The Last Sunday of the Church Year
Isaiah 65:17-25; 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; Matthew 25:1-13
In the name of the Father and of the ☩ Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
When St. Paul writes to the Thessalonians about the Last Day, when he talks to them about Jesus’ return in glory, it is not for the purpose of teaching them something.
He says, “Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers, you have no need to have anything written to you” (1 Thess. 5:1). They don’t need more instruction or information. That’s not why he’s writing this. That’s not the problem. He says, “For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night” (1 Thess. 5:2). They already know that. “So then,” Paul says, “let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake” (1 Thess. 5:6). He’s not trying to teach here. Paul is exhorting them. He’s urging, strongly encouraging, he’s pressing them on to one end: that they might endure. And that is the focus of this day, the Last Sunday in the Church Year.
Because it’s the same for us. It’s not that you need more information. Sure, we benefit from instruction, we need to continue to learn. But learning more stuff is not the issue in your life. You know the crucifixion is for you. Christ had died for your sins. You know He is risen on the third day, that He is ascended, sits at the right hand of the Father, and all of it is for you. You know He’ll return to “lead home His bride, the Church.” That Day is on the horizon.
The problem isn’t that you don’t know. The problem is that the wait is long. That’s why the readings for the Last Sunday of the Church Year urge us to keep awake. Endure to the end. Jesus will return “like a thief in the night,” Paul says. Which doesn’t mean that it could be any moment. That’s true. Jesus could return today, before the end of this service, even. Lord, please! But that it’s like a thief in the night, doesn’t mean it could be any second. It means it will be unexpected. It means, be ready at all times. Be ready for it to NOT be soon. Be ready to endure the long wait of the Bridegroom’s delay. That is why we have this parable of the “ten virgins who took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom” (Matt. 25:1).
But there are two main temptations in this time of waiting. Two lies that we have to contend with. The first is to think that we can be Christians on our own. That’s the first lie. It is to think, “I don’t need the Church. I can believe just fine on my own.” You’ve most likely heard something of this sort of objection—maybe you’ve thought the same—“I can be spiritual, without being religious.”
But why does anyone think being “spiritual” is the goal? What does it matter that you’re spiritual? A Buddhist is spiritual. Demons are spiritual. Where does God ever say, “All that matters is that you’re spiritual”? The real objection should be “I don’t like going to Church.” Let’s not pretend that the worship service is for those who enjoy it. Maybe it’s inconvenient. Maybe it’s boring. It’s certainly full of sinners who sin against each other. And then we have to deal with the continued suffering that threatens to keep us away. We’re mourning or broken or we’re simply distraught over the pain of this fallen world, the many doctor’s appointments, the people around us who have their own struggles, who let us down, the setbacks, one after another. And so we question, “Where’s God in all of this?” The suffering we bear makes it difficult to wait upon the Lord.
But it’s noticeable that when Jesus gives this parable of the Ten Virgins, all of them are together, notice. There’s not another group of virgins. There aren’t others who are off somewhere, not waiting for the Bridegroom, but who happen to still have oil for the lamps and are welcomed into the feast. That doesn’t happen. God does not give us the option of being Christians by ourselves.
So, where’s God in all of our suffering? He’s on the cross, bearing that suffering with you and for you. He’s found in His Word and Sacrament. He gathers you here, in His Church, to use Word and Sacrament, not to remove your suffering just yet, but to give you peace in the midst of it, to restore within you the strength to endure, to stay awake, to trust that the Lord is for you, no matter what pain this world brings. And as the days go on, as you accumulate more wounds, this becomes all the more important to gather here. That’s what it says in Hebrews 10: “[Do not neglect] to meet together, as is the habit of some, but [encourage] one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near” (Heb. 10:25).
Well, that’s the first danger, thinking we don’t need Christ’s Church. The second—and this is what Jesus is getting at in the parable—the second danger is to think that if I go to Church, if I’m around other Christians, then I’m automatically safe. My parents are believers. My grandparents. I went through all the confirmation classes. I tithe. I serve in this building. I’m safe.
This is hard to hear, but the five foolish are also virgins of the Bridegroom. They are dressed for the wedding feast. They have lamps. They have wicks. They just don’t have oil on the inside. But as far as you could tell on the outside, they all looked the same. They were all waiting. They all fell asleep even. If you were able to go visit them at any point before this, before the midnight cry, and you asked yourself which of them are wise and which of them are foolish, you would not be able to tell.
But the five foolish were not foolish because they didn’t know something. It wasn’t that they hadn’t been taught enough doctrine. They knew the Bridegroom was coming. They knew they should have oil. But as we see, there will be a critical moment when the trumpet sounds and we appear before the Lord, and it will not matter how much faith your parents have. It won’t matter how much you know or how much time you spent around other Christians. What matters is the oil of your own faith. The foolish couldn’t take oil from the wise because you can’t be saved by someone else’s faith. But why didn’t they just have oil? It doesn’t cost them anything. It’s free. Why not just have it? But, for whatever reason, that wasn’t pressing to them. So they hear the most terrifying words, “I do not know you” (Matt. 25:12).
That is not a warning for someone else. It’s a warning for you. Don’t hear it and think about so-and-so. Imagine Jesus coming to sit next to you in your pew, right next to you, and whispering in your ear, “Watch, therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” (Matt. 25:13).
We tend to think we can be ready for something by knowing when it will be. But Jesus says “Watch… you don’t know.” Because you cannot be ready by knowing when. That doesn’t help. You can’t be ready by knowing when. You can’t be ready by learning more information. You can’t be ready by doing good, perfectly your life, being spiritual, having good intentions, or doing anything at all. You cannot make yourself ready. Your readiness comes from Christ Jesus. He gathers you into His Church. He fills up your lamp with oil, giving you faith that holds on to Him. And then He drives you out into your vocations to live out that faith, that readiness, in the ways you serve one another.
By the promise of His Word in your ear, by His Body and Blood on your tongue, He gives you His Holy Spirit, and this is no false assurance. You don’t pretend you’re not a sinner like everyone else, that you don’t have to endure suffering like everyone else. Rather, you hate your sin. You strive against it. And yet, despite your sin and all the groaning of this fallen world, you still somehow trust that your Lord is for you. You’re given the oil to trust that His Blood is your life. His death is your forgiveness. His suffering, your rest. It’s more than knowing that Jesus died and rose again; it’s trusting that His death and resurrection are yours.
Now, with that trust, you are ready to endure the wait. And in your waiting, in your enduring, you can hear these readings about the Last Day with a sense of longing. Did you notice how it’s described in Isaiah? “Behold, I create new heavens and a new earth, and the former things shall not be remembered or come into mind” (Is. 65:17). Your sin won’t come to mind. The ways you have been sinned against, they won’t be remembered. How incredible is that? And then, the text continues by recalling all of the tragic things of our broken world. Did you hear it? The sound of weeping, the cry of distress, infants who only live a few days, men who do not fill out their days, the loss of property, women going into labor in vain, children who bring calamity for their parents. These are simply all the consequences of this broken world.
But when you are given a picture of the Last Day, when you’re reminded of the certain hope you have in Christ—what it is you’re waiting for—that Day is defined by what’s not there. And what’s not there is the sufferings you now endure. The famous Christian writer, J.R.R. Tolkien, said it best, “The birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus means that one day everything sad will come untrue.”
That’s the Day Jesus would have you await. Already, you’re given a foretaste of it. By this meal, you’re strengthened to endure the long wait, to hold on to that hope. In Christ’s Body and Blood, you are already being separated from everything sad.
In ☩ Jesus’ name. Amen.
The peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Amen.
"If God is for us, who is against us?" 