03.12. THE TEN VIRGINS

THE TEN VIRGINS

Matthew 25:1-13 The prolonged discourse of which this parable forms a striking part was uttered in reply to a very natural question which the disciples had put to our Lord. In ignorance of what was chiefly engaging His thoughts, and in simple-minded, rustic admiration of the metropolis, they had been taking Him round to show Him the marvels of the now completed temple. And well might they expect to hear their own exclamations of surprise and overwhelming admiration echoed from every one who in their day walked about Zion “and marked her bulwarks, or gazed on the astounding pile of marble that crowned the opposite summit of Moriah. Buildings of similar magnificence were scarcely elsewhere to be seen. It can scarcely have been with cold contempt for those stupendous architectural works, but rather with deep sorrow and compassion that our Lord, after silently gazing upon them, or entering with sympathy into the enthusiasm of his companions, at last let fall the unexpected word, “Verily I say unto you there shall not be left here one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown down.” It was inevitable that the disciples should eagerly desire to know when this catastrophe was to occur. “Tell us when shall these things be, and what shall be the sign of Thy coming and of the end of the world.” Our Lord’s reply to this question is, that the day and the hour of His corning are known to the Father only, and that therefore the only way to be prepared for that hour is to be always ready, prepared for any hour and every hour. This is the lesson which He means the parable to convey, and which He expressly draws in the words, “Watch, therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour when the Son of man cometh.” And we must beware of pressing this or any parable to say more than it was meant to say. We get what it was intended to give when by its vivid imagery we are practically aroused to the necessity of being always prepared for our Lord’s coming. We may therefore dismiss a great deal of minute allegorizing and searching for hidden meanings in little turns of expression and parabolic accessories with the words of one of the Reformers who says, “It is nothing at all to the purpose to speculate and refine about virginity and lamps and oil and those who sell oil. These refined speculations are the trifles of allegorizers. But the one idea that is of moment is, that they who are really prepared shall enter into the joy of the Lord, while the unprepared shall be excluded.” Or we may say with Calvin himself: — “Some expositors torment themselves greatly in explaining the lamps, and the vessels, and the oil; but the simple and genuine meaning of the whole is just this, that it is not enough to have a lively zeal for a while. We must have in addition a perseverance that never tires.”

Neither need we spend time on the customs from which the parable draws its imagery. Let it suffice to read the words of one of the most accurate describers of what is to be seen in India. “At a marriage,” he says, “the procession of which I saw some years ago, the bridegroom came from a distance, and the bride lived at Serampore, to which place the bridegroom was to come by water. After waiting two or three hours, at length, near midnight, it was announced, as if in the very words of Scripture, “Behold the bridegroom Cometh, go ye out to meet him.” All the persons employed now lighted their lamps, and ran with them in their hands to fill up their stations in the procession. Some of them had lost their lights, and were unprepared; but it was then too late to seek them, and the cavalcade moved forward to the house of the bride, at which place the company entered a large and splendidly illuminated area before the house covered with an awning, where a great multitude of friends, dressed in their best apparel, were seated upon mats. The bridegroom was carried in the arms of a friend, and placed upon a superb seat in the midst of the company, where he sat a short time, and then went into the house, the door of which was immediately shut, and guarded by sepoys. I and others expostulated with the doorkeepers, but in vain. Never was I so struck with our Lord’s beautiful parable as at this moment: and the door was shut.” This imagery so familiar to our Lord’s hearers was used on this occasion to illustrate chiefly these three things: the meaning of our Lord’s command to watch; its reason; and the means of fulfilling it. It illustrates the meaning of the command; showing us that it does not mean, “ Be ye always on the watch,” but “Be always prepared.” The fisherman’s wife who spends her time on the pier-head watching for the boats, cannot be so well prepared to give her husband a comfortable reception as the woman who is busy about her household work, and only now and again turns a longing look seaward. None of the virgins were on the watch for the bridegroom, but some of them were nevertheless prepared for His coming. It is impossible for us to be always looking out for the coming of Christ, but it is quite possible to be prepared for His coming. Our life is to bear evidence that one of the things we take into account is the approach of our Lord.

