The parable of the virgins does not in and of itself make a lot of sense. It can raise the wrong questions, and it has nothing to do with virginity one way or the other. In itself, the story might prompt our asking: why wouldn't the wise ones share their oil (what they did was hardly kind); why was the bridegroom so upset and his anger out of proportion to what was not such a terrible crime; why did the oil seller's store stay open after midnight?
Really, these details and others mean very little. As with most parables this one is not trying to be an allegory where everything must mean something. All it wants to say is Jesus is coming back. We know he will return. We may not know when but we want to be ready. That's it. That's the message and meaning.
Still, we like to find more hidden meanings. Secrets no one else has seen. We like finding what is not there, insisting on interpretation of what has no need of it. We look and search and distort. We make the oil into grace, the seller into church, or the virgins into celibates.
It can be the same with other aspects of Christianity, and with all of life as well. We can make it difficult and complex when, like the parable, it doesn't have to be and was never meant to be.
My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Friday, October 12, 2012
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