Picture the scene Jesus paints.
Night has settled in. A moon is rising lazy and late. Shadows stretch across the village road. Somewhere nearby, a bride waits with trembling excitement. Her friends surround her with music and laughter and nervous energy. They do not know when the moment will strike. They just know it will.
They clutch their lamps. Warm olive oil inside. Wicks trimmed and ready.
All that’s missing is the Bridegroom.
Jesus gives us this scene on purpose. This is His final public teaching before Calvary. The last story before the crown of thorns. If words could be written in bold red ink, these would be boldest.
“Don’t forget this,” Jesus whispers. “I am coming again.”
Not someday in a metaphor. Not as a poetic symbol or vague spiritual energy. The real Jesus. Our Jesus. With eyes that know your name by heart.
This world has a finish line. History isn’t spinning in circles. The One who lit the universe with a sentence will wrap it up with a shout.
We have a wedding to prepare for.
And what a wedding it will be. Joy that shakes galaxies. Music that vibrates through your bones. Love that looks you in the face. No tears. No funerals. No regrets whispering that you missed your chance to live.
Jesus describes that moment with a simple parable. Ten bridesmaids. Ten lamps. One Bridegroom. One surprise arrival.
Five make it.
Five do not.
Not because God is cruel.
Not because the rules were unclear.
Not because they didn’t want to go.
They just weren’t ready.
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1. Small spiritual details become massive at midnight.
The wise bridesmaids brought extra oil. The foolish ones assumed what they had would last.
The difference wasn’t dramatic. It was a detail.
That’s always how it goes.
Spiritual strength is built in secret.
Not when the spotlight is bright.
Not when the emotions are high.
Not when the organ is swelling just right.
It’s built
• in quiet worship when nobody sees
• in Scripture meditation when the phone is buzzing
• in small acts of obedience nobody applauds
• in daily surrender before temptation has time to pitch a tent
Most people don’t reject Jesus with clenched fists.
They drift with hands in pockets.
If you drop out of prayer for a week, your neighbors may not notice.
If you skip worship for a season, the sky doesn’t immediately crack.
If you put your Bible in a drawer for a year, the sun still rises tomorrow.
So we assume we’re fine.
Until midnight.
Midnight exposes what we nurtured or neglected.
You can’t cram for spiritual readiness the way you cram for a history exam. Lamps don’t refill themselves. Oil must be gathered one day at a time.
That’s why Jesus is talking to believers here.
This is not a parable about atheists rejecting God.
It’s a warning to people who believe the Bridegroom is coming.
They just don’t think it will be tonight.
A quick detour into our living rooms
We have oil for a lot of things.
Oil for success.
Oil for career.
Oil for Netflix binges that stretch into 2 a.m.
Oil for politics that invade every conversation like unwanted spam mail.
But the lamp that matters most often flickers unattended.
Truth is, our priorities are revealed by our preparation.
If your heart is ready for everything except Jesus…
maybe your heart isn’t ready for anything that matters.
One day the knock will come.
One day the shout will echo down the corridor of time.
And faith that seemed invisible will suddenly become the only thing anyone can see.
Let me give you a story I told you I would freshen up.
“It’s my wedding day!”
A groom named Jack was running late. Not a few minutes. Hours. The bride pacing. The family sweating. The pastor checking his watch.
Turns out Jack forgot a tiny detail months earlier…renewing his car registration. Which led to fines he never saw. Which led to his license being suspended. Which led to a little accident on the way to the church. Which led to a police officer running his name. Which led—brace yourself—to his arrest. Booked. Fingerprinted. Given the special tour of the local jail.
He begged. “It’s my wedding day!”
The officer shrugged. “Likely excuse.”
Small, cheap neglect. Huge, expensive consequence.
By God’s mercy, he made it. Barely. With a story that now lives rent-free in every sermon illustration folder.
Neglect doesn’t feel like rebellion.
It feels like delay.
And delay is seductively comfortable…
until comfort becomes catastrophe.
Jesus isn’t shaking His head in disgust here.
He’s shaking us awake in mercy.
Because He doesn’t want us sitting outside the party while the music starts without us.
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2. No one can borrow your relationship with Jesus.
This one cuts deep.
When the cry rang out—“The Bridegroom is here!”—panic erupted. Lamps sputtered. Wicks burned low. The foolish bridesmaids turned to the wise.
“Give us some of your oil!”
Their response wasn’t selfishness. It was reality.
Some things cannot be shared.
Some things cannot be transferred.
Some things cannot be borrowed at the buzzer.
Your relationship with Jesus is one of those things.
You don’t get into the Kingdom on…
• Your parents’ faith
• Your spouse’s devotion
• Your pastor’s prayers
• Your denomination’s heritage
Heaven isn’t a “plus-one” event.
Nobody stands before the throne saying,
“Put me under my grandmother’s account.”
This is not fear. This is freedom.
Because if your salvation depended on someone else’s faith, then someone else’s failure could destroy you.
But grace is personal.
Ownership is personal.
Commitment is personal.
Let me drop a little sign from a workplace wall:
“Lack of preparation on your part
does not constitute an emergency on my part.”
Harsh? Maybe.
True? Absolutely.
