The Old Testament symbolism is our best guide as to the significance
of the oil. Throughout it, oil symbolises the divine influences that
come down on men appointed by God to their several functions, and
which are there traced to the Spirit of the Lord. So the priests
were set apart by unction with the holy oil; so Samuel poured oil on
the black locks of Saul. So, too, the very name Messiah means
'anointed,' and the great prophecy, which Jesus claimed for His own
in His first sermon in the synagogue at Nazareth, put into the
Messiah's lips the declaration, 'The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me,
because He hath anointed Me.' But there are Old Testament symbols
which bear still more closely on the emblems of our text. Zechariah
saw in vision a golden lamp-stand with seven lamps, and on either
side of it an olive tree, from which oil flowed through golden pipes
to feed the flame. The interpretation of the vision was given by the
'angel that talked with' the prophet as being, 'not by might nor by
power, but by My Spirit, saith the Lord.'
So, then, we follow the plainly marked road and Scripture use of a
symbol when we take the oil in this parable to be that which every
listener to Jesus, who was instructed in the old things which he was
bringing forth with new emphasis from the ancient treasure-house of
the word of God, would take it to be--namely, the sum of the
influences from Heaven which were bestowed through the Spirit of the
Lord.
Such being the meaning of the oil, what was meant by the lamp? We
have no intention of discussing here the many varying interpretations
which have been given to the symbol. To do so would lead us too far
afield. We can only say that the interpretation of the oil as the
influence of the Holy Spirit necessarily involves the explanation of
the lamp which is fed by it, as being the spiritual life of the
individual, which is nourished and made visible to the world as light,
by the continual communication from God of these hallowing influences.
Turning again to the Old Testament, I need only remind you of the
great seven-branched lamp which stood in the Tabernacle, and afterwards
in the Temple. It was the symbol of the collective Israel, as recipient
of divine influences, and thereby made the light of a dark world. Its
rays streamed out over the desert first, and afterwards shone from
the mountain of the Lord's house, beaming illumination and invitation
to those who sat in darkness to behold the great light, and to walk
in the light of the Lord. Zechariah's emblem was based on the Temple
lamp. In accordance with the greater prominence given by the Old
Testament to national than to individual religion, both of these
represented the people as a whole. In accordance with the more
advanced individualism of the New Testament, our text so far varies
the application of the emblem, that each of the ten virgins who, as
a whole, stand for the collective professing Church, has her own
lamp. But that is the only difference between the Old and the New
Testament uses of the symbol.
I need not remind you how the same metaphor recurs frequently in the
teachings of our Lord and of the Apostles. Sometimes the Old
Testament collective point of view is maintained, as in our Lord's
saying in the Sermon on the Mount, 'Ye are the light of the world,'
but more frequently, the characteristic individualising of the
figure prevails, and we read of Christians shining 'as lights in the
world,' and each holding forth, as a lamp does its light, 'the word
of life.' Nor must we forget the climax of the uses of this emblem,
in the vision of the Apocalypse, where John once more saw the Lord,
on whose bosom his head had so often peacefully lain, 'walking in
the midst of the seven golden candlesticks.' There, again, the
collective rather than the individual bearing of the figure is
prominent, but with significant differences from the older use of
it. In Judaism there was a formal, outward unity, represented by the
one lamp with its manifold lights, all welded together on the golden
stem; but the churches of Asia Minor were distinct organisations,
and their oneness came, not from outward union of a mechanical kind,
but from the presence in their midst of the Son of God.
The sum of all this course of thought is that the lamp is the
Christian life of the individual sustained by the communication of
the influences of God's Holy Spirit.
II. We note next the gradual dying out of the light. 'Our lamps are
going out.'
All spiritual emotions and vitality, like every other kind of
emotion and vitality, die unless nourished. Let no theological
difficulties about 'the final perseverance of the saints,' or 'the
indefeasibleness of grace,' and the impossibility of slaying the
divine life that has once been given to a man, come in the way of
letting this parable have its full, solemn weight. These foolish
virgins had oil and had light, the oil failed by their fault, and so
the light went out, and they were startled, when they awoke from
their slumber, to see how, instead of brilliant flame, there was
smoking wick.
Dear brethren, let us take the lesson. There is nothing in our
religious emotions which has any guarantee of perpetuity in it,
except upon certain conditions. We may live, and our life may ebb. We
may trust, and our trust may tremble into unbelief. We may obey, and
our obedience may be broken by the mutinous risings of self-will. We
may walk in the 'paths of righteousness,' and our feet may falter
and turn aside. There is certainty of the dying out of all communicated
life, unless the channel of communication with the life from which it
was first kindled, be kept constantly clear. The lamp may be 'a burning
and a shining light,' or, more accurately translating the phrase of
our Lord, 'a light kindled and' (therefore) 'shining,' but it will be
light 'for a season' only, unless it is fed from that from which it
was first set alight; and that is from God Himself.
'Our lamps are going out,'--a slow process that! The flame does not
all die into darkness in a minute. There are stages in its death.
The white portion of the flame becomes smaller and the blue part
extends; then the flame flickers, and finally shudders itself, as it
were, off the wick; then nothing remains but a charred red line
along the top; then that line breaks up into little points, and one
after another these twinkle out, and then all is black, and the lamp
is gone out. And so, slowly, like the ebbing away of the tide, like
the reluctant, long-protracted dying of summer days, like the
dropping of the blood from some fatal wound, by degrees the process
of extinction creeps, creeps, creeps on, and the lamp that was going
is finally gone out.
III. Again, we note that extinction is brought about simply by doing
nothing.