2. It illustrates also the reason of the command. No one can tell when this second great interruption of the world’s even course is to take place. It may be nearer than some expect; or as the parable shows, it may be more distant than some expect. The expectation of a speedy termination of things which so largely prevailed in the first Christian generation might have been moderated by the wide circulation of this parable. The virgins who neglected to carry reserve-flasks of oil were those who expected the bridegroom would soon appear. They did not anticipate a long delay; they made no provision for continuance. Had the hour been a fixed one they would have been prepared, but they were betrayed by its uncertainty. And no doubt if any one could say with authority, “The Lord is to come on Tuesday first,” a very large number of persons would at once prepare as best they could to meet Him. If the belief really grew up within them that on a certain day not far distant they must face their Lord, that belief would certainly produce a multitude of thoughts, and some efforts at preparation. It is, then, after all, your baseless sup, position that the Lord will not come quickly that betrays you into carelessness. This parable assures you you have no ground for saying, “My Lord delayeth His coming.” You really do not know how near He is. And if any one feels, “Well, this then comes to no more than an appeal to fear. The appeal made by the parable is grounded on the assumption that Christians will be better men, and do more if they expect to be quickly summoned into Christ’s presence,”— if this be felt, it can only be said in reply that fear is in many circumstances the equivalent of prudence, and a very wholesome motive; and further, that the expectation of Christ’s coming does not give rise only to fear, but also to hope; that it braces the Christian’s energies, and in accordance with human nature quickens the spiritual life. Or if any one feels that to have stimulated all past generations with the expectation of an event which did not after all occur, is artificial and unworthy, it should be enough to reflect that the beneficial system of insurance proceeds on principles to a large extent similar.

3. The parable shows us how we are to prepare for meeting the Lord. We are to be prepared to join in the festal celebration of His coming. We are to be in a position to join with those who add luster to His presence, who give Him a hearty welcome, and who enter with Him into His joy. We are prepared for His coming if we are in the spirit of the occasion, and if we are furnished with what may fit us for suitably appearing in His company. The lamps of the virgins were meant to lend brilliancy to the scene; they were intended as a festal illumination. The virgins whose lamps burned brightly were not ashamed to be seen forming part of the bridal company. They were in keeping with it. Conscience will tell us what numbers us among the wise or among the foolish. Everything in us that heartily welcomes Christ’s presence, and heartily rises to do Him honor; everything about us that can reflect any brightness or glory on Him; everything that makes us better than blots and blacknesses in His retinue; everything that will seem a suitable accompaniment in the triumph of a holy Redeemer, is a preparation for Christ’s coming. The parable is not addressed to those who have never made any preparation for Christ’s coming, but to those who have not made sufficient preparation. It reminds us that all who may at one time show similar preparedness for Christ’s presence do not in the end show the same. Of those who start with similar intentions and similar external appearance a number fail to fulfil their original intention, and in the end belie their promising appearance. It is the same everywhere: in severe marches, prolonged and fatiguing enterprises and labors, a number always tail off and are not forthcoming at the final muster. The number who at any period of their life really go forth to meet their Lord, delighting to do Him honor and seeking His presence, may not be very large; but it is much larger than the number who maintain their preparedness to the end. The reason of this so frequent failure is here declared. The folly of the foolish virgins consisted In this, that while the wise took oil, they took none: that is to say, made no provision against any delay in the time of the Bridegroom’s appearance. They lit their lamps, but made no provision for feeding them: the flame was to all appearance satisfactory, but the source of it was defective. And without running the figure too hard, we may say that those who In the end of their life fail to show as much fitness for Christ’s presence as they did at some previous period, fail because they have been all along superficial and have never been filled with grace at the source, have not had the root of the matter in them. The foolish virgins, then, are a warning to all who are tempted to make conversion everything, edification nothing; who cultivate religion for a season and then think they have done enough; who were religious once, can remember the time when they had very serious thoughts, and very solemn resolutions, but who have made no earnest effort, and are making none, to maintain within themselves the life they once began. The wise are those who recognize that they must have within them that which shall enable them to endure to the end — not only impressions, right Impulses, tender feelings, but Ineradicable beliefs and principles which will at all times produce all right impulse and feeling. It is not in vain that our nature is made as it is made. In body and soul things are so ordered that one part aids and feeds another part. Without a good digestion no other function can be thoroughly well performed; as well performed as it might be. And in our spiritual nature, our feelings and impulses are nourished by our beliefs and perceptions. If we recognize the truth, if we have come to an assured and settled conviction that Christ has lived, and that He now lives, if our perceptions and beliefs are bringing us in contact with the truth, with Christ, and with things unseen, then we may expect to continue to the end.

