In our Old Testament reading for today, Joshua, the son of Nun, the successor of Moses, the weary warrior, stands before the people of Shechem with a Word from the Lord. He clears his throat, cups his hands, and says in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel.” Joshua reminds the people of all that God has done for them; how he promised Abraham a multitude of descendants and how he rescured them from slavery in the land of Egypt.
He reminds them that God has given them a land on which they had not labored, and towns that they had not built. And how they now live in those towns, eating the fruit of vineyards and olive yards that they did not plant.
In other words, they have been richly blessed.
And now they have a choice: From this mountainside, in the land of promise, Joshua challenges the people “choose this day who you will serve, whether it is the Gods your ancestors served in the land of Egypt, or the Gods of the Amorites in whose land you are now living.
But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
Unlike so many of the mundane choices we make every day, this is a choice that matters. It’s not like choosing what flavor ice cream you want to eat, or what to watch on Netflix…this is a choice that will determine the kind of life God’s people will lead from that moment on.
“Make up your minds about where the center is.” Joshua seems to say. “About which direction you will travel. About where your loyalties will lie. Everything is at stake here.”
In this one question, Joshua calls Israel, and us, to decide what is true, what is ultimate, what really matters.
“Choose,” he says. “Who you will serve.”
We make choices every day. Lots of them. Lots and lots. According to a study commissioned by the Public Broadcasting Corporation, the average adult in our country makes somewhere around 35,000 decisions every single day. Everything from what route will I drive to work, to what I’ll wear, to whether I’ll have regular or decaf. And a lot of the decisions we make, we’re not even conscious of…we just do them…and we make many of those decisions because they have become habit. We make a particular decision because we’ve always made that decision.
The story of Joshua challenging his people is a reminder that the same is true for our faith.
Do we do what we do because we choose to do it, or because it’s a habit? Is coming to worship a choice or a habit? Or reading scripture? Or praying?
In all fairness, both are great. I don’t really care why it is that you worship…I just care that you worship.
But Joshua is reminding us today that still…there is something important about knowing why you worship…about why you practice the faith that you practice.
Now, before I get too deep into this, I want to acknowledge that I’m treading on some thin theological ice here. In a lot of Christian traditions, they talk about the importance of deciding to follow Jesus…and that your relationship with God depends on this. They will say that you must accept Jesus…you must open yourself up to God…and then…and only then…do you receive the gifts of God that come through Jesus.
That’s not what I’m talking about. Quite the opposite, in fact. We don’t believe that God’s love is dependent on anything we do, or don’t do. In all honesty, none of us have that kind of power. No…the scriptures make it clear that nothing we do, or don’t do, can impact God’s great love. Romans 8 reminds us that nothing…nothing can separate us from God’s love…not life, nor death, nor angels, nor political leaders…and the list goes on. God’s love is a gift…and a constant.
But at the same time, we do still have some agency in our faith. We can’t choose whether or not God loves us…but we can decide what to do with that love. Do we live into it? Do we share it? Do we take it for granted? Do we ignore it? We do have some choice. Which is what Joshua is talking about when he says “as for me and my house…we will serve the Lord.”
This is what the Gospel writer Matthew was thinking about when he wrote our Gospel text for today. The early Christians had been prepared for Jesus’ return at any moment…they had been prepared for a long time. 30 years? Maybe 40? Jesus had said he was coming back soon, and they believed him.
For awhile they watched the skies every day. But then the days turned into weeks…the weeks into months…the months into years. And now the thought rarely entered their minds.
When they came to church, they came out of habit, and perhaps little else.
Matthew writes this gospel to urge them, among other things, toward a fresh sense of expectancy. He wants to renew their faith. And so Matthew shares one of Jesus’ parables.
“Once upon a time, there were ten bridesmaids” Jesus said. They made a choice to meet the bridegroom and accompany him to the wedding feast. Five of them were wise, and the other five, were…less wise.
