Matthew 25:1

Jesus is telling a parable — a story designed to reveal a deeper truth — to his disciples near the very end of his ministry, just days before his crucifixion. The scene he draws on was immediately familiar to his audience: in ancient Jewish culture, weddings were multi-day celebrations, and a group of young women would wait with oil lamps to escort the bridegroom when he arrived at the bride's home. The timing of the bridegroom's arrival was famously uncertain — he could come at any hour, even past midnight. Jesus uses this warm, festive image to make a pointed statement about readiness for his own return. This opening verse simply sets the scene before the parable's harder truths unfold.

Lord, I do not want to be caught empty when it matters most. Teach me what real readiness looks like — not anxiety or performance, but deep, quiet faithfulness built one ordinary day at a time. Keep me watchful, and keep me full of you. Amen.

Ten women. Same night. Same task. Same lamps. Same bridegroom. From the outside, they are indistinguishable — all holding lights, all dressed for a wedding, all waiting together in the same darkness. The parable has not yet told you which ones are wise and which are foolish. And that ambiguity is the entire point of the opening line. You cannot tell by looking. Preparation is invisible until the moment it actually matters. Jesus is not trying to make you anxious with this story — he is trying to make you honest. The question is not whether you are in the group (all ten were). The question is what kind of waiting you are doing. Is your faith something that runs on reserves — built over time through the small, unspectacular work of prayer, Scripture, honest conversation with God, and real community? Or is it something you borrow moment by moment, hoping someone can top you off when things get desperate? The bridegroom is coming. What does your lamp look like right now?