an allegorical platter, where the gift of meaning is always neatly wrapped, the corners taped, and the bow perfectly tied, here you go....The wedding banquet is the coming kingdom of God. The bridegroom is Jesus the Christ, the One who is surely coming. The ten maidens are the followers of Jesus: apostles, disciples, saints, martyrs, church. All the faithful who find themselves somewhere between the first and the second coming of the Son of God. The lamp is the Christian life; as in let your light so shine and this little light of mine. The oil–some say good works, others say Holy Spirit, still others say faith. And the sudden call that went out while everyone was asleep? Well, traditionally that reflects the unexpected return of Christ; like a thief in the night, at the hour no one knows but God in heaven. But what about the night? It was one long night. Judging from the maidens sleeping and the extra flasks of oil needed, and not one delay but two. It was one long, dark night. The call, the sighting came when night was the darkest, and longest. The call came at the very crux of night. It was midnight. The very heart of one long, dark night.

In his play The Long Christmas Dinner, Thornton Wilder doesn’t quite serve meaning and symbolism up on a platter, but the meaning of the stark imagery on stage is striking. In the middle is one big dinner table. The place-settings and food are left to the imagination. There are two doors on stage. One is festively decorated for celebration. The other is draped in black. Characters enter stage right full of life, often with babes in arms. To exit stage left through that door is death. The exit unto eternity. The one-act play is the story of the Bayard family through four generations; ninety years. The plot tells of ordinary lives, relationships, struggles, one Christmas to the next, generations coming and going all the while the same table, the same meal, the same dinner. One long Christmas dinner. One long night.

The parable of the wise and foolish maidens plays before us on Advent’s stage once again this year. We are invited in again; the readers, the listeners, the audience, the congregation, the church. The symbolism need not be subtle. For like a Thornton Wilder play, it is the one, long, dark night that invites us in. The long night of waiting, of preparing, of yearning to celebrate and feast in the kingdom. Generations coming and generations going. Ordinary lives, relationships, struggles, and one long dark night. The bridegroom. The maidens. The call. The lamps. Delay. Feast. And then there is the night. The night lengthens until it includes us all. All of us here on stage, just this side of midnight, struggling to trim a lamp or two, “a little help here”! Timing is a most unpredictable thing.

Just before Thanksgiving, I traveled to Washington to the National Holocaust Museum with members of the Princeton Clergy Association on a trip led by Rabbi Adam Feldman of the Jewish Center. The purpose of the trip was to tour the museum and to hear a panel discussion on the genocide in Darfur sponsored by the museum’s Committee on Conscience. “Never again” and “Not on our watch” are phrases that reflect the museum’s commitment to human rights and justice and an understanding of history that most fully informs our experience of the present. Over the Thanksgiving holiday the museum launched its first ever outdoor exhibit. Pictures of the suffering in Darfur were projected on the huge exterior walls of the stately building right there on the mall in Washington. As darkness fell, and lights came up on at least three walls, and the technology kicked in, the 30 or 40 foot images must have been visible from blocks away. My guess is that the symbolism would have been hard to miss for a visitor on a holiday weekend there in nation’s capitol. The dark of night lit up with a cry for justice.

Every week when I am working on my sermons various conversation partners come into the room. The voice of the biblical text. The theological tradition. Pastoral concerns. Events in the life of the church. Current events in the world. Figuratively speaking, sermon preparation is far from a solitary act. Just this week, here’s a snippet of the conversation. Word came to me that this Sunday, December 10 th is Human Rights Day. For more than 50 years the United Nations has led an international celebration of the 1948 Declaration of Human Rights. A mailing from Homefront here in Mercer County told me that there are more than 1,800 people homeless in the area and the average is seven. Our denomination informed me this week of action taken at last summer’s General Assembly. The resource document is entitled “Resolution on Human Rights in A Time of Terrorism and Torture.” Jim McCloskey over at Centurion Ministries came to see me (in the form of a letter) and told me about six prisoners around the country he is currently working to free because he believes they are wrongly imprisoned. Collectively, they’ve been in prison for 122 years. Other pastors in town joined me, this time in face to face conversation with the police chief and then the mayor as we talked about police relations with youth and the concerns of the Witherspoon/John Street neighborhood and racial tensions in our community. And, of course, like the rest of you, the news of the war in Iraq haunts every conversation that is intentionally reflective about the world, even if you’re talking to yourself. Ten US soldiers were killed just on one day this week.

The night lengthens until it includes us all. Just this side of midnight, just when the night is at its fullest. One long dark night. The heart of one, long dark night. Generations coming and generations going. Ordinary lives, relationships, struggles. All of us here on stage, just this side of midnight, struggling to trim a lamp or two, “a little help here!” The wise ones are those who were prepared for the delay. The wise ones had enough oil—good works, Holy Spirit, faith, a cry for justice, a vision of the kingdom, ceaseless prayer, tireless witness, a passion for the Good News, a willingness to stand up in the pitch of night and point to, even demand the very light of God. As another preacher put it, “The wise ones in the church ....are those who hold onto to the faith deep into the night; who, even though they see no bridegroom coming, still serve and hope and pray and wait for the promised victory of God.”

The wreath is lit. The notes of “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus” and “O Come O Come Immanuel” ring in the ear. Calendars with little windows to open are hung. Wreathes go up. Worship plans are set. The story is being told. Pageants are planned. It must be Advent.

A prayer for Darfur. A candle lit for Womanspace and an end to domestic violence. A rising voice against torture. A plea for supplies at the Crisis Ministry. Alternative gifts abound. Demands for peace and the end to this war. A prayer for justice. A walk for peace. A call for reconciliation right outside these doors. A cry for God’s righteousness. It must be Advent.

The night lengthens to include us all. But at midnight there comes a shout! Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him! Keep your lamps! Keep them burning!

And Jesus said, “Keep awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

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