Somebody’s Knocking

Proper 27A-26
Immanuel Lutheran, Chicago

In his last days in Jerusalem, Jesus told a parable about ten bridesmaids. Five were foolish and five were wise, he said. But frankly, it’s tough to tell them apart. They all carry lamps aglow with expectation and, despite Jesus’ admonishment to stay awake, all of them fall asleep waiting for the bridegroom. If it’s not the looks, the lamps, or the lethargy that distinguishes the wise from the foolish, what gives?

Is the point of this parable the Boy Scout’s motto: be prepared? Jesus is coming back, nobody knows when, and we need to be ready. The five wise bridesmaids had extra oil. The other five did not. It’s true that in Jesus’ day, lamp oil was symbolic of faithful deeds. This oil is not the kind found in the ground but flows naturally from compassionate hearts and minds engaged in active discipleship. No one else cannot do your loving, forgiving, or following for you, as Martin Luther famously pointed out in the 95 theses. The oil of faith is not transferrable. To prepare for the bridegroom’s return each of us must live a life of active faith.

That’s not a bad message. It’ll preach as they say. But this interpretation results in some strange examples of faithfulness to follow. For one thing, the so-called wise bridesmaids refused to share. Second, the bridegroom arrives late and closes the door on the people who were waiting for him. They’re all more foolish than wise. None are kind, merciful, or compassionate. If this parable means Christian faithfulness requires us to secure our own place while leaving everyone else to fend for themselves, I think we need to read it again (Micah Krey, “Matthew 25:1-13,” Writings on Recovery and Preaching, 11/08/26).

One strategy to find meaning in difficult passages of the bible is to let scripture interpret scripture. When in doubt, zoom out. Earlier, Jesus promised: “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you” (Matthew 7:7). Yet here, the bridesmaids ask for help and are refused. They appeal for admission and the door remains closed. Earlier, we also read that Peter has received the keys of the kingdom (16:19). The disciples are likewise given power to exercise authority within the community (18:18). Fast forward a few verses following today’s parable, Jesus warns that how we treat those who are hungry, thirsty, strangers, naked, sick, or imprisoned is one and the same as our treatment of Christ (25:31-46). (Krey)

So, perhaps Jesus’ parable is intended to be a cautionary tale for the Church? Our focus immediately shifts from the bridesmaids to the bridegroom—the bridegroom who is indifferent to other people’s schedule and who rudely closes the door on his guests. Dear church, what are we doing with the authority entrusted to us? We proclaim God’s welcome. Do we also decide who receives a welcome among us? We teach forgiveness. Do we also make judgments about whose failures should continue to define them? There are lots of ways to tell people they don’t have enough oil. How many churches do we know that are content to leave people outside? Those churches are waiting to see and hear Jesus on the inside while refusing the people through whom Jesus comes. (Krey) Jesus stands knocking at our door.

If our welcome depends on someone demonstrating that they have never been foolish, our churches would be empty. The promise from which we begin is that the crucified and risen Jesus comes back to disciples who failed him. In Gethsemane, Jesus asks them to remain awake with him. They fall asleep repeatedly (26:36–46). Peter, who has been so confident about his faithfulness, denies even knowing Jesus. The bridegroom in our parable says, “I do not know you.” Peter says, “I do not know the man” when asked about Jesus (26:72, 74). When he is arrested, all the disciples desert him and flee (26:56).
Yet the risen Jesus gathers these failed disciples again, declaring, ‘Peace be with you.” He entrusts them with a calling and promises his continuing presence (28:16–20). The church lives because Christ meets people whose faithfulness has failed. The parable of the ten bridesmaids confronts us with a decisive question. What do we do with the mercy we’ve received when we’re are the ones charged with stewarding God’s people? (Krey)

We are among the people who need Christ’s mercy. That gives the church a reason to answer the door without first establishing that the person outside deserves what we have received. Because we have all been on the outside of the door before. We have all had our light diminish. We’ve all run out of oil. We can help someone who has run out. We can stay beside someone whose plans have fallen apart. We can welcome someone who arrives with questions, regrets, and very little to offer. The Christ who entrusts us with this calling knows the failures of the people he calls. Somebody’s knocking. By the mercy of the Christ who has gathered us, we can open the door.

When we open doors instead of closing them our life begins to change and the whole world along with it. Some of you will discover gifts to respond to immediate needs. Some of you will find a calling to be teachers and healers. Some others will work to resist all forms of systemic injustice and deceit. Each of us finds a calling in the people God puts right in front of us. In his acceptance speech for United States Senate, James Talarico said, “Before the world changes in ways you see on TV or read about in newspapers, the world changes person to person, neighbor to neighbor.” That is the real work of the church.

Looking at the diversity of talented candidates elected this week one commentator quoted in Newsweek put it simply: the electorate caught up with the country. “The diverse faces now entering Congress, and the coalitions that elected them, reflect a growing recognition that a shared humanity is not a slogan but a fact of our common life” (Ilia Delio, “The Election Was a Beginning, Not a Rescue: Toward a Politics of Shared Life,” Substack, 11/05/26).

But we have been here before. “Politicians have spoken of new visions for as long as there have been campaigns. “Change we can believe in” was a vision and so was “a more perfect union.” Words of this kind have never been scarce. What has been scarce is the structure that would let a new vision take root. A speech can call people together, but it cannot by itself build the relationships, institutions, and habits that make shared life possible.” (Delio)

Jesus stands knocking on our door. Our political language, our economic system, and our faith traditions have not kept up with this reality. Muslim, Jewish, and Native American members now serve alongside Christians, and the country’s religious landscape is more plural than the one that shaped many of our political assumptions. For Christians, this is an occasion to reconsider what public faith looks like. A faith that is truly public is measured by whether it serves the common good alongside people of other traditions and none. The common good is built through ordinary choices, and every person carries a share of that work: in how we vote, how we spend, how we speak to our neighbors, and how we treat those who are poor or on the margins. (Delio) Jesus stands and knocks. Jesus invites us to take part in building the future to which God calls us and has always called us. God calls us as co-workers with God to build a world in the words of the prophet Amos, in which “justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream” (Amos 5:24).