Mark’s Gospel is the shortest and tersest of all four. The discourses of Jesus tend to be terser as well. Mark’s portrayal of Jesus has none of the poetry of the Sermon on the Mount or the Sermon on the Plain as in Matthew or Luke, nor the extensive, reflective “I Am” discourses as in John. Mark’s Jesus “cuts to the chase,” we would say today. This is reflected quite well in today’s passage.

It is no accident that the dialogue of Jesus at this point in the Gospel according to Mark—the concluding words about the end of the world— immediately before his passion, is riddled with exclamation points and an overall sense of urgency.

The job of shepherd and the job of king couldn’t be more different from each other. Shepherds are on the lowest rung of society, kings are at the top. But God says, through the prophet Ezekiel, that the Messiah will lead in a way very different from earthly authorities who lord it over their people and cause harm with their poor leadership.

Our King takes on the job himself. Christ, like a shepherd, will give rest, seek out the lost, bring back the strayed and scattered ones. He will heal the wounded and bind up the injured. He does not delegate, but will “shepherd them rightly.” We have a king who cares for us and who is not afraid to “judge between one sheep and another” (Ezekiel 34:17).

The letters of Paul to the Thessalonians are among his earliest writings, and are driven by his belief and the belief of the entire early Christian community that the return of Christ was imminent, and that devoting time or attention to anything else was foolish.

As time progressed, this fervor subsided a bit. Today we may wonder, when we hear these readings about the coming end-times, if we should take them to heart, if we really believe that Christ still may come upon us as a “thief at night” (1 Thessalonians 5:2). Does this mean that we are to stop our long-range goal-setting, get rid of our yearly calendars and planners, or stop putting money in the college education fund? Of course not. What it does mean is that we need to change our lives, living like children of the light and illuminating the world around us with the light of the gospel. Then, on that day, when the details of our daily living become unimportant, we will be ready to find our peace and security in Christ Jesus.

If it ever crossed your mind that Jesus was somewhat lacking in a sense of humor, today’s Gospel should belie any such notion. Jesus’ story of the five wise and five foolish bridesmaids is downright hilarious. The circumstances of the story were surely familiar to Jesus’ listeners, just as they are—if we think about it—to us. Weddings never, ever start on time. There’s always a delay. Buttons pop off at the last minute. Flowers wilt. Cars full of wedding guests get caught in traffic. Soloists contract laryngitis. Brides or grooms or priests show up late! So the only reasonable way to approach a wedding is with a sense of humor, to realize that something probably will go awry, and, when that happens, to smile about it.

The Church uses these waning November days and darker skies as the season to remind us of the last things. Today’s feast, the Solemnity of All Saints, is the centerpiece of three days that point to doctrines we proclaim each time we say the Apostles’ Creed: “We believe in the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body and life everlasting.” And while the days and our hearts may be dark, the readings today are bright with the light of faith. John’s vision in the book of Revelation reveals dazzling angels and white-robed saints gathered in triumph around the throne of God. In the responsorial psalm we sing our longing to see God’s face, and in the second reading John writes that we are God’s children and will, in fact, see God “as he is” (1 John 3:2). This is our hope. This is God’s promise. Today we celebrate the triumph of those who already gaze on the face of God. Tomorrow we cry out for mercy with those in purgatory, who, like us on earth, still long to see God’s face.