Gospel according to Saint Matthew 25:1-13:
Jesus told his disciples this parable: “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. The foolish ones, when taking their lamps, brought no oil with them, but the wise brought flasks of oil with their lamps. Since the bridegroom was long delayed, they all became drowsy and fell asleep.

At midnight, there was a cry, ‘Behold, the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’ Then all those virgins got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish ones said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise ones replied, ‘No, for there may not be enough for us and you. Go instead to the merchants and buy some for yourselves.’ While they went off to buy it, the bridegroom came and those who were ready went into the wedding feast with him. Then the door was locked. Afterwards the other virgins came and said, ‘Lord, Lord, open the door for us!’ But he said in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, I do not know you.’ Therefore, stay awake, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”

Prayer and Attention

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, November 08, 2026 | XXXII Sunday in Ordinary Time

Wis 6: 12-16; 1Thess 4: 13-17; Mt 25: 1-13

The French writer Simone Weil (1909–1943) said that prayer, above all, is attention. In her writings, especially in her work Waiting for God, Weil argues that attention taken to its highest degree is equivalent to prayer: a receptive attitude, free from ego or the desire to impose oneself, which consists of suspending thought in order to listen to and welcome reality—or God. This brings to mind today’s Gospel reading, where sleep overcomes the virgins who are called “foolish,” precisely because they are not attentive at the bridegroom’s arrival.

The episode at Emmaus (Lk 24:13–35) is particularly revealing regarding the fragility of our attention, because the story revolves around a paradox: Christ is present, speaking, accompanying, and guiding, yet the disciples do not recognize him. Weil insisted that attention is a form of silent and receptive waiting, a suspension of our own thoughts to allow reality to manifest itself as it is. That is precisely what those two distressed disciples lack at first.

They walk along discussing the events in Jerusalem; yet they are not truly open to understanding what has happened. They already have an explanation: We had hoped that he would be the one to redeem Israel (Lk 24:21). Their suffering stems not only from the events themselves, but from the fact that those events have shattered their expectation—their way of seeing, their way of interpreting the events.

It is significant that Jesus does not reveal himself openly, but rather guides their attention. First he asks: “What were you discussing along the way?” The Master truly knows how to observe and listen; he prompts them to express what is within them, and thus the disciples lay bare their disappointments, their interpretations, and their judgments. Only then does he begin to explain the Scriptures to them. Here we see a reality of the mystical life—how the Holy Spirit works. God continually enlightens us by drawing our attention to what is relevant to our mission (mystical recollection), but at the same time, He purifies our way of seeing.

Christ patiently guides the two pilgrim disciples from their limited understanding toward a broader vision of the divine plan.

Their focus then shifts from their own pain to the truth, because they were trapped in an internal narrative. They view reality through the lens of a preconceived idea: the Messiah was supposed to triumph politically. Since Jesus died on the cross, they conclude that everything has failed. That is why, when the risen Christ approaches, they cannot see him—not because they lack intelligence, but because their attention is elsewhere.

Later they will say: Did not our hearts burn within us while he spoke to us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us? It is a subtle observation. They have not yet recognized him outwardly, but something within them already senses an extraordinary presence; the heart recognizes before the eyes see.

Indeed, true attentiveness has this character; it is not an intellectual achievement, but a profound receptivity that allows the truth to gradually illuminate the soul; grace was present, but purified attentiveness is needed to perceive it.

The decisive moment occurs at the breaking of the bread; then, their eyes were opened and they recognized him.

—ooOoo—

Similarly, in the parable of the wheat and the weeds (Mt 13:24–30), Christ warns us that the enemy sows “while everyone was asleep,” which illustrates how prayerful attention not only allows us to hear God’s will, but also to free ourselves from deception and from the allure of the world and the devil.

The “attention” we are talking about does not mean giving up sleep, but rather looking with all one’s heart—without thinking of oneself—at every person and every event around us, something Jesus did continually. For example, when he was invited to dinner by one of the leaders of the Pharisees (Lk 14:1–11), they were watching him. And Jesus, too, observes: Noticing how the guests were choosing the places of honor… (Luke 14:7).

What a different way of observing! Attention varies greatly depending on the motivation behind it, on one’s inner motives, and on what is in the observer’s heart. The Pharisees—as the Gospel tells us in various passages—watch Jesus to accuse him. And Jesus watches to help, to serve, to do good. And, like a caring mother, he advises:

They were watching him. Noticing how the guests were choosing the places of honor, he told them a parable: “When you are invited by someone to a wedding, do not take the place of honor.”

This is repeated time and again in the Gospel:

* Mary Magdalene thinks she sees a gardener and only recognizes Jesus when she hears his name.

* The apostles see a storm but do not realize that Christ is in the boat.