Another point may be accepted from this part of the Parable: that there must be regard paid both to the outward and inward life. The vessel of oil is not enough without the burning lamp; nor the lamp merely lighted and with no supply of oil. There is a something which makes you worthy of entering with Christ into lasting joy. And this something is not an exhibition of the external marks of a Christian, neither is it the certainty that once you had inward grace; but it is the continuous maintenance, to the end, both of the outward works which manifest, and of the inward graces which are the life of a Christian. The inward life of the soul and the outward expression of that life bear to one another an essential relation. On the one hand, if you do not constantly renew your supply of grace, if you do not carefully see to the condition of your own spirit, your good works will soon become less frequent, less sincere, and less lovely: your flame will burn low. But, on the other hand, if you tend only the life of your own soul, if you seek only to possess as much grace as possible for yourself, if you ask for the Holy Spirit and yet do none of those things in which the Spirit would naturally express Himself, if you do not let your light shine before and upon men in the actual circumstances you are placed in, then you will soon find that your internal life begins to stagnate and corrupt. To a healthy Christian life these two things are essential. A vessel of oil is, in itself, of no use on a dark night. The oil is not light, and might as well be water unless a light be added. And a burning wick which lasts only for half a minute, is only disappointing and tantalizing. A Christian must not only feel right but do right; and must not only do right but feel right. To be filled with the Spirit you have but to pray. You cannot manufacture nor create that which can sustain your spiritual life: God only can give it, and give it He does, gladly and liberally, in answer to your requests. And having the Spirit you must use Him; letting your light shine not so as to show yourself more conspicuously, but so as to help on others in their dark and doubtful way through this life; by dealing fairly with them, by being generous and considerate, by doing the best you can for every one you have to do with in any capacity. This is the reason why many of us feel slightly jarred in spirit when we hear converts rising in a confession-meeting one after another and saying, “I was saved last Wednesday night,” “I was saved on the 18th February,” “I was saved on the 12th March,” and so on. It is not that we do not believe that they are speaking the truth, but that we know that they have yet to be tested by life. We rejoice with them because they have found their Saviour; we tremble for them because we know that they have yet to work out their own salvation through years of temptation. All that their confession means is, that their lamp is lit, but how long it will burn is quite another question. They are merely in the condition of the ten virgins as they first went out, and only time can show whether they have oil or not. They may have been able to rejoice in Christ at a given hour last week or last month, and may at that hour have risen to greet Him, and there is nothing wrong in their declaring that such has been the case: but their trial has yet to take place; it has yet to be discovered whether, when many years have passed, they shall still be found rejoicing in Him. For in many cases it would appear as if conversion and salvation were looked upon as equivalents: in many cases there is a lack of soberminded counting of the cost, and a jubilation of spirit which would be more becoming at the close of the long fight of faith than at its commencement. You may say you are saved when you fairly put yourself into Christ’s hand; but you must also remember that then your salvation is only beginning, and that you cannot, in the fullest sense, say you are saved until Christ has wrought in you a perfect conformity to Himself. This being the distinction between the wise and foolish virgins, that which brings it to light is that the Bridegroom did not come while all the lamps were yet burning, and that during His delay they all slumbered and slept. This seems to mean no more than that all, having made such preparation as they judged sufficient “calmly and securely waited the approach of the Bridegroom.” There can scarcely be any more than this meant by the sleep; nothing which would make the sleep culpable on the part of the wise, for we do not find that any evil consequence whatever followed to them; rather they would be all the fresher for their rest, the better prepared to enter on the joy. But the security which is excusable, and the repose which is necessary to one condition, is in another utter madness. Unconstrained mirth, eager pursuit of business, is one thing in the man who has just examined his books and made arrangements to meet all claims, but it is quite another thing in him who has made no such arrangements and does not know whether he can meet his engagements. So it is one thing to turn away your attention from the person and coming of Christ when you have made sure you are prepared to meet Him, and altogether another thing to turn your attention to other things in mere thoughtless security. It is one thing to engage in the business of this life, knowing that though your Lord find you in it, you have what will enable you to meet Him, the graces then required being really in you and ready to show themselves, though not at present called into exercise by the calculation, or the plan, or the work you are engaged in for the hour; but it is wholly another thing to plunge into the world’s business without having once considered whether you have given sufficient attention to your preparedness for that event which may interrupt any day’s business, or without keeping up a constant examination of the inward life of your spirit. But we may learn from the slumber of the wise, as well as from the rash sleep of the foolish. There is a kind of sleep in which the sense of hearing, at least, is on the alert, and when by a skilful discrimination unattainable when awake, the sense takes note only of the one sound it waits for, so that the sound of a distant and watched-for footstep arouses to the keenest wakefulness. If you look on these weary, slumbering virgins, you see the lamps firmly grasped, and when you try to unclasp the slumbering but faithful fingers, every faculty is at once on the alert. Other noises do not awaken them, but before the cry, “The Bridegroom cometh” has ceased to echo in the porch that shelters them, they stand erect and are trimming their lamps. So should it be with us; whatever necessary occupation, whatever necessary saturation of our minds with the thoughts of this world’s property, turns our direct attention from the approach of our Lord, there should still be an openness of sense in His direction, a settled persuasion that it is His voice that must be hearkened to, a predisposedness to attend rather to Him if He should call, an inwrought though latent expectation of His coming, a consciousness, which but a whisper will arouse, that what we are here for is not to slumber, not to do what we might as well or better do anywhere else and with no hope of our Lord’s coming, but still to meet Him. Through all the sleep of these virgins, dream would be chasing dream, they would be seeing bridal processions, gorgeous with all the gay and fantastic adornment which the closed eye so clearly sees, hearing sackbut and dulcimer and all kinds of music, and ever and anon starting to hear if the cry, “The Bridegroom cometh” were not real and summoning themselves. So through all the occupations of a Christian in which he is not watching for his Lord and trimming his lamp, there is, or should be, an under-current of expectation, ever keeping him in unconscious prepared, ness, occasionally roused into actual looking out to see. He is not always gazing forward, but ever and anon sends a messenger from the inmost citadel of his soul to inquire, “Watchman, what of the night?”