Jesus isn’t trying to shame us into obedience.
He’s inviting us into ownership.
• Own your faith
• Own your worship
• Own your discipleship
• Own your spiritual hunger
• Own your future
Nobody can prepare for your moment with God…except you.
This is where Part One pauses.
Not the sermon. Not the plea. Not the urgency. Just a breath before the final, eternal point.
Because we still need to face the most sobering truth Jesus gives us. The one many pulpits avoid. The one modern ears hate to hear.
There is such a thing as…
too late.
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3. There is such a thing as too late.
This is the part no one wants to think about.
We like grace.
We like patience.
We like second chances.
So does Jesus.
He’s the Shepherd who goes after the one.
He’s the Father who runs toward the prodigal.
He’s the Savior who forgave the ones hammering the nails.
He is mercy in human form.
Yet the One who is mercy tells this story.
The One with nail scars says:
“There will be a moment when the door closes.”
Not because He wants anyone outside.
Because some refuse to come inside until they hear the deadbolt.
When the Bridegroom arrives, those who were ready step into a joy that never ends. The foolish ones sprint down the street—finally aware, finally desperate—but the party has already begun.
They knock.
They plead.
They beg.
The Bridegroom answers,
“I don’t know you.”
The tragedy isn’t that they were bad people.
The tragedy is that they were almost ready.
They had the attire.
They had the lamps.
They believed the Bridegroom was coming.
They simply ran out of time.
Almost saved is still lost.
Almost ready is still unready.
Almost in is still out.
God’s patience is not permission to procrastinate.
That’s why Scripture keeps waving big red flags of love:
“Today, if you hear His voice,
do not harden your hearts.”
Hebrews 3:15
“It is appointed unto all once to die,
and after that, the judgment.”
Hebrews 9:27
“He will appear a second time…
to bring salvation to those who are waiting for Him.”
Hebrews 9:28
God isn’t trying to scare you.
He’s trying to spare you.
Because the future isn’t guaranteed.
Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.
Another chance isn’t guaranteed.
The oil is now.
The knock could be any moment.
The Bridegroom is on the way.
A picture to hold onto…
Years ago, I heard about a young lady who kept saying,
“I’ll give my life to Jesus. Soon. When things settle down.”
They never settled down.
She died unexpectedly.
Her friends grieved the loss.
But what haunted them wasn’t just her death.
It was her unfinished promise.
“I will follow…later.”
Hell isn’t filled with people who hated God.
It’s filled with people who intended to love Him…later.
I know this is weighty. It should be.
But don’t mistake weight for despair.
Every warning from Jesus
is also an invitation.
A knock that hasn’t happened yet
When Jesus told this story, the disciples were wide-eyed. Their minds spun.
“You mean, we could miss You?”
Jesus essentially answered,
“You will only miss Me if you choose to.”
So He gives the antidote:
“Watch therefore.”
“Keep awake.”
“Stay ready.”
“Live like the door could open tonight.”
Not frightened.
Focused.
Not anxious.
Anchored.
Not paranoid.
Prepared.
You don’t have to live guessing if you have enough oil.
You just keep refilling the lamp every day.
What does that look like?
• A heart that confesses sin quickly
• A mind that feeds on Scripture regularly
• A spirit tuned to the Holy Spirit daily
• A schedule that makes room for God intentionally
• A life that treats every day as a gift
• A faith that refuses to sleepwalk toward eternity
Jesus doesn’t ask “Are you perfect?”
He asks “Is your lamp lit?”
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Application: Three Invitations
One for everyone in the room.
1. Take care of the details that matter most.
If Jesus matters to you, invest in knowing Him.
No more drifting.
No more living on yesterday’s oil.
2. Take responsibility for your faith.
No more:
“My parents didn’t teach me…”
“My spouse isn’t supportive…”
“My church didn’t feed me…”
Pick up the oil yourself.
3. Don’t wait for tomorrow to start eternity.
Grace is not postponed delivery.
It’s ready for pick-up right now.
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The Bridegroom’s invitation
Maybe you’re thinking:
“I’m not ready. I’m spiritually low. My oil is almost gone.”
Perfect. That’s exactly when Jesus refills it.
Come to Him tonight
• messy
• nervous
• unsure
• broken
He isn’t measuring the height of your flame.
He’s offering fresh oil.
Because the only thing worse than being unprepared
is staying unprepared when grace is pouring freely.
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Conclusion: When the door swings open…
Imagine this moment:
A trumpet splits the sky.
Graves spill open, not with sorrow but with joy.
The King rides in, fire in His eyes, love in His smile.
Every knee bends.
Every heart knows.
Every secret is revealed.
To the ready He says:
“Welcome home.”
To the others…silence.
The door was open.
The invitation was wide.
The oil was free.
They simply waited too long.
None of us has to be in that story.
None of us has to hear that verdict.
Because Jesus hasn’t knocked yet.
The shout hasn’t gone out yet.
The midnight hour hasn’t struck yet.
The party shoes can still be put on.
The lamp can still be filled.
The door is still wide open.
Tonight the Bridegroom calls:
“Don’t wait for the knock.
Be ready for My embrace.”
Let’s light our lamps.
Let’s keep them burning.
Let’s go meet the King.
