gathered to feast in thanksgiving to God after that first hard year. They were not thanking God that they were not like those native Indians. Instead, they invited them to share their dinner. They were not thanking God that they were superior to every other people on earth, and therefore had been given a mighty land to conquer. They believed that they had been led to these shores on their pilgrimage as a people who humbly tried to serve their God and do his will and sought the promise given to Abraham that through them “shall all the families of the earth be blessed.”
In these days of re-awakening patriotism, we need to remember that it can take two very different forms. There is the patriotism that consists in a deep and genuine love for the country of our birth or our adoption. This is the patriotism that rings through the Old Testament in the passionate attachment of the Jewish people to the land and its capital: “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.” This is the patriotism that inspired the noblest of the Greeks and Romans and made them seek the highest good for their people. It is the patriotism that has made the greatest leaders of our own country seek an America that is not only strong and courageous but also honorable, compassionate, and good. Thus we can give thanks to God today for all that we have derived from the good land we live in, and from the history of its great men and women to whose sacrificial lives we owe so much. To me, there is something sadly lacking in a man or woman who is unable to give thanks to God for their country, and I agree with Dr. Johnson when he writes: that man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona.”
The other kind of patriotism is totally different. It expresses a bigoted and lop-sided pride in one’s own country combined with a mixture of fear and contempt for every other land. It says: “I thank God I am not like these other peoples with their strange languages and funny looks. I thank God that we are Number One.” Such patriotism can be a mere disguise for ugly feelings of hatred and aggression that we would otherwise restrain. It was the false patriotism that the same Dr. Johnson had in mind when he called it “the last refuge of a scoundrel.” Rudyard Kipling who was known as a vigorous and outspoken English patriot knew what this false patriotism could be and expressed it in his Recessional:
“The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart;
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice;
A humble and a contrite heart.”
It was the thankful response of the humble and the contrite that led Jesus to his own outburst of gratitude to God. “In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes: even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight.”
May it be that spirit that we joyfully share this feast of thanksgiving, 1984, and now share in that “Eucharist” that unites us to the thankfulness of Christ.
Advent Parables: Oil Crisis for the Bridesmaids
Editor’s Introduction
David Read often seized the season of Advent to preach a series of sermons under such titles as “Advent Voices,” “Advent Answers,” “Advent Encounters,” “Advent Parables,” and “Advent Grammar.” This particular sermon, and the two following, are from his series “Advent Parables.”
The Bible readings for this series are taken from the New English Bible translation, and one can see why. While the NRSV excels in elegance, there is nothing quite like the NEB for clarity and charm, especially when it comes to capturing Jesus’ voice in the action-packed parables.
The sermon “Oil Crisis for the Bridesmaids” is based on the Parable of the Ten Virgins. This parable is especially topical as our world faces an overriding oil crisis. We simply don’t have enough oil for our energy-drained, overpopulated world. At the same time, we have far too much oil as far as the ever-increasing, climate-damaging carbon deposits in the atmosphere are concerned. It is through this timely parable, then, that David Read brings the Advent message alive for us today.
The Bible readings are normally taken from the King James Version unless otherwise indicated.
Advent Parables: Oil Crisis For The Bridesmaids
A Sermon preached by David H. C. Read at Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church on Advent Sunday, December 1, 1974
Text: Matthew 25:1–13 (NEB)
Readings: 1 Thessalonians 5:1–11 (NEB); Matthew 25:1–13
Jesus was a great storyteller. That’s one of the reasons why we read that “the common people heard him gladly.” When he was talking, as he usually was, about life in the Kingdom of God, life under God’s rule, what it means to reckon with God, in this world and the next, he told stories. The modern preacher is inclined to say things like: “The Kingdom of God is a concept of varying significance according as it is understood historically, sociologically, or eschatologically.” Jesus said: “The Kingdom of God is like”—and then told a story.
Most of his stories are called parables. We tend to think that a parable is what we call today an illustration—one of these little stories that preachers work into their sermons to illuminate the point they are making. Last week, when speaking about hunger and making the point that anyone of us could find ourselves scrambling for bread if all supplies were cut off, I used an illustration from my experience as a POW. That wasn’t a parable: it was an illustrative story. Jesus used illustrations too but the stories we call parables had another purpose and another shape.
Others think that parables are allegories. An allegory is a tale in which everything stands for something else. If that sounds confusing let me remind you of an allegory told by the prophet Nathan to King David. David had just had his notorious affair with Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah, whom he had then dispatched to the battlefield in such a way that he was bound to be killed. Nathan told the king a story about a rich man who had lots of flocks of sheep and a poor man who had only one ewe lamb which he loved like a child. When the rich man needed some roast lamb in a hurry he spared his own flocks and took the poor man’s little pet animal. When David heard the story he was furious and said to Nathan: “As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die.” And Nathan said to David, “Thou art the man.” The rich man in the story stood for David; the poor man for Uriah; and the little ewe lamb for Bathsheba. Apart from some trimmings to the story, everything in an allegory like this fits. We say: “This stands for that, and this for that, and so on.” Jesus used allegories occasionally, but his favorite form of story was the parable, and we may easily miss the point of a parable if we start allegorizing. When he made a point about prayer by telling the parable of the unjust judge “who cared nothing for God or man and finally gave in to the nagging of a widowed plaintiff,” we get off on the wrong foot if we say that this judge stands for the God who listens to our prayers.
A parable is normally a story from real life which gets our attention by raising some unusual question, even evoking from us a protest about what happened. It is when we are pondering our question or our protest that a truth about the kingdom may begin to dawn on us. You can easily miss the point of a parable. An illustration is usually almost painfully plain and an allegory not hard to figure out. That’s why Jesus spoke often about parables being “hidden” from the careless listener, found even his disciples slow to discover their meaning, and kept warning about the need to have ears to hear.
I’ve said all this because during Advent this year I want to listen again to four different parables of Jesus. When I say “listen” I mean that we should all let the parable speak to each one of us personally. It’s much more important that you should hear the parable than the preacher, for not one of us can lay down the law and say: “This—and nothing else is what this parable means.” It is part of my job to suggest what the parable meant to the writers and editors of the Gospels who were members of the first generation Church, and if possible, to get behind that to what Jesus originally intended it to convey. But no one can set limits to the power of these words to explode in the soul