While they are thus all slumbering, and when their sleep is deepest, when the fatigue of watching is most felt, when things are stillest, and men count upon a few hours quiet and deliverance from care, “at midnight,” the cry is heard, “Behold, the Bridegroom cometh!” And now the difference between the really and apparently prepared is manifested. There is something terrible in the security of the foolish maintained up to the last. They, too, arise and trim their lamps; even though there is nothing but a quenched, foul wick yet they seem to think still that matters are not so bad. They have but to ask oil of their pleasant companions. Not yet are they aware that their fate is already sealed. And this sudden and appalling reversal of their hopes, this mingling at a marriage feast of exultant joy and the most melancholy and calamitous ruin, seems intended to fix in our minds an idea opposite to, and that should extirpate the idle fancy that things somehow will come all right; that there is no real need of all this urgent warning and watching; that in a world governed by a good and loving God, and where things are going on now pretty tolerably and so very prosaically, there cannot occur those startling, unnatural, desolating events predicted in God’s word. It seems so fearful and incredible a thing that a world men take so lightly and joyously should be quietly leading them on to eternal ruin, that men maintain their easy disposition to the last, and cannot believe that out of a life that may be jested or trifled away, consequences so lasting and so awful can possibly flow. Many things are needed to drive this security out of us, and many things are given us for this end. The virgins go out with no thought but of festivity, enjoyment, and happy excitement; five of them, before the night is gone, are found and left in the bitterest sorrow and self-reproach. “They that were ready went in to the marriage, and the door was shut.” In these words one seems to hear the decisive, final doom of the lost. The crash of the heavy dungeon door and the retiring footsteps are not more sickening to the heart of him that is left to die of hunger, than the heavy, sudden closing of this door that shuts in the saved and shuts out the lost. As the feeling; of comfort inside the house increases when the storm howls around and shakes it, as if seeking an entrance that it cannot find, so does the misery of those left outside increase when they hear the sound of revelry and mirth, and see the warm lights thrown out on the darkness. They look round despairingly as the storm begins to rise, as the first moan of the gathering tempest nears and lights upon them, and warns them, as if in pity, of the blasts that follow as if in anger. But once the door is shut no piteous clamor outside can open it. No sense of the awful state of things outside, no willingness now to be within, avails to force it back upon its hinges. Every voice that wails for entrance is still met by the same chilling, hopeless reply, “ I know you not.” A new thing it is for that door to be shut. So long has it stood open, thrown wide back, that we forget there is a door that can shut that entrance; that it is not more useful now to let in, than one day to keep out. But the time comes when whosoever will shall not be saved; when it will be vain pointing men to the door; when whosoever is outside, there remains. And this time may be before you rise from where you now sit. No man can say it shall not. He who feels it most unfair to be hedged up thus to an hour, to be told it is unsafe and unreasonable to delay even so long, cannot assert that the end is further distant. To-day the door is open, to-morrow it may be too late to seek entrance. The hand that closes it may already be laid upon it.

