Well, it's Wednesday night here in the Fellowship
Hall. It might not be Wednesday night wherever
you are. But right now, in your headphones, you're
in the Fellowship Hall with us. Smells just like
coffee and casseroles. The kind of place where
the gospel still rides shotgun with laughter.
Folks are finding their seats. The air is humming
with conversation. And somewhere out there, Wayne
is about to get asked if I have permission to
start. Welcome, friend, to our midweek Bible
study. This isn't pretend church or studio religion.
It's the real thing. You're pulling up a chair
at a real table amongst real people opening a
real Bible. You can almost hear the forks, the
murmuring prayers, small town sound of grace
doing her quiet work. And right now we're walking
through the parables of Jesus, those strange,
beautiful stories he told to wake us up while
there's still time. Tonight's story is about
ten lamps, one wedding, and a long silence of
waiting. It's a story about oil and about hearts
that burn steady through the dark. So pour yourself
another cup of coffee, settle in. Let's open
up the Word together and see what the Spirit
might say to us tonight. I'm Pastor Jim Wellhelm.
This is the Semi -Seminarian. And I'll see you
on the other side. Somebody the other day said,
who is Wayne? And I said, Wayne is one of my
favorite folks at the church. And I said, I've
always kind of pretended like those big televangelist
guys, you know, and I think I've said this before,
where you got the producer over to the side saying,
I like to think of Wayne as my guy. So before
I start the Bible study, I always, there it is.
Wayne giving his thumbs up. We are still looking
at the parables of Jesus. Tonight, we're going
to look at the parables of the 10 virgins, and
that is in Matthew chapter 25, verses 1 through
13. And let me set the scene here before we actually
get into Scripture. It's well into the night
now, and not just the kind that we might be having
right here, the kind of night that comes after
supper, small talk. but the kind where the quiet
has now settled in thick and long, kind of night
where even the oil lamps start to flicker low
and the stars feel distant. Ten young women sit
waiting for a wedding procession. They have been
here for hours, through daylight and now dusk,
through chatter and laughter, through side glances
and second guessing, but now the air. has become
still. The bridegroom hasn't come yet. No word,
no torchlight on the horizon, just the silence
of delay. But still they wait, because that is
what you do when joy is coming. You stay ready,
or at least you try to. And they hold up their
lamps, maybe fidget with them a little bit. And
one by one, lulled by the hush, they begin to
nod off. Every single one of them. Even the wise.
Jesus tells a lot of stories. Some make us smile.
Some confuse us. Some comfort us. But this one,
this one carries weight. This one comes wrapped
in silence and in shadows. And at the end, a
door that will not reopen. This parable does
not wink or chuckle. It is very serious and it's
timely. It sits in Matthew chapter 25, right
between the parable of the talents. and the judgment
of the sheep and goats. Three stories. We've
done this before. Three stories. One theme. That
theme is, are you ready for the king's return?
Not someday ready. Not eventually ready. But
ready. Right now. Let's listen to the word. Slowly
and carefully, because this isn't a story we
want to skim. It is a warning, yes, but it's
more than that. It's an invitation to wake up
while there is still time. Friends, the reading
of the scripture, Matthew chapter 25, beginning
verse 1. Jesus speaking. Then the kingdom of
heaven will be like ten virgins who took their
lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of
them were foolish and five of them were wise.
For when the foolish took their lamps, they took
no oil with them. But the wise took flasks of
oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed,
they all became drowsy and slept. But at midnight
there was a cry, Here is the bridegroom, come
out to meet him. Then all virgins rose and trimmed
their lamps, and the foolish said to the wise,
Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going
out. The wise answered, Since there will not
be enough for us and for you, Go rather to the
dealers and buy for yourselves. And while they
were going to buy, the bridegroom came, and those
who were ready went in with him to the marriage
feast. The door was shut. Afterwards, the other
virgins came also, saying, Lord, Lord, open to
us. But he answered, Truly I say to you, I do
not know you. Watch therefore, for you know neither
the day nor the hour. That's the word. A wedding
story, a midnight cry, a door that shuts. And
somewhere in it, each one of us is standing,
holding a lamp, listening for footsteps, waiting
for the sound. Now, as we unpack this, let's
not start by just talking badly about the foolish
ones. Let's actually talk about how close they
came. These young women had lamps. They showed
up. They were in the right place. They waited.
They got sleepy just like the others. They trimmed
their wicks just like the others. And if you
had been standing there watching, you wouldn't
have been able to tell the difference between
the wise and the foolish. At least not at first.
Because you don't see the difference in the daylight.
