In the Wilderness

Sermon

There’s an upside and a downside to snow days for this preacher. The upside is—yea! Stay at home in comfy clothes, bake something, cancel some meetings, sleep in. The downside—as a personal thing—is that a closed office does not mean there won’t be some kind of worship on Sunday that necessitates writing a sermon.

So on Friday afternoon, without having yet written a word, I was talking with a friend and lamenting my need to get this sermon going. She said, “Why don’t you ask ChatBot to write it for you?” You may have heard of this—artificial intelligence applications that you can ask to write you a sonnet, or a prayer, or even a sermon.

It’s tempting. But I’ve read some of those sonnets, prayers, and sermons and while they pass a certain kind of muster—correct form, decent vocabulary, good scholarship—there is something missing. We might call it heart, or soul, or delightful human error.

For better or worse, I resisted that particular temptation and this sermon is all mine. Let’s start by looking at how this story shows what Jesus is going to do about his loyalty to God, his understanding of who he is, and how he is going to use the power that he has, all the while being hungry, and maybe lonely, and maybe even a little afraid.

We might say that loyalty is sticking with someone, throwing your hat in with them and no matter what, sticking with them. Harry Potter was loyal to Professor Dumbledore. Ruth was loyal to Naomi. Bishop Oscar Romera was loyal not only to his God but also to the poor of El Salvador.

In today’s lesson, the satan, the devil, is testing Jesus’ loyalty to God. Jesus is so loyal to God it almost seems ridiculous to tempt him in this way. Here he is, having fasted for forty days in the wilderness where there were no passers-by to offer him a bite of their food. He had no weapons to kill an animal, and nothing edible grows in the particular wilderness of first-century Palestine, and the things you could eat—like worms—were concerned unclean.

Jesus is very, very hungry. And here comes the offer not only to sate his own appetite but also to solve the problem of world hunger.

Of course, there’s a catch. No one ever need be hungry again—just prove that you really are the Son of God. Just a little evidence. Just a little miracle to show me that you really are who everyone says you are. Show that God will save you from mortal peril. Worship me, and you can have whatever you want.

Jesus says no. It’s not that he isn’t concerned that people go hungry; later he will feed thousands with just a few fish and loaves of bread. It isn’t that he himself isn’t hungry. But he remembers the stories of his faith and relies on them. He remembers that when his Israelite ancestors were in the wilderness not for forty days but for forty years, God provided manna from heaven for them, every day. They did not go hungry. And so God would provide for him, too.

Jesus remains loyal to God, and will never follow the devil. Jesus remains loyal to God, and has nothing to prove to anyone.

In today’s lesson the devil is testing Jesus about who he is. The prophets of Israel, for thousands of years, spoke of a time when the messiah, the anointed one of God, would come and save the people. The messiah would bring an invincible army; the messiah would overthrow the evil rulers and with might and the power of God behind him, would conquer and then reign.

The devil is testing Jesus as to what kind of messiah he will be. And Jesus tells him. He will be the kind of messiah who is so loyal to God he will starve in the wilderness. He will be the kind of the messiah who will allow himself to be vulnerable, to be so weakened by fasting that he might not be able to fend off an animal attack, might be injured from the elements.

He will live that identity out as he ministers over the next three years. He will save a few, but not all; he will heal some, but others will still suffer. He will enter the great city not on a war horse but on a donkey, not with legions of soldiers but with a crowd who waves palm branches. He will not conquer; he will die.

But Jesus is playing the long game, we might say, and he will be a messiah who not only identifies with the lowly but will die and then rise not to show his own power, but to show and share the power of God.

In today’s lesson the devil is testing Jesus about what kind of power he will seek. Will it be the power of a benevolent dictator, one who is kind or maybe nice, but is a dictator who never allows anyone else a say? Is it the power of control? Is it the power that comes from not allowing people free will, the ability to say yes or no, the ability to get it right or get it wrong?

