📅 08 November 2026  |  👤  Br. Savio Saldanha SJ

As a pre-novice I once spent a night in a village church at Kinauli. The church stood a little way from the village and had no electricity. My companion and I were to sleep there, so before it became dark we bought a box of candles. Some villagers had warned us about snakes, so we decided to keep one candle burning all night. We both slept, but whenever one of us woke and saw the candle down to a small piece, we replaced it. By morning we had used about four big candles.

I thought of that night when I read this Sunday's Gospel. I want to share three things from it. They all lead to one sentence: Jesus already knows us. Let us answer him before the night comes. The ten bridesmaids wait for the bridegroom, and he is late. All ten fall asleep, even the wise ones. On that night in the village church, we slept too, and the candle stayed lit while we did. The Gospel ends with "Keep awake", after showing us ten sleepers. I read it as "be ready".

What separates the two groups is the oil. The wise bridesmaids brought a reserve with their lamps for a wait that might be longer than they expected. We had a box of candles, and we used about four of them. Initially, the wise bridesmaids' refusal sounds hard: "there will not be enough for you and for us." A reserve like that is built over ordinary days, and it cannot be handed over at midnight.

Matthew does not say what the oil is. Christians have read it as faith, love and good works. I think it is whatever keeps us close to Jesus through ordinary days: prayer, certainly, and also the promise we keep, the child we get up for at night, the sick person we sit beside or the stranger we help in the street. Saint Ignatius asks for the grace to know Jesus more intimately, to love him more and to follow him more closely. All three belong together, and he asks for them as a gift.

Some of you will read this and feel that your own oil is low. You may be depressed, or carrying something that was done to you, and prayer may feel empty or even frightening. You may be worn out from looking after others. An exhausted person is not necessarily an unprepared person. In our church the candle burnt down again and again. We woke, saw the small piece, and put in a new one. If all you have tonight is a small piece of candle, it is still a light. We can help one another keep the flame alive, and each of us gives our own answer to Christ. There were two of us in that church. Neither of us stayed awake all night, and between us the light never went out. Ask someone to sit up with you: a friend, a priest, a doctor, a counsellor.

The bridegroom's answer to the latecomers is the hardest sentence, "I do not know you." It makes no mention of lateness. Jesus knows everything about us: how low the candle is, what we carry, what was done to us. The sentence at the door speaks of another knowing, the knowing of friends who have walked together, a knowing that shows in how we live. I do hear a warning in it. His love is given freely, and our answer matters. We cannot put it off forever.

The first reading shows who moves first. Wisdom hurries to make herself known before anyone asks, and she sits at the gate of the one who watches for her. Even our wish to keep a flame alive begins with God already coming towards us. Saint Paul writes to people who are grieving. He gives them a reason: Jesus died and rose, and those who have died are not lost to him. "We will be with the Lord forever." Then he says, "encourage one another with these words." The morning we wait for comes from the risen Christ.

This week, give him one honest minute of prayer, and let it turn into one act of care for someone. Jesus already knows us. Let us answer him before the night comes.

Lord Jesus,
you know us already, and you come to meet us.
Keep a small flame lit while we sleep.
When our candle is low, wake us, and send someone to sit up with us.
Teach us to know you, to love you and to follow you,
and keep us until morning.
Amen.