There are some lessons life teaches the hard way. Sometimes they arrive wrapped in sweat and bruises on a Friday night football field.
A friend of mine told me a story from when he played high school football. He was tough, competitive, the kind of kid who would try to tape a broken finger back in place and run right back into the huddle. One week he caught a terrible cold. Fever. Headache. The kind of sick where every breath feels like you’re trying to inhale through wet concrete. He probably should have stayed home.
But he didn’t.
He figured the coach would never accept that excuse. The coach had a mantra he repeated so often it may as well have been printed across the team jerseys:
“When you show up, be ready to play.”
No exceptions.
So my friend suited up that night. He played both offense and defense. He tried to keep up. He tried to ignore the fact that his head felt like it was about to burst.
By the middle of the third quarter, the world was spinning. He waved to the sideline and said, “Coach, I need a breather. Just give me a couple plays to recover.”
The coach nodded. He called someone else into the game. My friend sat down, helmet in his lap, gulping water. A few plays passed. Then the quarter ended. Then the fourth quarter rolled along. And he remained on the bench.
Not only that. The coach benched him for the next two games as well.
Eventually he marched up to the coach and explained himself.
“Coach, I was sick that night. I’m better now. I’m ready to play.”
The coach stared at him without blinking.
“You should’ve told me. I could’ve made other plans. When you show up, be ready to play.”
That line stuck with him. It stuck with me too. It isn’t about perfection. It’s about readiness. If you’re on the field, be all there.
Jesus once told a story that carries the same kind of weight. Not about football. About a wedding. A joyful celebration. A once-in-a-lifetime moment that everyone in the village wanted to be part of. In Matthew 25, Jesus tells us about ten young women waiting for a groom to arrive so the celebration could begin. Five were ready. Five weren’t.
Jesus wasn’t just giving wedding commentary. He was pointing directly to the Kingdom of Heaven. To His return. To the moment we will see the world’s true King face-to-face.
The central message is painfully simple:
The King is coming.
No one knows when.
Be ready when He arrives.
This parable isn’t meant to confuse us. Jesus didn’t hand us a riddle and say, “Good luck.” He painted a picture vivid enough that everyone listening would understand: some will be ready… some won’t… and the ones who aren’t ready will wish they were.
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>> Weddings in Jesus’ Time
Let’s step into the world Jesus describes.
A wedding in a small village was not a quiet affair with a printed invitation list and a tidy guest count managed by an anxious wedding planner. Weddings were community events. If you lived in the village, you were invited. Even if you didn’t know the family well, you went anyway. It was the highlight of the year.
Music. Dancing. The best food the families could afford. Children running and laughing. Friends reconnecting. Lanterns burning bright in the night air. Joy on every face.
And no getaway honeymoon. The newly married couple would host everyone for a weeklong celebration. Just imagine your living room filled with people for seven straight days… and all of them expecting to be fed!
One part of those weddings was particularly unpredictable. The groom decided when the ceremony would start. The bride’s attendants waited for his arrival, lamps ready, so they could escort the bride and groom to the wedding feast.
This meant waiting. Sometimes waiting late into the night. Sometimes waiting until guests wondered if the groom had cold feet. But this was part of the excitement. Part of the game.
One of the groom’s attendants would run ahead of him through the streets shouting, “The groom is coming! Get ready!” It was just enough notification to pick up your lamp, adjust your cloak, wipe your eyes, and join the procession.
But none of that would help if your lamp had gone out.
When the groom arrived, the doors would be shut behind the wedding party and the feast would begin. No late arrivals. No slipping in unnoticed. If you weren’t ready when the announcement came, you would miss the moment.
Jesus wants us to feel the energy of that story. The hope. The anticipation. The joy that comes from knowing a celebration is about to begin… and the rightness of the moment when the doors finally close and the feast begins.
God is staging a celebration like that. The greatest in eternity. One day, the shout will go out:
“The Groom is here!”
Everything will change in that instant. Eternity will break into time. Every story will be completed. Every promise fulfilled.
The question isn’t whether the Groom is coming. He is. The only question is whether we’ll be ready.
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>> The Oil Problem
Now here is where the story gets uncomfortably close to home. Jesus divides the bridesmaids into two groups:
• Five were wise
• Five were foolish
The wise women brought extra oil. Enough to last even if the Groom delayed. They had prepared not just for the start of the night, but for the whole night.
The foolish women brought just enough to get by. They were not empty… but they were not prepared to go the distance.
This is such a crucial distinction.
The foolish attendants knew the groom was coming.
They believed the celebration was real.
They fully intended to participate.
They started out just as enthusiastically as everyone else.
What they didn’t understand was that faith is long obedience. It takes endurance. It takes staying with Jesus through seasons of silence, through unanswered prayers, through disappointments that make the heart ache.
