That Wasn’t Smart

Act I – Waiting for the Bridegroom

You ever been to a wedding where the groom was late?

People shifting in their seats, the music looping for the third time, photographers glancing at their watches. Aunt Martha whispers, “Maybe he changed his mind.”

I was once at a wedding like that. The bride was radiant, the bridesmaids sparkling — and then… silence. Five minutes… ten… twenty. The air grew heavy with nervous laughter. Finally someone muttered, “This isn’t smart. Who keeps a bride waiting?”

And that’s when Jesus steps into the story. He tells of another wedding — a heavenly one.

> “Then the kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom.”

Ten young women, all invited. Ten lamps, all burning. One purpose — welcome the groom when he comes.

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Act II – The Wedding Everyone Expected

In those days a wedding wasn’t an afternoon ceremony at a chapel; it was a procession.

The groom would come to fetch his bride at night, and the bridesmaids’ job was simple: keep the lamps burning.

So they waited. They laughed. They talked about dresses and dreams. And hours slipped by.

The oil in their lamps burned lower.

The groom tarried.

Every generation since has replayed that scene.

The world waiting for a promise. The church waiting for a Savior.

And somewhere along the way — we get tired.

Jesus said, “They all slumbered and slept.” Even the wise ones nodded off.

Waiting is hard. Revival tarries. We grow comfortable. The flame grows small.

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Act III – Lamps That Look Alike

Here’s the shocker: all ten looked alike.

They all had invitations.

They all had lamps.

They all believed the groom was coming.

They all called themselves bridesmaids.

But half were missing one thing — the oil.

Outwardly, there was no difference. If you’d walked by that night, you couldn’t have told who was wise and who was foolish.

But Jesus isn’t fooled by outward similarity.

He knows which lamps hold fire.

You can attend church, sing the songs, quote Scripture — and still run on fumes.

You can post Bible verses and yet have no inner flame.

The foolish virgins teach us that appearance without substance is the religion of the last days.

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Act IV – The Oil Question

And here’s where people always lean forward and whisper, “So what exactly is the oil?”

Through Scripture, oil represents the Holy Spirit’s living presence.

It’s the inner life of God poured into the believer — love, faith, endurance, compassion, power.

Five of the women had made room for that daily supply.

They’d tended the wick of prayer, refilled the flask of devotion, kept the flame of obedience alive.

The others depended on borrowed light.

That wasn’t smart.

You can borrow sermons, borrow music, borrow someone’s enthusiasm — but you cannot borrow the Holy Spirit.

There are no spiritual wholesalers where you can fill a fifty-gallon drum for emergencies.

When the crisis comes, character can’t be purchased.

Revival can’t be downloaded.

Faith can’t be transferred.

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Act V – The Midnight Cry

Then suddenly — a shout in the dark!

> “Behold! The bridegroom is coming! Go out to meet him!”

Every lamp is grabbed. Sparks fly. The wise trim their wicks, flames leap high.

The foolish gasp, “Our lamps are going out!”

They look for oil now — but the moment demands what must already exist.

Every revival in history begins with a midnight cry.

God wakes His church: Wake up, sleepers! The Bridegroom is near!

It’s the Spirit shaking dry bones.

It’s conviction flooding tired hearts.

It’s believers realizing that going through motions without oil is a dangerous game.

When heaven shouts and the trumpet sounds, you won’t have time to run to the store.

This is the hour to fill your flask.

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Act VI – That Wasn’t Smart

The foolish virgins sprinted into the night searching for oil.

And while they were gone — while they were almost ready —

> “The bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the wedding feast, and the door was shut.”

Later they knocked, crying, “Lord, Lord, open to us!”

But he answered, “Truly I say to you, I do not know you.”

Imagine standing outside a celebration you were invited to.

Your name was on the guest list. The music still echoes inside.

And realizing you missed it not because you weren’t invited,

not because you weren’t interested,

but because you weren’t prepared.

That wasn’t smart.

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Act VII – Closed Door Moments

We know those moments even now.

The opportunity to reconcile — but pride delays.

The call to serve — but convenience wins.

The tug to surrender — but distractions drown it out.