[Propertalk] Sermon quotes for November 9

[Joe Parrish]

http://www.sermonsuite.com/freebk.php?i=26108&key=pobojo4Gtke6Tbvb


There are some things you cannot share, you know. You can't share character or courage or inner peace to someone in a crisis, however much they weep and beg of you. You cannot share the thousands of facts you've learned about God over the years, you cannot share all this in one hour or one week or one year. Such must be bought at the merchants in its own time. There is no crash course in prayer that can make up for years of missed application. Just as Noah didn't wait until the day of the flood to build his ark, so we can't wait until the crisis to build our faith and friendships and prayer--life. When the moment of reckoning comes, either you've got it or you don't. There is no borrowing. And sadly, even as badly as some might want to help, to share, to loan, there is no loaning.



Stephen Crotts
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http://day1.org/1065-filling_stations



Maybe it depends on the kind of oil we're talking about. At Columbia Seminary, where I teach, we give a lecture to the students about the spiritual life of the preacher. And one time during this lecture, we brought an oil lamp, the kind with a wick and real oil in the bottom, as a visual aid. We talked about how the role of the pastor, or the role of Christian, for that matter, is to be a light for others-"the light of the world." Then we lit the wick and watched the lamp burn. But (and here was the rigged part), because there was only a tiny bit of oil in that lamp, it only burned for a few moments. We asked the students: what happens when the oil runs out? Well, then the lamp light goes out, and you have nothing to give. And a pastor with no oil, a Christian with no oil, can't be the light of the world for anybody, no matter how much they want to. So then we asked: what fills you up spiritually when you run dry? What replenishes your oil? Where do you find God, and how can you make sure that you get enough of that oil for your lamp, so that God can fill you up again? Because you will run dry. And when you do, you can't be a light for anybody. Remember the safety speech we hear on airplanes? "In the event of an emergency, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling; please be sure to secure your own oxygen mask first before assisting others."
I am not a pastor in a church, at the moment; but I am a mother and a spouse and a teacher and a friend. I am a Christian, and I know what it means to run out of oil, and I'm guessing you do, too. Your kid walks into the kitchen at 5:30 and says, "What's for dinner?" and you say, "Meatloaf," and your kid says, "What, again?"-and suddenly you have morphed into Godzilla, right there in the kitchen; and when you have finished ranting your kid looks at you calmly and says, "Let me guess. You're out of oil." It's fairly simple. When the arrow on the gas tank points to empty, you are going to run out of gas. If a two-year-old doesn't get a nap, she is going to crash. When you haven't had a conversation with your spouse in three weeks that hasn't revolved around carpooling logistics, your marriage is getting dry. If you have worked eighty-hour weeks for longer than you care to know, your relationships are going to suffer. It's not really something any of us can avoid. There are some kinds of fuel that just are not negotiable; and if you eat junk food for twenty years, your body is going to let you know about it.
There are also some kinds of oil you can't borrow from anyone else. Teenagers learn this, at a certain point; you can borrow someone's homework and get by on the assignment, but you can't borrow the hours they put in studying for the test. There are some kinds of preparation we can only do for ourselves. There are some reserves that no one else can build up for us. You can't borrow someone else's peace of mind or their passion for God. You can't say to your friend, "You have such a happy marriage, don't you? Could you give me some of that?" It doesn't work. You have to find it yourself. You have to figure out what fills you up, spiritually, and then make sure you have some to carry with you, every single minute of the day, because that's how often you'll need it.
And here's the thing: you will run out. Time will run out. The hour gets late, everyone gets sleepy. We all doze, we all put it off, saying, "One of these days, I'm going to quit working so hard and I'll put in that quality time with my kids." "One of these days, I'm going to take up painting again; I've always wanted to do it." "One of these days, I'm going to stop writing checks and really get involved down at the shelter." We all doze. We all put it off. And then the shout goes up: "He's coming!" It's time. And one of these days is today, and it's over, and you never did bring your flask of oil.
I think that's one of the hardest things about this parable. The time will come when you have to draw on the oil you have, right there, on your body, in your flask. And it isn't going to come from your pension savings, and it isn't going to come from your good intentions and your long range plans; it's going to come from what fuels you spiritually right now. It's going to come from where you see God, today. And where is that? Well, Jesus tells us. I was hungry and you fed me. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was naked, and you clothed me. I was a stranger, and you welcomed me. I was in prison, and you visited me. I was sick, and you comforted me. That's where we find him. That's where we get filled up. That's where we gather the fruits of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. All of those things that we can't check out of the library, and we can't borrow from our neighbor next door. All of those things that are just there for us to gather, we never were ready to do it.
I think those church folk who use this parable as a way to scare us all straight are missing the point. You don't fill your lamp because you're afraid you're going to get locked out of the Kingdom of Heaven. You don't stockpile oil because then you can turn everyone else away and that's so much fun. No, you just stop at the filling station and fill your flask and take it with you, because you can't wait to meet the bridegroom. You fill it out of joy. That's the only price of oil, when you think about it: the desire to meet Jesus when he comes. Which he will. Soon. Very soon. Amen.
The Rev. Dr. Anna Carter Florence is the Peter Marshall Associate Professor of Preaching and Worship at Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, GA.
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http://www.predigten.uni-goettingen.de/archiv-7/051106-6-e.html