And so, the ten await the bridegroom’s arrival. He is delayed. And the night drags on…and on…and on. The lamps, and the bridesmaids, begin to fade…until at last, they are all asleep.
Suddenly, from the darkness, there is a shout: “Here he comes!” And the bridesmaids leap to their feet to light their lamps. The five wise bridesmaids added oil before they lit their wicks. And their lanterns blaze like beacons. But the unwise bridesmaids hadn’t brought extra oil. Their lamps sputter and die.
“Lend us some of your oil,” they beg. But… the extra oil is gone, and there isn’t enough to share. The five who need oil go out to buy some.
By the time they have found what they are looking for, the party is well under way. “Let us in!” they shout, banging on the door. But when the bridegroom looks out at them, he says, “Do I know you? I don’t think I know you.” And the door is slammed shut.
“And that is how it will be in the Kingdom,” Jesus concludes.
Theologian Anthony Robinson writes that the theme of an oil shortage suggests the present plight of many people of faith. The Christian faith is a long term, slow-burn life; and things like pandemics, and political divisiveness, and social polarization can throw us off our game. And so, we’re running low…low on our passion…low on our energy…low on our commitment.
Now, I hope that’s not true for all of you. I hope that some of you are finding your lamps filled with fresh oil, day by day, especially these days.
But for some of you, the opposite is true. Your flame is sputtering on its wick. You are tired. Your faith needs renewal. You need oil for your lamp, but where do you get it?
Pastor Jim Somerville tells the story of a couple who after 50 years of marriage, decides to celebrate by renewing their wedding vows. It isn’t really a mutual decision; she’s the one who pushes the idea. But, it’s their 50th anniversary…what can he do but go along with his wife’s plans?
She drags out their wedding album, 50-year-old veil, and the wedding dress…she invites the children and a few of the neighbors, all dressed up and standing in front of a pastor in their living room for the renewal ceremony.
“Sheesh…” the old man thinks. “How did I get myself talked into this?” But as the pastor turns to him and begins to ask if he will take this woman to be his lawfully wedded wife, it’s as if time slows to a standstill.
He remembers. He remembers their poorer days, and now their somewhat richer ones. He remembers her in sickness…oh, how he remembers. And in health. Like watching an old home movie, in that moment, the memories flood his mind until he is surprised to find tears in his eyes; and the pastor asking him, “Well?”
“Well…what?” He asks. “Well…do you? Do you take this woman to be your wife?”
And he turns to look at her. But it’s not simply the face of his wife he looks at. Not the woman he’s been married to for five decades. No…it’s his bride…as on the day of their wedding…her face, fresh and lovely beneath the vail. Her eyes brimming with emotion. And as he looks from her face to the faces of their beaming children and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, he’s overcome by love and gratitude, for all that he has and for all that they have had together. He feels it then. The dry lamp of his marriage being filled with fresh oil. The charred wick being trimmed and lit, the flame blazing in the darkness.
And in the soft light that shines from his face to hers in that moment, he whispers, “I do. I certainly do.”
Decisions to live a certain way…decisions made long ago have a tendency to lose their fire over time; even our most important decisions. But what we need to do when we find the wick sputtering, the flame burning low, is not to abandon the lamp, or to look for another, but to fill that familiar vessel with the oil of fresh commitment, and to remember we’re not talking about renewing our commitment to a religious institution, or a doctrine…but to a person. To Jesus.
Where do we find our fresh oil? Like that old man renewing his vows, it is when we look into the face of the beloved. When we look to God, and are reminded of the great love and the great gifts that only God can bring. Then, our oil is renewed, and our lamps are filled.
It is an understanding that no matter how long ago it was, you have chosen to follow the one who already chose you. Let your lamps be full. Let your wicks be trimmed. And let your light shine brightly with the love of Christ.
Thanks be to God!
Amen.
Note: This sermon was deeply influenced by the work of Pastor Jim Somerville, pastor of First Baptist Church in Rochmond, Virginia.
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