Almost twenty years ago the movement, which was known as “New Atheism”, emerged;

its chief prophets and protagonists being Sam Harris, Christopher Hitchens, and, above all else, Richard Dawkins.

They confidently, forcefully, even polemically claimed to usher in a ‘new age of confident rationalism’…

freed from the ‘superstitions of religion’;

and they sought to denounce and demonise not just religious beliefs…

but those who foolishly clung to them.

According to Alister McGrath—

Emeritus Professor of Science and Religion at Oxford University—

today, “New Atheism” is “generally regarded as having imploded”…

and is increasingly seen as the product of “the cultural prejudices of old, white, Western, middle-class males”.

Many of its former adherents said that they began to recognise its “arrogance, prejudice, and superficiality”.

Although it was Dawkins’ ideas that initially attracted them to it;

they began to realise that his ideas “rested on highly selective readings of the evidence, rhetorical overstatements, and misrepresentations of religious perspectives”.

In short, New Atheism offered “only another set of beliefs”—

and a particularly fundamentalist one at that—

not “scientifically or logically secure certainties”.

A few years ago… 

then…

a steady stream of former adherents began knocking on Professor McGrath’s door at Oxford…

interested in studying the relationship between science and faith.

He has recently co-edited a new book—

entitled Coming to Faith through Dawkins­—

in which twelve such people tell their stories of attraction to…

and disappointment with…

New Atheism.

As McGrath describes it, the book is not offered as “an intellectual refutation of atheism”…

but, rather, explores “how people’s lives are shaped by a quest for secure beliefs”.

 

Two things stand out for me from that story.

First, the matter of unintended consequences.

Leaving aside any sense of Schadenfreude…

I’m sure that Richard Dawkins would be horrified by the irony… 

that his earnest pursuits had produced the opposite effect to the one that he’d intended.

But, second, it highlights for me both the folly and the danger of the search for security—

not just in life, generally, which is a will-o-the-wisp;

but especially in regard to existential beliefs.

 

And, in a roundabout way… 

I think that this morning’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel—

what’s often called ‘The Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids’—

speaks to all of that.

 

Let’s note, at the outset, that, in the original Greek, they’re simply referred to as “young, unmarried girls”—

probably placing them around the age of ten to twelve—

although the context or setting of the parable is clearly that of a wedding.

And, although we don’t know in detail how Hebrew weddings took place in the first century…

what we do know is that the groom would go to the bride’s house…

where he would collect her… 

and take her back to his parents’ house for the ceremony and celebration.

That second leg of the journey… 

it would seem… 

involved something of a procession—

and that’s where these ten young girls come in.

It was their job to carry some sort of large, festive lamp that would help light the way.

And, we’re told, five of them were “foolish”—

even beyond the cultural belief that such girls were frivolous air-heads already—

and they absent-mindedly failed to bring enough oil.

The other five who did refused to share what they had…

so as not to run out…

and told the others to go and buy some from the store…

which they did.

But when they returned, they were refused entry to the groom’s family home.

And, the parable seems to be making a point about being ready for when Jesus returns, so that we don’t miss out.

And, given that the lectionary compilers think that we should hear this at the tail end of the ecclesiastical year…

the implication is that it has something to teach us about ultimate reality…

namely…

about matters eternal.

 

But, let’s be honest, it’s a pretty lousy story!

First of all, there are so many narrative holes that it’s not funny.

We have, supposedly, ten bridesmaids but no bride.

But, then again… 

given that the story is mostly interpreted in a semi-allegorical way… 

the nuptial setting is a bit of a problem.

Even if they foolishly forgot to bring any extra oil…

why did the five not think of that earlier?

And, surely, if they are waiting at the bride’s house…

are we to believe that there wasn’t any spare oil there that they could use?

Are we really meant to admire the so-called “wise” girls—

who refuse to share what they have—

especially when the Greek word that’s translated as “wise” more usually means “shrewd” or “cunning”…

and suggests a certain level of self-interest and moral ambiguity?

Are we really meant to believe that they actually went to try and buy oil after midnight;

and, as their later return presupposes, that they actually succeeded in doing so?

And why are they excluded from the celebrations at the end?

Is it because they forgot the oil and, somehow, seemingly ruined the wedding?

Or is it simply because they’re late—

despite the fact that would be quite out of keeping with Mediterranean culture generally…

not to mention the expectations of hospitality?

 

All of which, of course, brings us to the ‘parable’ part of the story.

If the groom is, in any way, meant to be representative of Jesus—

and his home, in any way, meant to be heaven—

then his rather harsh and fickle response seems quite inappropriate…

and quite out of character.

Jesus—

who told his disciples to forgive one another—

eternally condemns and excludes someone for a moment of foolish oversight…

or a simple lack of unpreparedness.

While the author of Matthew’s Gospel might be comfortable with that…

I’m certainly not.

And, ultimately, the parable effectively ends with an “or else”—

it is, in effect, what the theologian Karl Barth decried as “the gospel at gunpoint”.

 

But, frankly, I don’t think there is any part of this story for which we can say—

or even should say— 

“in this is the Word of the Lord”.

Rather, I think it only serves as a negative example.

Like the story of “New Atheism”…

this parable is a warning about what happens when we turn religious faith into a search for personal, existential security—

like the so-called “wise” bridesmaids in the story—

so that securing our own entry becomes the ultimate goal…

and to hell with everyone else.

Often, quite literally!

And, in the process, it turns Jesus himself—

and the message that he came to teach—

into a parody of itself…

or a self-contradiction.

In effect, we turn Jesus—

and, by implication, God—

into a harsh, hypocritical, and heartless tyrant.

 

Perhaps…

if the parable was to have been in keeping with the historical Jesus—

and the message of the Kingdom that he otherwise proclaimed—

then it would begin with the five so-called “wise” bridesmaids sharing their oil with the others;

and then imaginatively follow that narrative and theological thread.

That, surely, ought to be the starting point—

of the parable…

and the life of faith.