THE OIL IN THE LAMPS
What, then, is the oil with which the wise virgins filled their jars alongside their lamps? Oil is never kept for the sake of the oil. It is always being used up if it is to serve its function. Therefore it also needs constant replenishment.
Once again, taking a cue from the parable but twisting it to yet another purpose, suppose the wedding has now occurred and the marriage consummated. Is there nothing left for the bride and the bridegroom now that the waiting is over and life has settled down? Surely there must be oil to sustain the marriage! If either thinks that now all the necessary “watching” is over, the terrible lethargy of the unwise maidens sets in. A marriage must be constantly renewed. Each must woo the other in a myriad of ways in the days and weeks and months and years after the vows have been made to one another. Otherwise a lamp once burning brightly will only bear a dismal soot.
So it is with those of us who have hailed the coming of the bridegroom. Here we catch a glimpse of what the oil is. Oil must be constantly replenished if the joy and excitement of the moment is to be sustained. The word of promise, even when it comes to fulfillment, fills the hearts and lives of all who are waiting. That word must be reviewed, renewed, revisited regularly as the oil for the lamps of those who await the bridegroom. Do not even the halls of heaven, where the promise is now filled full, ring with joy and praise? Having arrived at the banquet hall, things do not fall into silence as though all is now completed. Actually, all has just begun, so to speak, when the bridegroom arrives!


Hubert Beck, Retired Pastor 
Austin , TX


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http://www.sermonsfromseattle.com/series_a_wise_and_foolish_maidens.htm



We remember that old Bible camps song about this story. I’ll sing a line for you. “Give me oil for my lamp, keep me burning. Give me oil for my lamp I pray. Give me oil for my lamp, keep me burning, burning, keep me burning til the judgment day." 
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-As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. Circle the word, “delayed.” This is the second time in the gospel stories that we have confronted this word. We can hear the rumors buzzing in the early church: “The Second Coming of Christ has been delayed. How are we to interpret that?” Many Christians had become drowsy and began to fall asleep. They had secretly assumed that Jesus Christ was not coming back, that maybe their new religion was all a hoax, and so some of these first Christians became “lax” in their living out of their faith.
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What does this story mean for our lives. We are always to live our lives with the readiness that we will meet the Lord God face to face tonight. The midnight hour for you or me may tonight at midnight. We are always to be prepared to meet our God face to face. We never know when that moment may be. And what that moment arrives, it will be like the party of all parties when Christ arrives for the greatest of all wedding festivals.


Edward F. Markquart, Sermons from Seattle
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http://day1.org/544-the_door_to_joy_ajar



