The Memorial of Saint Augustine
For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the Good News — not in wisdom of words, so that the cross of Christ wouldn't be made void. For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are dying, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written, "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise. I will bring the discernment of the discerning to nothing."
Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Hasn't God made foolish the wisdom of this world? For seeing that in the wisdom of God, the world through its wisdom didn't know God, it was God's good pleasure through the foolishness of the preaching to save those who believe. For Jews ask for signs, Greeks seek after wisdom, But we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Greeks, But to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God; Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.
Rejoice in the Lord, you righteous! Praise is fitting for the upright. Give thanks to the Lord with the lyre. Sing praises to him with the harp of ten strings.
For the Lord's word is right. All his work is done in faithfulness. He loves righteousness and justice. The earth is full of the loving kindness of the Lord.
The Lord brings the counsel of the nations to nothing. He makes the thoughts of the peoples to be of no effect. The counsel of the Lord stands fast forever, The thoughts of his heart to all generations.
Then the Kingdom of Heaven will be like ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. Those who were foolish, when they took their lamps, took no oil with them, But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. Now while the bridegroom delayed, they all slumbered and slept. But at midnight there was a cry, 'Behold! The bridegroom is coming! Come out to meet him!' Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.' But the wise answered, saying, 'What if there isn't enough for us and you? You go rather to those who sell, and buy for yourselves.' While they went away to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the wedding feast, and the door was shut. Afterward the other virgins also came, saying, 'Lord, Lord, open to us.' But he answered, 'Most certainly I tell you, I don't know you.' Watch therefore, for you don't know the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming.
Augustine of Hippo — whose feast we celebrate today — was a man who spent years running from God before famously writing, "our heart is restless until it rests in Thee." He matters because his restlessness is ours.
And these readings seem almost written for him.
Paul's letter to the Corinthians cuts straight to something we feel but rarely name: the tension between wanting faith to make *sense* and discovering that it operates on entirely different terms. We live in a world that rewards credentials, clever arguments, measurable outcomes. And here comes the cross — history's most humiliating execution — held up as the power of God. The paradox is almost offensive. Which, Paul suggests, is rather the point.
Notice how the Psalm steadies us here. The counsel of nations comes to nothing. Human strategies, however sophisticated, have an expiration date. What endures is the faithfulness of God — not as an abstract idea, but as something the earth itself is described as *full* of. Like air. Like light.
Then the Gospel brings it home in the most practical way imaginable: be ready. The ten virgins aren't sorted by virtue or theology — they're sorted by preparation. The oil in those lamps represents something that can't be borrowed at the last minute. Spiritual depth, a living relationship with God, attentiveness cultivated over ordinary days — these things accumulate slowly, or not at all.
Augustine took decades to fill his lamp. But he did fill it. And the door opened.
The invitation for us today is simple and demanding: don't wait for a dramatic moment to begin tending what matters most.
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What in your life are you treating as urgent that is actually temporary? Where have you been waiting for faith to become more rational before committing to it more fully? And what small, daily practice might be the oil your lamp needs right now?