As a veteran churchgoer, I’ve logged about 3,650 hours in the Sunday pew.  My childhood church clocked in at one hour a week for Catholic Mass. When I came to my senses at eighteen, I abandoned churchgoing. After a long period of barstool arguments on the God-is-dead theme, I started up churchgoing again at the Metaphysical Center, where I received a “reading” from a medium. The two-hour-long talk between the spiritualist and his dead interlocutor revealed that I had been Harriet Beecher Stowe in a former life.

I like that. Harriet Beecher Stowe, one of the world’s most famous abolitionists, wrote Uncle Tom’s Cabin after receiving a vision during a church service. Church is indeed a good place for visions. Clare of Assisi, Joan of Arc, and Theresa of Avila are famous Christian visionaries. And, of course, there’s the fearless Miss Harriet Tubman herself, who led enslaved people through the Underground Railroad at night, led by her visions. 

After I learned as much as my addled brain could absorb in metaphysical spiritualism, I sobered up and joined a Christian fundamentalist cult. It was so extreme that the elders admonished me for making friends at Little League games with parents who were not our kind of Christian. To extricate myself from that legalistic life, I spent a year drinking jugs of vodka in my basement. Turning again to Alcoholics Anonymous, I sobered up through the holy love of AA veterans. 

Since 1979, I’ve been attending a Presbyterian church in downtown Chicago. Yet, I never call myself a Presbyterian. Why? I’m not too sure. Perhaps the residual PTSD from the Christian cult or, Catholicism or, spiritualism protects me from assigning myself religious labels. More likely, I’m not altogether sure I believe what they believe. 

Last Sunday, churchgoers throughout the land heard the parable of the ten virgins, or bridesmaids as they say in today’s lingo. The seven-day wedding feast in ancient times couldn’t begin until the bridegroom arrived. In the story, five wise bridesmaids had working oil lamps when the groom arrived late at night, and they all entered the gate to the feast. The other five foolish bridesmaids were out buying lamp oil and got locked out of the party. In previous preachings, I’d heard Jesus’ explanation of his parable is that we must always be ready, have our lamps lit, awaiting his coming (or was it his second coming?). No wonder I’ve been a nervous wreck my whole life, constantly failing to be ready for Jesus. I really hate parables. 

The church’s new pastor spun the story as a lesson in patience. Be patient because we never know when God will present a reason to throw a party. I had to listen again to him on YouTube because I swear I heard that ominous “Jesus is coming” sermon. This is one of the blessings and curses of old age. My brain holds years-old information, which is a blessing. But that information is a curse when it doesn’t make room for new ideas.

Like with those wily parables.

Regan Burke's avatar
Regan Burke's book, "In That Number" was a finalist for Chicago Writers Association non-fiction Book of the Year. Her brief memoirs and personal essays appear in the Christian Science Monitor, Sun Magazine, Chicago History Museum "In This Together" Project, City Creatures, Safe 'n Sound, Easter Seals Blog. Chaleur, Rise Up Review, Bird Garden's Murder of Writers and Writing Out Loud. She lives on Potawatomi land in downtown Chicago with Elsa, the West Highland Terrier. Her main activity is reducing the weight of the here and now.

15 thoughts on “The Ten Virgins”

  1. Oh, Regan… this is wonderful. I would have loved to see this version of your life: “a Christian fundamentalist cult. It was so extreme that the elders admonished me for making friends at Little League games with parents who were not our kind of Christian.” “Not our kind of Christian” has fueled the missionary craze for centuries.

    But the thing that makes this essay so Regan-like is the 100% commitment you throw behind the causes you believe in. We are all lucky to have you carry the torch.

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  2. Oh, Regan… this is wonderful. I would have loved to see this version of your life: “a Christian fundamentalist cult. It was so extreme that the elders admonished me for making friends at Little League games with parents who were not our kind of Christian.” “Not our kind of Christian” has fueled the missionary craze for centuries.

    But the thing that makes this essay so Regan-like is the 100% commitment you throw behind the causes you believe in. We are all lucky to have you carry the torch.

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  4. Your church journey was quite convoluted. I’m glad it’s settled into what you want. Sometimes I wish I had something similar to church to go to every week. There’s a UU church nearby, but the services are right in the middle of the day on Sundays. Maybe after retirement.

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  6. My mantra:
    Be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to live the questions.
    Do not seek the answers that cannot be given to you because you would not be able to live them.
    And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now.
    Perhaps you will gradually without noticing it live along some distant day into the answers. Rainer Maria Rilke

    Jan H

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  7. A favorite theologian Henri Nouwen says patience is not passive, it is an active waiting. Paying attention to what is happening right before our eyes. Help my waiting Oh Lord. I was surprised that Tom Are used this message in his sermon. We are too busy, lost in self and immediate solutions. The Best is yet to come.

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  12. Thank you for sharing the virgins story. I just about fell out of bed, laughing, with your medium’s connection. .. and your faith-filled path.. your writings make me smile, laugh, sigh, remember. I won’t accept any guidance from preachers . However, i rise in truth and love… and reading your stories. Thank you, Regan. Mary T.

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