These five foolish virgins did not stray away into any forbidden
paths. No positive sin is alleged against them. They were simply
asleep. The other five were asleep too. I do not need to enter, here
and now, into the whole interpretation of the parable, or there
might be much to say about the difference between these two kinds of
sleep. But what I wish to notice is that it was nothing except
negligence darkening into drowsiness, which caused the dying out of
the light.
It was not of set purpose that the foolish five took no oil with
them. They merely neglected to do so, not having the wit to look
ahead and provide against the contingency of a long time of waiting
for the bridegroom. Their negligence was the result, not of
deliberate wish to let their lights go out, but of their
heedlessness; and because of that negligence they earned the name of
'foolish.' If we do not look forward, and prepare for possible
drains on our powers, we shall deserve the same adjective. If we do
not lay in stores for future use, we may be sent to school to the
harvesting ant and the bee. That lesson applies to all departments
of life; but it is eminently applicable to the spiritual life, which
is sustained only by communications from the Spirit of God. For
these communications will be imperceptibly lessened, and may be
altogether intercepted, unless diligent attention is given to keep
open the channels by which they enter the spirit. If the pipes are
not looked to, they will be choked by masses of matted trifles,
through which the 'rivers of living water,' which Christ took as a
symbol of the Spirit's influences, cannot force a way.
The thing that makes shipwreck of the faith of most professing
Christians that do come to grief is no positive wickedness, no
conduct which would be branded as sin by the Christian conscience or
even by ordinary people, but simply torpor. If the water in a pond
is never stirred, it is sure to stagnate, and green scum to spread
over it, and a foul smell to rise from it. A Christian man has only
to do what I am afraid a good many of us are in great danger of
doing--that is, nothing--in order to ensure that his lamp shall go
out.
Do you try to keep yours alight? There is only one way to do it--that
is to go to Christ and get Him to pour His sweetness and His power
into our open hearts. When one of the old patriarchs had committed a
great sin, and had unbelievingly twitched his hand out of God's hand,
and gone away down into Egypt to help himself instead of trusting to
God, he was commanded, on his return to Palestine, to go to the place
where he dwelt at the first, and begin again, at the point where he
began when he first entered the land. Which being translated is just
this--the only way to keep our spirits vital and quick is by having
recourse, again and again, to the same power which first imparted
life to them, and this is done by the first means, the means of simple
reliance upon Christ in the consciousness of our own deep need, and
of believingly waiting upon Him for the repeated communication of the
gifts which we, alas! have so often misimproved. Negligence is enough
to slay. Doing nothing is the sure way to quench the Holy Spirit.
And, on the other hand, keeping close to Him is the sure way to
secure that He will never leave us. You can choke a lamp with oil,
but you cannot have in your hearts too much of that divine grace.
And you receive all that you need if you choose to go and ask it
from Him. Remember the old story about Elisha and the poor woman.
The cruse of oil began to run. She brought all the vessels that she
could rake together, big and little, pots and cups, of all shapes
and sizes, and set them, one after the other, under the jet of oil.
They were all filled; and when she brought no more vessels the oil
stayed. If you do not take your empty hearts to God, and say, 'Here,
Lord, fill this cup too; poor as it is, fill it with Thine own
gracious influences,' be very sure that no such influences will come
to you. But if you do go, be as sure of this, that so long as you
hold out your emptiness to Him, He will flood it with His fulness,
and the light that seemed to be sputtering to its death will flame
up again. He will not quench the smoking wick, if only we carry it
to Him; but as the priests in the Temple walked all through the
night to trim the golden lamps, so He who walks amidst the seven
candlesticks will see to each.
IV. And now one last word. That process of gradual extinction may be
going on, and may have been going on for a long while, and the
virgin that carries the lamp be quite unaware of it.
How could a sleeping woman know whether her lamp was burning or not?
How can a drowsy Christian tell whether his spiritual life is bright
or not? To be unconscious of our approximation to this condition is,
I am afraid, one of the surest signs that we are in it. I suppose
that a paralysed limb is quite comfortable. At any rate, paralysis
of the spirit may be going on without our knowing anything about it.
So, dear friends, do not put these poor words of mine away from you
and say, 'Oh! they do not apply to me.'
I am quite sure that the people to whom they do apply will be the
last people to take them to themselves. And while I quite believe,
thank God! that there are many of us who may feel and know that our
lamps are not going out, sure I am that there are some of us whom
everybody but themselves knows to be carrying a lamp that is so far
gone out that it is smoking and stinking in the eyes and noses of
the people that stand by. Be sure that nobody was more surprised
than were the five foolish women when they opened their witless,
sleepy eyes, and saw the state of things. So, dear friends, 'let
your loins be girt about, and your lamps burning; and ye yourselves
like unto men that wait for their Lord.'
'THEY THAT WERE READY'
'They that were ready went in with him to the marriage.'
--MATT. xxv. 10.
It is interesting to notice the variety of aspects in which, in this
long discourse, Jesus sets forth His Second Coming. It is like the
flood that swept away a world. It is like a thief stealing through
the dark, and breaking up a house. It is like a master reckoning
with his servants. These three metaphors suggest solemn, one might
almost say alarming, images. But then this parable comes in and
tells how that coming is like that of a bridegroom to the bride's
house, with joy and music. I am afraid that the average Christian,
when he thinks at all of Christ's coming, takes these three first
aspects rather than the last one, and so loses what is meant to be a
bright hope and a great stimulus. It is not in human nature to think
much about a terrible future. It is not in human nature to avoid
thinking a great deal about a blessed future. And although one does
not wish to preach carelessness, or the ignoring of the solemn side
of that coming, sure I am that our Christian lives would be stronger
and purer, brighter and better able to front the solemn side, if the
blessed side of it were more often the object of our contemplation.
Turning to the words of my text, which seem to me to be the very
centre and heart of this parable, I ask:--