Some people think the Christian life is a short sprint. A quick burst of excitement. A spiritual camp meeting experience. But Jesus calls us to a marathon. A cross-country journey. A battle that lasts all four quarters.
When I was in college, I spent a summer working construction in Washington D.C. The carpenters worked in teams. There was one man named Brownie. Nobody wanted to work with him. Brownie would attack the day like a chainsaw in starched pants. At 7:30 a.m. he was unstoppable. Hammer flying. Sawdust everywhere. He made the rest of us look slow.
Then came lunch.
After lunch, Brownie faded… fast. He became completely useless. He would wander around singing “Mama, Come Get Your Baby Boy” and contributing absolutely nothing. He burned through his energy early and had nothing left when the day was only half over.
Many start fast spiritually. Few finish strong.
We meet people like that in church. They know the right words. They know the stories. They show up for the spiritual pep rally. They talk about urgency and passion. They say all the right Christian slogans. But when real life asks for real faith… they disappear from the field.
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>> Talking and Doing Are Not the Same Thing
Commitment isn’t measured by how loudly we talk about it. Commitment is measured by follow-through. Or as Jesus said elsewhere:
“By their fruits you will know them.” (Matthew 7:20)
Some folks burn hot but briefly. They mean well. They sign up for everything. They fill out every volunteer card. They might even lead for a season. But when their lamp begins to flicker, rather than refilling the oil tank, they quietly slip away.
Real commitment translates into lifestyle. Tuesday afternoon. Friday evening. In the car. At home. In conflict. In stress. In the mundane.
Fred Craddock observed that most Christians don’t give their lives to Christ in one dramatic moment. Instead, God hands us daily opportunities. He turns that grand gesture into small change.
Quarter by quarter.
Choice by choice.
Faith is revealed.
Listening to that neighbor kid whose problems don’t fit into your schedule.
Serving in a ministry even when you’re tired.
Offering encouragement instead of criticism.
Keeping promises.
Showing up.
That’s oil.
That’s readiness.
Jesus calls us not only to start the race, but to finish it. Not only to light the lamp once, but to keep it burning. Not only to feel inspired in the first quarter, but to be faithful all the way to the final whistle.
Faith is not a mood. Faith is movement. Faith is trust that walks forward even when we don’t see clearly.
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>> The Test of Maturity
Some of the most spiritual-sounding people can sometimes be the least reliable when it comes to showing up. I don’t say that to point fingers. I say it because we need to measure maturity the way Jesus does.
Spiritual maturity does not brag, “I’ve arrived.” Spiritual maturity says what Paul said at the end of his ministry:
“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me… forgetting what is behind… reaching for what is ahead.” (Philippians 3:12–14)
Paul had plenty of reasons to boast. He could have listed his achievements. He could have hung his faith on past successes. Yet he kept reaching, kept growing, stayed hungry for more of Christ.
The dangerous moment in the Christian life is when we think we’re done growing.
I get nervous when someone tells me, “Pastor, I’m really growing spiritually. I think I’m just about there!” That’s usually a sign they’re not. That’s usually a sign they’re starting to coast. And faith does not coast uphill.
I once read a cartoon where Charlie Brown starts rattling off all the things that lead to a successful life: “Be kind, exercise regularly, mark your ballot carefully, avoid cavities…” Before he could finish, Lucy interrupts: “Stand still, Charlie Brown, I’m going to give you a sharp blow on the nose.”
Sometimes the quick, easy formulas for spiritual growth deserve a gentle smack. Because following Jesus is not instant oatmeal faith. It’s a lifelong journey of daily dependence.
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>> You Cannot Borrow Oil
Here’s another striking detail in Jesus’ parable: when the foolish attendants found their oil running low, they begged the wise ones to share.
The answer: “We can’t. There wouldn’t be enough for both of us.”
Not cruel. Not selfish. Just true.
You cannot borrow spiritual readiness.
You can admire someone else’s faith.
You can be inspired by their devotion.
You can learn from their wisdom.
But you cannot borrow their relationship with Jesus.
You must have your own.
You cannot borrow someone’s surrender.
You cannot borrow someone’s perseverance.
You cannot borrow someone’s lamp or their oil.
Parents cannot believe for their children.
Spouses cannot obey for each other.
Friends cannot walk the road to spiritual maturity in our place.
I once asked a racquetball expert when he would teach me his best moves. Without hesitation he said, “Dave, that would take too long.” He knew how little I prioritized that game. He couldn’t magically transfer his athletic instincts or muscle memory to me. Years of discipline do not transfer through a handshake.
The same is true of faith. No one else can do your growing. No one else can show up for God in your place.
We each must decide if we want to carry enough oil to keep going.
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>> The Door Was Shut
This is the part of Jesus’ story we would love to rewrite. We want a version where the groom says, “Come in anyway! You tried your best!” We want grace so elastic that no one ever misses out.