* The Pharisees observe the miracles but remain blind to their meaning.

* You and I see—or perhaps live alongside—some “difficult person,” and we struggle to see them as a pilgrim on a painful journey toward their true home.

In all these cases, the problem is not an absence of God, but the quality of our attention.

God is always closer to me than I am to Him; what needs to change is not His presence, but my perspective.

A very clear example is that of the young Samuel (1 Sam 3).

This prophet lives in the temple and hears a voice calling him during the night: Samuel, Samuel! At first he thinks it is the priest Eli calling him, and he runs to him several times. Finally, Eli realizes it is God and tells him to respond: Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.

God had already been speaking from the very beginning. The problem was not that God was silent, but that Samuel did not yet know how to pay proper attention. Revelation does not come through brilliant reasoning or intense activity, but through an attitude of watchful listening, which requires emptying oneself to make room for reality and for God. Samuel goes through precisely this process:

God speaks continually to human beings; the difficulty does not lie in God being silent, but in the fact that our attention is often occupied by our own thoughts, fears, desires, or prejudices.

—ooOoo—

The parable of the ten virgins is a profound and very useful teaching from Jesus on prayer and spiritual vigilance. We can interpret it this way:

* The oil symbolizes the life of prayer. The ten virgins are waiting for the bridegroom; they all have lamps, but only five have extra oil. The lamp can represent the ritual expressions of faith, religious practices, apostolic activity, or membership in a community. All of these are necessary and useful. The oil, on the other hand, represents what inwardly nourishes our relationship with God: loving prayer, grace received, and daily faithfulness. It is not enough to say, I believe; it is necessary to keep that faith alive through a constant and attentive relationship with God, who never ceases to call me.

* Prayer prepares us for times of darkness. The bridegroom is slow to arrive, and night falls. In the spiritual life, too, there are delays, silences from God, purification, weariness, and routine. Those who have cultivated their mind, will, and freedom for prayer possess an inner reserve to get through those moments. Those who live only on fleeting enthusiasm discover that their lamp goes out precisely when they need it most.

The attitude of the wise virgins beautifully illustrates what active humility is: turning to the daily Gospel reading, which suggests how to apply the teachings, the example we have received, and grace to our daily struggles.

* No one can lend their oil. The wise virgins cannot give their oil to the foolish ones. This teaches that the life of prayer is deeply personal. I can receive help, example, and advice from others, but no one can pray in my place or substitute for my own response to God.

The holiness of our parents, spouse, friends, or the saints who help us is not enough. Each person must build their own intimacy with God as a living stone, which has a unique role in the Kingdom.

* Prayer is perseverance, not just emotion. The wise virgins anticipate the delay. Likewise, true prayer does not consist solely of moments of fervor. It is the faithfulness of one who continues to seek God when they feel nothing special, when they are tired, or when the answer seems slow in coming.

* Be on guard, then, for you know neither the day nor the hour. Spiritual vigilance is not living in fear, but living in continual friendship with God. The soul that prays habitually is always prepared to recognize the coming of the Bridegroom, whether through an inspiration, a purification, persecution, an encounter with someone, or at the final moment of life.

—ooOoo—

A very common example is that of married couples reaching retirement age. Let’s consider two cases. For forty years, both couples have worked, raised children, and faced difficulties. From the outside, their lives seem equally successful. However, there is a less visible difference.

In the first marriage, the spouses have regularly set aside time to talk, listen to each other, forgive one another, and share what’s on their minds. Many days they didn’t feel like it—they were tired or absorbed in work—but they nurtured that relationship like someone gradually filling up an oil reservoir.

In the second couple, everything worked as long as there were shared obligations: children, work, a mortgage, activities. They barely cultivated personal intimacy.

Retirement arrives. Suddenly, many of the activities that kept their lives full disappear. The first couple discovers they still have much to share; they enjoy this new stage of life, travel, talk, and grow together. The second couple seems like two strangers meeting for the first time; they had kept the outer lamp of marriage lit, but the oil of a deep relationship was missing.

The similarity to the parable lies in the fact that the decisive moment does not suddenly create what is missing; it simply reveals what has been accumulating over the years.

When a new stage of life arrives, those who have patiently cultivated what is essential can enter it with joy. Like the wise virgins, they did not have to rush at the last minute because they already carried the necessary reserve with them.

Applied to prayer, the lesson is very similar: those who live out their silent prayer and their attentiveness to God in their daily activities each day may not see spectacular results, but they are gradually accumulating “oil.” When illness, loneliness, persecution, a great responsibility, or a special grace from God comes, they discover that their lamp remains lit. Not because they are stronger than others, but because they have nurtured a friendship with the Divine Persons for years—a friendship that can now sustain them.

_____________________________

In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President