Matthew 25:1-13, 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time

You know, sisters and brothers, for the longest time, my most overwhelming anxiety was to lose my dad while I was away, especially when I was just a Jesuit novice. Our 70-something novice master, Fr Joe Blanco, often solemnly told us that the older generation of Jesuits had it much tougher than we. They were always in their sotanas even during sports. They had to cut each other’s hair. They had to speak Latin all the time (even when Jesus didn’t speak a whit of Latin). Whenever they violated a rule or broke something, they did the culpa at lunch. The culpa was a public confession. As penance, they kissed the floor. And only then could the whole community start eating. Worst of all, they weren’t allowed to go on home leave for any reason, whether weddings, illness in the family, or gulp, even a funeral! So, down two years of my noviceship, I constantly prayed that God please take care of my dad. God forbid that we had to knock on Fr Blanco’s door for permission to go home, only to be frozen stiff by his “no”.

But hey, dad turned 90 last month. On Wednesdays and Fridays, my brother Jonathan drives him over and back from his little law office on Samal Island. Just lately, Jon’s been sending me a selfie of him driving and dad in the back seat, on their way home from Samal. Dad would either be sleeping or gazing out the window. At 90, the man gazing out the window, I figured, is now down to only a few things in life to wait for: his monthly pension on which Jon’s family depends; his two days a week on Samal; my twice yearly home visits; and well, as difficult as it is for me to imagine, maybe his passing, too. Maybe dad is waiting for that. Incidentally, I’ve seen our Lolo Jesuits looking out their windows, too. Like dad, I suppose, they’re down to fewer and fewer things to wait for, including maybe, the end. But I really wonder what goes on in the minds of the elderly whenever they gaze out the window. I wonder what they feel whenever they figure that it’s only a matter of time….

All the maidens in Jesus’ parable were given everything they needed to do a good job. First of all, how privileged they were to be handpicked from the groom’s nearest and dearest to be his welcome party. Second, they were all given torches with more than enough oil to keep them burning. Most importantly, they had all the time in the world to prepare for an all-nighter, even just for this one night, this special night, this precious night of love and celebration. Five maidens did a good job. The other five just blew it.

I think it’s safe to say that most of us, if not all of us in this happy room, have been and still are blessed with torches burning bright, with more than enough oil to keep them ablaze, friends and family who are our very reason to keep going, and keep living, and keep loving. But the most precious gift embracing all these is the gift of time. We have time to grow our blessings and care for them, time to nourish them and cherish them, time to share them and give them away, time to keep thanking God for them.

If only the foolish maidens realized how richly blessed they were, they’d have done better, especially with the gift of time! That’s one important takeaway from Jesus’ parable today, sisters and brothers. When we have enough and more than enough blessings, plus the gift of time, we do the right thing and keep doing the right thing. Because like the foolish maidens, we can be distracted. Which is one downside of being richly blessed. Becoming too comfortable, too euphoric over our good fortune, we slacken from doing what we’re supposed to do as receivers of the gift, distracted from doing the right thing. The latest example are the Republicans today. They once had the people’s trust and confidence. They had the time to do the right thing. The guy in The Hague is another example: 16M votes, a massive platform, and 6 years – a good time to have done the right thing. I’m sure you know of celebrities, personalities, athletes whose torches also burned bright, whose oil runneth over, with all the time in the world to do the right thing. But they got distracted. Our hearts can really drift from the Giver of the gift to the gifts themselves, and we start believing that our blessings are all because of us, gifts we own rather than borrowed, bought rather than bestowed. So, instead of using this precious time to do the right thing, we become, well, foolish. We squander.

In their twilight years, many people like dad and the Lolo Jesuits, as well as your own dearly beloved elderly, they may be down to a few things as they gaze past their windows. But as soon as they turn around, a good number of them pick up their torches, trim the wick, and light them back up, so they can make some difference in our lives, even if smaller now and slower. Sometimes, we get annoyed and say, “Ang tigas ng ulo ng matanda!” But God wired us all this way when he created us, sisters and brothers. We are wired to keep going, keep burning, keep doing the right thing the best way we know, with how much time we have…or what little we have left.

Time well-spent on a life well-lived doesn’t end up in darkness. And we, who don’t have much time to gaze out the windows yet, how brightly our torches burn. How do we remain wise, not foolish with blessings and time? We remember with thanksgiving, and remember with great responsibility, Whom our fire is from, Who lit us, and Who keeps us burning. After all, this is what we’re all here for: to be light for the road on our journey together towards God. When it’s time for us to gaze out our windows, may we see and feel God gazing back at us, just burning with love.

*image from the Internet