You don't see the difference when things are
going well. You only find who brought oil. When
the night gets long, you only find out who's
truly ready when it's too late to borrow someone
else's fire. Now, let me have a little sidebar
with you guys here. I just want to look at this
real quick. We'll mention this again in a second.
But who are the virgins or the maidens? These
are not the bride. The bridegroom doesn't. marry
all of these girls. They're bridesmaids. And
in that tradition, bridesmaids held lamps along
the road to the celebration. And then they were
invited into the wedding feast as a part of the
wedding party, right? Now, Jesus is the bridegroom.
Now, here's the way I think this makes sense.
This is my interpretation. Part of scripture
does not say this, but the brides, the church,
right? The virgins or the maidens are the attendants
of the church. Us, we are a part of the wedding
party, right? That's the relationship here of
everybody. So we don't get tripped up on that
word. This story here, though, is as much about
time as it is oil. And it is about both. The
bridegroom was delayed, and in that delay, everybody
slept. The text says it plainly. They all became
drowsy and slept. So, sleeping isn't the sin.
Being tired isn't the failure. The difference
is some had oil that could last through the night.
And the delay here also reveals dependence. Anybody
can sing a joyful hymn at noon. But what about
when it's midnight and silent? What about...
When your prayers start to feel unanswered and
you feel your strength fading. Now, why does
the bridegroom delay? Again, the text doesn't
tell us directly. But scripture elsewhere gives
us clues. Peter says in 2 Peter 3 and 9, The
Lord is not slow. to fulfill his promise, as
some might count slowness, but is, rather, patient
towards you and to me, not wishing that any should
perish, that all should have repentance. The
delay is mercy. It's space to get ready. But
it's also what really tests us. The foolish ones
assumed that showing up was enough, that holding
a lamp was enough, that standing near somebody
else's faith would be enough. But it wasn't.
And here is the tragedy of this parable. They
didn't realize what they lacked until it was
too late. And we do the exact same thing. We
assume that proximity to God's people is the
same thing as being filled by his spirit. We
think that having a religious resume counts for
intimacy with Jesus. We think that our Sunday
morning attendance means we've got oil in the
tank. The tragedy of this parable is not rebellion,
it's presumption. They thought they were ready.
They thought the oil would be there when they
needed it. But they never actually bothered to
get any. So, let's break this open and talk about
what's really happening here. Three details matter
most in this parable. The oil, the cry, and the
door. First, the oil. The oil is not good works.
It's not volunteering or tithing or even carrying
your Bible around. The oil is the presence of
God in your life. It is the ongoing, daily, personal
relationship with Christ. The intimacy of the
spirit that sustains you when things become dark
and delayed. It's what Paul wrote about in Ephesians
chapter 3 and 17, being rooted and grounded in
love. And here is the crucial thing. You can't
borrow it, you can't fake it, and you can't pour
it out last minute. When the foolish asked the
wise to share, the wise refused. And that sounds
harsh, doesn't it? But it's not selfishness.
It's spiritual laws of physics. They didn't say
no because they were stingy. They said no because
they literally could not give away what each
person must obtain for themselves. There's no
excess to spare. Oil represents something that
cannot be transferred from one soul to the other.
You cannot coast on your parents' faith. You
cannot ride on someone else's prayers. You have
to know God for yourself. So how do you get oil?
You get it in the hidden places. You get it when
you pray when no one's watching. When you read
scripture for no other reason than because you're
hungry. When you worship in the car on the way
to work with no band, no lights, just you and
God. Oil is built in the everyday choices to
seek his face, to sit in his presence, and to
say yes when it is costly and quiet. Second,
the midnight cry. This is the turning point or
hinge of the story. The moment when it's too
late to prepare. The cry represents the return
of Christ. It is unexpected. It is jarring. And
it exposes the truth of where people really stand.
Some were ready. Some were not. Cry doesn't give
time to get things in order. Just announces what
is already true. And let's be plain again with
another reminder. Bridegroom in this parable
is Jesus. The wedding feast is the kingdom of
God. The maidens represent professing believers,
people who claim to be waiting for him. All of
them are in the same place doing the same thing,
but only some of them actually know him. Third,
lastly, the door. And this one's hard. Because
the door shuts. And once it shuts, it stays shut.
When the foolish return and say, Lord, Lord,
open to us. The answer is heartbreaking. Truly
I say to you, I do not know you. Not, you weren't
good enough. Not, you didn't try hard enough.
But, I never knew you. And this isn't the only
time Jesus says this. In Matthew chapter 7, the
Sermon on the Mount. He warns about people who
will say, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in
your name and cast out demons in your name and
do mighty works in your name? And his answer
to them, Matthew chapter 7, 22 and 23 is, I never
knew you. Depart from me. You can be busy for
Jesus and still be stranger to him. You can do
religious things and not have a relationship.