It is foolishness, not wickedness, that is reprehended in these virgins — that is to say, in those who are represented by them. The wise man is he who shapes his conduct in accordance with the truth of things and with actual facts; the foolish man is he who shuts his eyes to what he does not wish to see, and fancies that somehow, though he can’t tell how, things will go all right with him. He is, in fact, the ostrich who buries his head in the sand and fancies he has escaped because he has shut his eyes to what is hostile. The man who makes no preparation for the future is a foolish man. He may explain it to himself as he pleases, but to attempt an explanation is only to give further proof of his foolishness. He may see his way with perfect clearness a few paces before him, but if he does not see where it is to end, how can he tell whether he ought to go on even these few paces? The man who does not think, who does not consider whether he is prepared for the future or not, who does not seriously measure himself by every standard he can think of, and especially by the inevitable requirements of God and eternity, is a foolish man. He may be clever, brilliant in talk and very entertaining in company, he may be useful in business, he may be well-meaning, but he is foolish — has none of that wisdom which consists in seeing things as they actually are, and in conforming oneself to them. The man who at this present time is in point of fact leaving it to mere chance whether he is to be saved or lost, must surely feel that he is profoundly foolish.

Let us then meet Christ’s intention in the parable, and see that for our part we are prepared for His coming. Let us make sure that the little flame once kindled is not already burning low. Let us be sure that we are living in constant communication with the source of all spiritual life; that the very spirit of Christ dwells in us richly. Is there one who feels that things are not with him as they ought to be, and that he has declined from the glad preparedness he once enjoyed, or even that he has never attained to a state in which any luster could be thrown by him on the redeeming grace of Christ? To this person Christ speaks the parable. It is you He longs to see providing yourself with the material of everlasting goodness and everlasting joy. There is a Spirit offered you through whom you can become pure and loving, capable of good, at peace with yourself and with God. What response do you make to Christ’s offers? Are you to turn away and let it be possible that the next summons you hear may be: “Behold the Bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet Him?”