I performed a wedding that had been preceded by a big party the night before. The best man, whose job it was to hold the rings for the bride and the groom, was feeling the ill effects of the party. The first part of the wedding service passed without incident, and I finished my meditation with a flourish. The organist began a lengthy musical interlude--Pachelbel's Canon, I believe--that got much longer. For, you see, with the opening strains, the best man turned green and announced, "I'm going to be sick." With that he hurried out of the sanctuary carrying the rings with him and headed for the men's room. The music went on, and we waited, and we waited. Eventually, an usher realized that something must be done and he went in after the best man. Disheveled, looking very pale, the best man reappeared with the rings. After the wedding-and deservedly so, in my opinion-he incurred the wrath of many in the wedding party, especially the mother of the bride. After all, he had only one terribly important job to be done at that wedding, and at the critical moment he abandoned his post.
Indeed, this incident has suggested my own understanding of this parable. These foolish bridesmaids did not go wrong by their failure to provide the extra oil, not was it their fault that they had fallen asleep. Indeed, everybody had, but understand this: Their one task was to welcome the bridegroom with joy and when the critical moment arrived, they had abandoned their post. Indeed, they were foolish; they acted as if it was their job to have oil in their lamps and to find it if they lacked it. But this was not their primary job, their primary task. The oil was only a means to an end, and it is not clear that it was a necessary means. Their task, their job was to mediate and communicate joy, between bride and bridegroom. Their job was to be the heralds of unbelievably good news. But by confusing means with ends, they failed in their task.
On the one hand, we might see this parable as a veiled criticism of the religious authorities of Jesus' day: the scribes, the Pharisees, and the priests in Jerusalem. Their chief task was not to keep the temple beautiful or profitable; rather their chief task was to keep the people connected with God and to greet the prophetically promised arrival of God with joy. But when Jesus arrived, they viewed him as a nuisance interfering with the temple's profitability or as a threat to its well-being. They had confused the means with the ends; indeed, they ended up sacrificing the ends to the means. In their anxiety to keep their lamps burning, they abandoned their posts. They did not welcome Jesus Christ with joy.
On the other hand, you and I should take note of the parable's implications for us. We should take note that our task is not to preserve our religion but rather to communicate joy, the joy of knowing Jesus Christ, the joy of his victory over sin and death, the joy of his presence with us, and the joy of his final return. Let me ask you: Do our lives, our individual congregations and our denominations radiate joy? I see reasons why we need to ask ourselves this very question seriously.
In a nation where so many believe in God and so many are on spiritual quests, why are the mainline churches shrinking? Without any scientific evidence whatsoever, I think the issue comes down to joy. It is not that people so much reject our truth or our Lord; rather, it is that they reject our joylessness. They do not see us take intense pleasure in our faith or in our community of faith. They are searching for joy in the midst of suffering and difficulties, and we do not have it to offer to them.
What does our joylessness look like? First, we Christians spend far too much time criticizing each other and highlighting each other's faults. Alice Roosevelt once said, "If you can't say something good about someone, sit right here by me." Conservatives and liberals, evangelicals and mainliners, Catholics and Orthodox--we spend our time cataloging each other's errors and faults and convince ourselves that we serve God by doing so. We don't. I should know, because I have been one of the chief sinners in this regard, and I regret it heartily. A few years ago a Pentecostal pastor of my acquaintance called this failing of mine to my attention, and rightfully so.
As a second point, our joylessness also looks like the raw exercise of power. Jesus taught us to see leadership as an opportunity to practice servanthood, but too often we Christians, when it comes to determining church direction, behave like the soldiers beneath Christ's cross fighting for his tunic. We communicate to the secular world very clearly that we would rather rule in hell than serve in heaven. If you and I win the church wars, what an absurdly small empire we have won for ourselves.
As a third point, our joylessness looks like conflict over worship styles. When will we listen to the voices that tell us that it is not worship style but worship joy that draws people into the presence of the living God? We have failed God and our people when we have made an idol out of any style of worship.
Fourth and finally, joylessness looks like ineffectiveness. The world is dying for good news, both in word and deed, but we so absorb our energies with criticism, the manipulation of power, empty conversations about guitar versus organ, and so many petty details, that we end up with no good news to share. Have we pastors noticed how tired and bedraggled our lay leaders look? When they first came on the boards and committees where they serve, they did so with expectations of spiritual growth and meaningful engagement with and for the world. They end their terms burned out, disinterested, and joyless. Meaningful, effective service gives joy. Joy gives energy for additional, even more profoundly effective service. When the logical connection between our joy and our work is broken, the vicious circle of joylessness and ineffectiveness is the result.
Like the foolish bridesmaids, we have lost track of our role, and become absorbed by secondary matters, as denominations, as churches and as individuals. As a consequence, we have abandoned our post. Like the wise bridesmaids, we need to be concerned less with oil and more with communicating joy, so that those inside and those outside the house are filled with joy as well.
As denominations, as churches, and as individual people, where do we find joy? As a Presbyterian, I am bound to like the way the Westminster Shorter Catechism puts it, although with some editorial work for the sake of inclusiveness: The chief goal of human life, the chief purpose for which we are created, the catechism tells us, is to glorify and enjoy God forever. Put another way, you and I don't find joy. It is already given to us. The good news in the parable is that the bridesmaids never have to go looking for the bridegroom. The bridegroom has come already. The joy that God gives to us is already here, at our side, at our elbows, walking through the door. We just need to stay put, to leave the door ajar, to open our arms to joy approaching, and to realize that receiving joy and giving joy are what life is all about. It's not about possessions, power, wealth, and position for us or for the church. No, it is about joy.
The Rev. Dr. Samuel R. D. Massey is pastor of First Presbyterian Church (PCUSA) in Iowa City, IA. 
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