There is a sentence that can turn a peaceful living room into an emergency center: “We are five minutes away!” The visitors you expected much later are almost at your door. Suddenly, everybody has a ministry. Someone becomes minister of sweeping. Someone becomes minister of washing plates. The youngest child receives strict instructions: “Whatever you do, do not open that door yet!” Things disappear into cupboards. Cushions cover stains. Somebody sprays enough air freshener to suggest that even the furniture just came out of the shower. Then the door opens. “Welcome! We have been expecting you!” Yes. Expecting them. But expecting is not always the same as being ready. And there are things five hurried minutes cannot put right.
That is where today’s Gospel passage begins to search our hearts. Ten bridesmaids are expecting the bridegroom. All have lamps. All intend to enter the feast. Yet five discover that good intentions cannot keep a flame alive. Imagine the waiting. Evening gradually becomes night. Someone looks down the road again. Nothing. The lamps burn while the bridegroom delays. Eventually, all ten fall asleep. Then the cry comes: The bridegroom is here! Hands reach for lamps. Lamp wicks are adjusted. Five women reach for their flasks for extra oil. The other five have no extra oil to which they can turn. Now they need what they had not thought necessary earlier. The darkness has not created their problem. It has revealed it.
Jesus tells this story near the end of his public ministry, as his Passion approaches. In Matthew’s Gospel, he is teaching his disciples how to live while awaiting his return. He knows people can easily give up while waiting.
The Church brings us this Gospel passage as our liturgical year draws toward Christ the King and Advent. We have celebrated the saints on All Saint’s Day, and remembered the faithful departed on All Souls’ Day. Now the question comes home to us still on earth: What are we doing with the time still entrusted to us?
I find it interesting that even the wise bridesmaids sleep. Jesus understands human tiredness. Readiness is not sleepless anxiety. It is a life turned toward God, even through ordinary weakness and weariness. But then the foolish bridesmaids ask for oil, and the wise refuse. We almost want to interrupt Jesus and say: “Surely they should share!”
Yet the story is showing us something generosity cannot accomplish. I can encourage your prayer, but I cannot give God your attention for you. I can ask your forgiveness, but I cannot release the resentment you insist on keeping. My family cannot stop praying because they have a priest in the family! My vocation can serve their faith; it cannot substitute for their response.
The closed door is really painful. We want another chance, another minute. Jesus warns us because our earthly opportunity to respond will end. Yet he tells us this while we are still listening. Today, his warning is an invitation. And the One inviting us is the Bridegroom who gives his life for his bride. Saint Paul reminds us that Jesus died and rose so that we might live with him.
At every Mass, we hear, “Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.” In the Eucharist, Christ gives himself to us. We prepare our hearts for the Eucharist through examination of our consciences, and seek confession before receiving Holy Communion when conscious of grave sin. He then finds his place in our homes. This preparation may begin with one conversation we have avoided, one apology, or one return to prayer. Not when the children are older. Not when work becomes easier. Not when the person who hurt us finally admits it. Let it begin here and now.
We cannot promise ourselves another year. But we can respond to grace today. Remember that peaceful sitting room that turned into a chaotic emergency room when the guests were five minutes away? We can hide things in cupboards and give visitors the impression that everything is ready. But with Christ, we can open even the cupboards. He comes with mercy for what we have hidden and strength for what we cannot repair alone. Let him enter now. Let him teach us to love now. Then his coming will be the fulfilment of a friendship already growing. And when the cry comes that “The Bridegroom is Here!” may we have no need to shout, “Give me five more minutes!” May our lives answer: “Lord, I have been making room for you all along.” Amen.
Homily for 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 2026
Add comment