And that is the nice edge to this entire parable.
This isn't about moral performance. It is about
relationship. That's what's missing. Not activity,
not outward appearances, but real, abiding, personal
knowledge of Jesus Christ. And now... Jesus gives
the takeaway. Watch, therefore, for you know
not the day nor the hour. Now, watchfulness does
not mean living in fear. It doesn't mean keeping
your eyes glued to the sky, obsessing over every
earthquake and eclipse, trying to figure out
when the rapture is coming by watching TikTok
videos. It means living ready, staying rooted,
keeping oil in the lamp. The wise ones didn't
panic when that cry came. They didn't scramble.
They stood up and were ready. And then they walked
into the joy that had been promised them all
along. So, we need it. How do we get it? What
does oil look like for us today? What does a
watchful life actually look like on Thursday
morning when you are emotionally exhausted? When
you are doubting? When the well feels dry? It
looks like a fate that lasts longer than the
crisis. It looks like a prayer on a Tuesday when
you're tired and distracted, not because you
have to, but because you need to talk to him.
It looks like reading the word when there's no
one there to impress. It looks like worship that
happens in the car, in the kitchen, in the quiet,
not for an audience, but for an audience of one.
It looks like compassion that doesn't burn out
because it's fueled by his love, not your own
willpower. It looks like forgiveness you cannot
manufacture on your own. It looks like peace
that makes absolutely no sense given your own
circumstances. It looks like abiding in Jesus,
not just knowing about him. But knowing him,
loving him, trusting him, even when he takes
longer than we thought. Because here's the truth.
Jesus didn't tell this story to terrify us. He
tells it to wake us up in the grace. The delay,
that's mercy. That's him giving us time to get
oil, time to press in. Time to move from presumption
to actual relationship. The door is still open,
friends. That cry hasn't yet come. And that means
that there is still time not to panic, not to
perform, but to know him. The wise didn't somehow
have more information. They didn't have insider
knowledge of the groom's schedule. They weren't
special. They were just ready to wait longer
than they thought they needed to. And when that
cry rang out, they didn't scramble. They just
stood up and walked in. The point of this whole
parable, when Jesus says, watch therefore, he
doesn't mean worry all the time. He doesn't mean
go build a bunker in the backyard. He means live
like someone whose life has been filled. Live
like someone who expects the groom to come, even
if it's later than we hoped. A watchful life
is a prepared life, not frantic, not reactive,
not spiritually only when it's convenient, but
ready because you kept the oil stocked. You've
made space for the spirit. You lived with your
heart tilted towards heaven. And that oil isn't
flashy. And it's not the loud kind of religion.
It's the quiet yes in the dark. It's peace that
steadies you when nobody else is calm. It's the
rootedness that holds when the world has gone
brittle. So, friends, it is my... and my responsibility
to ask you plainly, do you know him? Not, do
you know about him? Do you know him? Because
when the cry rings out, friends, that is the
only question that is going to matter. And the
good news for us tonight, friends, is that that
door is still open. The oil is still available.
You have to stop assuming you're fine just because
you're here tonight. Stop coasting on yesterday's
fate. Stop borrowing someone else's fire. And
get your own oil tonight. Because the cry will
come. And when it does... Those who are ready
will rise. Not because they didn't fall asleep,
but because they trusted the oil to burn. And
in that moment, will you panic or will you shine?
Amen? Amen. Thanks, guys. Well, friends, that's
our Bible study for tonight. You've been sitting
here with us in the fellowship hall, coffee,
cooling, beside your Bible, the hum of the air
conditioner, keeping time with our amens. Maybe
you can still hear a fork clink. Maybe someone
laughed when they shouldn't have, or maybe grace
slipped in through a side door. However she found
you, I hope she stays a while. What we do here
isn't a show. This is real church. People gathering
in the middle of a noisy week, letting scripture
steady our hands and refill our lamps. You're
part of that now. Every time you tune in, you're
pulling up a chair at that same table. Joining
the circle of stories and saints who are still
learning to keep a little oil on hand. And if
you'd like to know when we're opening the word
again, you can tithe your subscribe by hitting
that subscribe button. That's your way of saying,
save me a seat next time. Until then, keep your
lamps trimmed and burning. Keep watch. Keep grace
close. I'm Pastor Jim. Thanks for being a part
of our little church family. Until I see you
next time, be blessed. You're tuned to the late
night revival line, the semi -seminarian, where
the gospel still rides the static and grace don't
charge admission. If you believe a click can
be a witness, then, friend, you know what to
do. Throw it in the plate.