My cousin, Gloria, was a fabulous cook, a true artist.

My favorite dish of hers was Italian stuffed olives and they were fantastic.

Several years ago at the holidays, after Gloria had passed, I decided that I was going to make some myself. So, I found a recipe, bought all the ingredients, and figured I would surprise my family with Gloria’s Famous Stuffed Olives.

I’m no cook, but I thought: hey, what could possibly go wrong?

Ok, so first you make the meat stuffing, which is a mixture of a million different ingredients with lots of chopping and mincing. Then you create something called a binder, which keeps the stuffing sticky and together.

Next, you stuff the olives themselves. It took me hours… to cut out the little holes and then shove the gooey stuffing into them. Hours.

Then, you bread the olives and deep fry them in small batches.

I spent an entire day doing all this.

The next day, I unveiled my masterpiece at a big family gathering. Everyone was incredibly impressed, one commenting that that moment would mark the beginning of a new family holiday tradition: Rey’s Famous Stuffed Olives.

I was pleased… for about three minutes.

Everyone tried them and they were… terrible… I mean truly disgusting and that’s not an exaggeration. I had followed the recipe perfectly, but somehow, they were awful.

And so, that was the end of Rey’s Famous Stuffed Olives.

Gloria was, as I said, an artist. She had spent a huge portion of her life perfecting dishes, experimenting, inventing new ones, and her heart was truly into it. She loved cooking and it was a big part of who she was.

Prior to my olive disaster, my cooking had basically consisted of microwaving pizza and pouring milk into bowls of cereal. I had followed that recipe perfectly, but it didn’t matter… I just did not know how to cook.

I used to think of the parable in today’s Gospel, one about five foolish maidens and five wise ones, as being about vigilance. The line “for you know neither the day nor the hour” seems clear enough. But there is another line that is much more powerful.

When the five who had no oil begged the bridegroom to let them in, he said: “I do not know you.”

I do not know you.

To be stranded outside a door, begging to get in, and then to have the one who has the power to let you in say “I don’t even know you” must be crushing. They had been invited to the wedding, they were on the guest list… but the bridegroom said no, you cannot enter… I do not know you.

This goes directly to the heart of our Lord who did not come solely to provide a set of rules, a blueprint, or a recipe for salvation. He came to establish a relationship so that we could know him and his Father.

This tells us that it’s not a transactional deal, one where you follow a recipe… and then voila, you’re in.

Recipes are important, but the essence of the disciple’s life is about the invitation to know God personally and to be known by Him.

And that comes down more than artistry than to following any recipe.

When that day arrives, the foolish will show up with Rey’s Famous Stuffed Olives. The wise will bring Gloria’s.

And so, when that day comes, let’s get up there to the door, have the master see us and immediately say: come inside… because I truly know you.