But Jesus is blunt:
“The door was shut.”
Later the others came and pleaded, “Sir, sir, open the door for us!”
But the voice inside said, “Truly, I do not know you.”
These are some of the saddest words in Scripture. Not because Jesus is cruel. Because urgency is real. Opportunity does not last forever.
We can’t assume we’ll have time “someday.”
We can’t assume we can get serious later.
We can’t assume grace will always wait on our convenience.
Spiritual procrastination is a quiet thief. It keeps telling you tomorrow is soon enough. Tomorrow I’ll pray more. Tomorrow I’ll join a Bible study. Tomorrow I’ll mend that relationship. Tomorrow I’ll surrender that habit.
Until tomorrow has no more tomorrows.
Jesus does not tell this story to scare us. He tells it so we wake up before the midnight shout. He wants us at the feast. He wants us in the celebration.
He wants us ready.
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>> The Good News: There Is Enough Oil
Here’s the hope that holds this whole story together:
There is plenty of oil.
God is not stingy with grace.
The Spirit has more than enough strength for every believer.
If your flame is flickering tonight… the Spirit can refill you.
If your energy is low… the Spirit can strengthen you.
If your hope is dim… the Spirit can brighten you.
Jesus does not ask us to keep our lamps burning by willpower alone. He gives us Himself.
Oil is supplied by the Holy Spirit.
Readiness is rooted in grace.
Endurance is the gift of God.
We don’t earn our place at the wedding.
We are invited by love.
We just keep showing up… and keep our lamps lit.
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>> Daily Oil Looks Like This
Sometimes readiness looks ordinary. It looks like:
• Choosing prayer over resentment
• Returning to Scripture instead of returning to a bad habit
• Forgiving when offending feels easier
• Loving your spouse when your emotions are tired
• Serving someone privately without applause
• Taking Sabbath rest to remind yourself you are not in control
• Trusting Jesus in the silence
Readiness is not loud.
Readiness does not always feel exciting.
Readiness is faithfulness in the quiet places of life.
It is choosing to stay with Jesus today.
And then again tomorrow.
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>> When the Night Gets Long
Those attendants all fell asleep. Did you notice that? The wise and the foolish both got tired. Our problem is not that we get weary. It’s what happens when weariness comes.
Do we quit?
Do we drift?
Do we unplug from the source?
Or do we let the Spirit replenish us?
You may have had a strong first quarter of life. But it’s the fourth quarter that counts. You may have had rough plays earlier. But God calls you tonight to stay in the game.
Do not sit on the bench because yesterday was hard.
Do not assume you have nothing left to give.
Do not believe the lie that your best days of spiritual influence are behind you.
God is not done filling your lamp.
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>> Eyes on the Bridegroom
This story is not mainly about lamps or oil or sleep. This story is about a Groom who is worth waiting for.
The wise attendants stayed ready because they kept their eyes on Him. They wanted to be there the moment He arrived. Their joy wasn’t in the waiting—it was in who they were waiting for.
Every moment of readiness says:
“I believe Jesus is coming, and I want to be with Him.”
That desire keeps the flame alive.
One day—no one knows when—the shout will ring through the universe:
“The Groom is coming!”
“Jesus has arrived!”
And in that moment, nothing else will matter.
Careers won’t matter.
Politics won’t matter.
Bank accounts won’t matter.
Achievements won’t matter.
Regrets won’t matter.
What will matter is this:
Was my lamp lit?
Did Jesus know me?
Did I love Him enough to stay with Him until the end?
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>> When You Show Up, Be Ready to Play
The coach in that old football story wasn’t angry. He wasn’t punishing a kid. He was teaching a principle: if you’re on the field, be all there.
Jesus says the same.
If you’re alive today, you’re on the field.
If you can pray, you’re on the field.
If you can serve, encourage, forgive, or give… you’re on the field.
As long as there’s breath in your lungs, you are in the game.
Don’t quit. Don’t coast. Don’t drift.
Don’t let your lamp go dark.
Every day is a chance to show up with a heart fully His. Every sunrise is one day closer to the wedding celebration.
God is calling you not to a panicked readiness… but a joyful readiness.
You are not preparing for disaster.
You are preparing for a feast.
You are not preparing to run from a judge.
You are preparing to run into the arms of a Bridegroom who loves you infinitely more than you can understand.
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>> A Prayer of Readiness
Lord,
Life moves fast. We get tired. We get distracted. We let our lamps burn low. But today we hear Your invitation again. You want us with You. You want us ready.
Fill our hearts with fresh oil.
Strengthen our endurance.
Help us keep our eyes on Jesus.
Help us serve You not just in the first quarter, but all four.
When the shout comes—whether tonight, or years from now—may our lamps be burning bright.
We want to be ready to play.
In the name of Jesus, amen.
