Saturday, November 7, 2026

32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time


You think you know
how things are going to go
but as events unfold
they prove to be quite different
from what you expected.

The Thessalonian Christians
to whom Paul writes in our second reading 
thought they knew how things would go
and they were elated:
Jesus would be returning very soon
to establish his reign on earth,
and those who believed in him 
would be ushered into that kingdom.
But as events unfolded
and years passed,
Christians began to die,
and their spirits were deflated:
what would become of those 
who died before Jesus’ return? 
Would they be left 
to molder in the earth?
Were their hopes going to be 
disappointed?

Five of the ten virgins in Jesus’ parable
thought they knew how things would go
and they were elated:
the bridegroom would arrive 
at what they took to be 
a reasonable hour,
and they would greet him
with their shining oil lamps,
and be ushered into
the wedding feast.
But as events unfolded,
and the hours passed,
they grew drowsy and fell asleep
only to be startled awake 
by a cry at midnight—
“Behold, the bridegroom! 
Come out to meet him!”
Their spirits were deflated
as they saw their lamps begin
to flicker out.
What would the bridegroom think
when he saw them 
with their empty, darkened lamps,
their foolishness revealed?
Was there time to slip out 
to the oil merchant’s
and get some more oil?

What is the difference between Paul 
and the worried Thessalonians?
What is the difference 
between the five wise virgins
and the five foolish ones?
It is not that Paul has 
an accurate timetable for Jesus’ return
and the Thessalonians do not,
or that the wise virgins know 
the exact amount of oil to bring
and the foolish ones do not.
Neither Paul nor the wise virgins
have any information on the timing
of the future blessing they await.
The wisdom of both St. Paul 
and the wise virgins
is not in knowing 
what they know,
but in knowing 
what they don’t know.
The wisdom of Paul 
and the wise virgins
is in knowing that they know
“neither the day nor the hour,”
and that the ability 
to wait patiently in hope
for wisdom to show herself
“is the perfection of prudence.”

In a letter on prayer 
to a widow named Proba 
St. Augustine reflects on the problem 
of knowing what we should pray for
in the face of an uncertain future. 
He writes, “There is… in us a certain 
learned ignorance, so to speak— 
an ignorance that we learn 
from that Spirit of God 
who helps our infirmities.”
“Learned ignorance” 
is the phrase Augustine uses
for the hard-won gift of knowing 
what you don’t know.
The Holy Spirit teaches us 
to know that we do not know
when Christ will return 
to set up his reign,
when the bridegroom will come
to begin the wedding banquet,
when our deepest longing 
will be fulfilled.
Yet that same Spirit inspires us, 
Augustine says, “with longings 
for that great blessing, as yet unknown, 
for which we patiently wait” (Ep 130 15.28).
To have learned ignorance
is to have one’s heart emptied 
of foolish expectations 
and worries about the future
in order to be filled 
with ever more fervent longing
for the destiny God wills for us,
a destiny that far exceeds 
whatever we could ask or imagine.

This past week saw a national election
that had rather dramatic results.
Some are filled with hope 
for what it will bring; 
some are filled with fear 
of what it will bring. 
Some are elated 
and some are deflated.
But in the face of 
these hopes and fears,
these elations and deflations,
perhaps what we need 
is a little learned ignorance,
a bit of the Spirit’s wisdom
about what we don’t know,
so that our hearts can be freed
for a more fervent love and longing
for the God who is our hope.
As always, in the face of events,
there is much we do not and cannot know.
But one thing we do know
is that no matter what happens in politics
it won’t be the reign of God,
nor the reign of the Antichrist.
We do know that whatever
a particular election means,
it is not the cry at midnight
that heralds the bridegroom’s arrival;
it is not the voice of the archangel
or the sound of God’s trumpet
that announces the Lord’s return.

It’s not that elections are unimportant,
nor that some policy positions
are not closer approximations
to the Church’s teachings
on human solidarity and dignity.
But if you let yourself get 
too elated or too deflated
by political outcomes,
if you let yourself get caught up
in futile speculation and anxiety
over what may or may not come,
you risk becoming 
like the Thessalonians who grieve 
like those without hope
over their disappointed expectations,
or like those foolish virgins
who desperately run off 
to the oil merchants
when they should be waiting 
for the bridegroom’s arrival.

Let us be learnedly ignorant,
for our learned ignorance 
frees us from the task 
of trying to know
what we cannot possibly know,
and so frees us for the task
of waiting for wisdom,
of listening for 
the voice of the archangel, 
the trumpet of God,
the cry at midnight: 
“Behold, the bridegroom! 
Come out to meet him!” 
And may Christ,
the merciful bridegroom 
of our souls,
have mercy on us all.