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Something More to Think About

I used to smile to myself over today’s gospel (Matthew 25:1-13). Whether I read it or listened, I smiled because of my childhood reaction to the wise and foolish virgins. Five of the virgins –bridesmaids in the present vernacular– are considered to be wise because they bring both their lamps and extra oil in preparation for the wedding. They leave nothing to chance. If their wait for the groom is longer than planned, they have plenty of oil to relight their lamps to guide his way. The five remaining virgins are viewed as foolish, for they have only their lamps and the oil that is in them. They have no options if the groom is late. As a child, I felt a good deal of sympathy for the foolish ones. After all, had the groom been on time, the oil in their lamps would have sufficed. In my young mind, I found the groom to be the foolish one –and quite rude– for being inexcusably late for his wedding.

In the forty years since my original interpretation of the parable, I have encountered the wisdom of biblical scholars. They tell us that the bridegroom represents Christ and that the wedding banquet is the Kingdom of God to come. The wise virgins are they who prepare for and welcome this encounter. The foolish virgins miss the opportunity because they are not ready for what God offers. As God’s People, we are expected to assume the roles of the wise virgins, always ready to embrace what God has in store, always full of hope and joy over what is to come. I admit to considering myself to be among the wise ones. I consider my loved ones and me to be very blessed. When sorrow touches my life, I always find my way. I turn into the deepest recesses of my heart, where the Lord who promises always to be with me resides. In what seem to be my darkest moments, I find God there. Yes, I have been one of the wise ones, holding tightly to the lamp of my faith that overflows with the oil of perpetual hope. Never would I that I walk with the foolish ones. Yet, here I am...

Throughout the past fifteen months, I have shared some of my mother’s life changes with you. Within a single week, she gave up her apartment, her car and her independence. After acknowledging that she has lived a good long life, she embraced her new life as though she had planned this change all along. She became weekday guest to my sister and her husband and weekend guest to Mike, Tim and me. Whatever she ate and wherever she slept were fine with her. She smiled her way through it all with impossible grace. This past summer, some bouts with nausea disclosed a diseased gallbladder that needed to be removed as soon as possible. The infection had to settle down, however, before the doctor would attempt the surgery. In the mean time, my mother sported a bit of tubing that allowed the area to drain. With this additional plumbing came the need for specialized care and my mother’s move to a skilled nursing facility. As she waited patiently for her surgery, we began the process of planning her subsequent long term care. As we attempted to finalize our plans, my mother’s surgery dictated something quite different. Though the gall bladder surgery went very well for this eighty-two year old woman, the doctor found something unexpected. My mother has gall bladder cancer, a rare incidence, that has spread to and devastated her liver. The oncologist who rushed to the operating room to assess her condition had nothing to offer. My mother would recover from surgery as she prepared to take her leave from us due to the cancer.

I had a hard time turning inward the day we received the news. I expected to hear that her recovery might be lengthy. I expected to hear that her dementia might be increased by the anesthesia and other drugs. I expected to hear that we needed to be prepared for a decline in my mother’s health as her body was aging and tiring. I did not expect to hear about cancer and about “a few months” during which I might watch my mother waste away. I did not expect to be involved with hospice immediately. I did not expect the possibility of pain that might darken her perpetual smile. I found myself without even a drop of oil in my lamp. The lamp of my faith dimmed, and my hope all but disappeared. Then, we told my mother the news… She shared our surprise at the diagnosis, but not at the outcome. “We all have to die from something. I have had a good long life. I wanted to leave an educated family that contributes, and I have. I hope I can do what I want for a while. I hope I can be comfortable. I hope I go without too much trouble. I hope…” I hope, too, Mom. I hope that God continues to be with you in the grace that is getting you through this. I hope, too, Mom. I hope that God is not put off by your foolish daughter. I hope, too, Mom. I hope that the warmth welling up inside me just now is… Here you are Lord, with new fire to light my lamp and a full measure of oil to keep it burning. Thank you… Mary Penich, 2002

 

 

They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves in homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.” From today’s gospel, Matthew 2:1-12 It was New Year’s day, a few years ago, when I mentioned to my sister, Rita, that we would probably take down our Christmas Tree by the weekend. A somewhat horrified look replaced the smile she’d worn all day as she asked, “Why would you do that?” She went on to remind me that the Three Kings would not arrive until the sixth of January and that our family has NEVER taken down the Christmas Tree before then. Having been sufficiently reprimanded, I eased away from the subject by recalling our parents’ experience with their Christmas Tree the year they were married.

It was just two months after my parents’ were married when their first Christmas together arrived. They had hardly completed their thank you notes from the wedding when it was time to prepare their Christmas cards. It occurred to them that the Christmas Season provided a wonderful opportunity to welcome family and friends to their new apartment. So, the two of them set out to do just that. They purchased and decorated the perfect tree. Regardless of the opinions of others, they were convinced this was the most beautiful tree either had ever seen. When the decorating was completed and their apartment looked just right, they began to invite family and friends to their new little home. For weeks and weeks, their free time was filled with parents, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins and friends whom they happily entertained. My mother admitted that it was April when she and our dad finally finished what they set out to do. By that time, their very dry, almost needle-free Christmas Tree had become a part of the apartment they came to know has “home.” My mother was heartbroken when she and my dad finally forced themselves to dispose of it. In the years that followed, a bit of that same sorrow would appear on my mother’s face each time the calendar dictated that it was time to take down our Christmas Tree.

Neither of my parents were the hopeless sentimentalists that their first Christmas as husband and wife seems to suggest. Indeed, they were very practical people who looked life squarely in the face. This was especially true each time tragedy touched them. They managed to survive, I believe, because they were people of great faith. Somehow, they held tightly to those few truths that are important to us all. In their observance of Christmas, my parents acknowledged the miracle of God’s participation in human history. That first holy night, this precious moment was celebrated again and again in the arrivals of the angels and the shepherds, and, later, in the arrival of the Magi from the East. Just as my parents rejoiced with each new guest who arrived at their door, so God rejoices each time we gather to recognize and celebrate that, indeed, He dwells among us.

My parents waited long after the arrival of the Magi to remove the signs of Christmas from their home. They kept their Yuletide trimmings in tact until every possible person had enjoyed them. This is precisely what the God of Moses and Abraham did when He extended knowledge of the Messiah to those outside of His beloved Jewish Community. The signs observed by the astrologers from the East were an invitation for all the world to come and to witness the arrival of Jesus. They were also an invitation to embrace the promise that this arrival holds for us all.

Our observance of the Epiphany of the Lord is the completion of our observance of Christmas. Christ’s birth takes on its true significance when it is shared with all of humankind. The Epiphany of the Lord is a celebration of God among us. Our challenge is to recognize that “us” includes anyone and everyone whom we encounter as we journey through this life. Just as my mom and dad extended their Christmas hospitality to everyone they knew for as long as it took, God invites us to do the same for everyone He knows for as long as it takes! Mary Penich, 2004