Jesus knows God, and Jesus knows the stories of his faith. He remembers the story of the Garden of Eden, how God told those first two humans not to do one thing. But God didn’t prevent them from doing it; God didn’t take that tempting tree of the knowledge of good and evil away, or make it invisible, or unreachable. God gave Eve and Adam free will, the ability to follow God’s commandments or not. And they didn’t. So God made them leave Paradise, but not before making them clothes that would protect them in the world.

That’s the kind of power Jesus will seek—not the power of control, or even of might, or political prowess. The power Jesus seeks will be the power of love, of humility, the power of faith that lights one candle in the darkness.

And so, despite the worthy things the devil tempts Jesus with, Jesus says no.

The gospel story for the first Sunday of Lent is always the temptation of Jesus, whether it’s Mark’s or Luke’s or Matthew’s version of the story. My hunch is that it’s a convenient story—Jesus fasting in the wilderness for forty days just as we begin the forty-day season of Lent. The less cynical part of me says there’s more to it than that.

The way the story goes, Jesus is baptized and then the Spirit leads him to the wilderness. There he is tempted, and resists temptations, and then he leaves the wilderness and begins his ministry.

In the arc of our holy scripture, both the word “forty” and the word “wilderness” are significant. We are reminded of Noah and his family and all those smelly animals on the ark for forty days, a watery wilderness. We are reminded of Moses leading the freed Israelites through the wilderness for forty years. Being in the wilderness, for forty days or forty years or for however long, is significant.

But why? Because in the wilderness people have no one to rely on but each other and God, or creation and God. Noah and Moses had company; Jesus has none. And so there is a place for any of us in this story whether we are alone or with company.

I invite you to consider this season of Lent—forty days, not including Sundays—as a wilderness journey. I invite you to create a way to make space for wilderness. Maybe you bring in some bare twigs and put them in a vase. Maybe you put some pebbles or some sand in a bowl as the centerpiece of your table. Maybe you put away all your knickknacks or family photos or art and have some blank walls or shelves.

You might create wilderness by having an hour of silence every day. For some of you, you already have that and it is excruciating. If that’s the case, find something else to do. And for some of you, I’m thinking of you parents with young children, an hour of silence is a consummation devoutly to be wished, as Shakespeare would say.

Whatever you do, create a way to have nothing, blankness. Then be in that wilderness. Maybe you’ll keep a journal about what thoughts come to you. Maybe you’ll pray or meditate. Maybe you’ll cry and you won’t know why. Probably you’ll get distracted. That’s okay.

But as you settle into this temporary wilderness, and it gets to be a bit of a routine or habit, then ask yourself what tempts you, and how you respond. Maybe you give in to temptation; maybe you don’t.

As you are in the habit of wilderness, contemplate things like loyalty and identity and power. Confess what needs to be confessed. Mend what needs to be mended. Rejoice over those things that make you sing or laugh or smile or cry. Let the angels care for you.

It does feel like a wilderness time here at Westminster. There’s a lot of unknown. I know some of you are going through anguish right now, and if the devil wanted to tempt me, he would tell me I could wipe away all your pain. I might be tempted to give in so I wouldn’t have to see you suffer. Because suffering is a signpost in the wilderness.

Loneliness is too; loneliness is different than being alone. Loneliness bears down on you; it can be suffocating. I know some of you are lonely, and I am sorry for that. It gets hard to keep reaching out and reaching out and reaching out and have no one respond.

Doubt is a signpost in the wilderness, a wondering if this church stuff makes any difference, unsettling questions about God’s purpose or God’s love or even God’s existence. Doubt is also a part of faith, but it can be scary.

The wilderness can be scary. You’re all alone and you jump at every noise and you don’t know where you’ll find water. But remember what Jesus did in the wilderness, at the worst part of those forty days when he came face to face with the devil. He remembered the stories of his faith. He remembered those who had been in the wilderness before. He remembered God’s providence to them. He trusted that providence. And he prevailed.

I have been in the wilderness at times in my life. When I was on my internship during seminary, at a small, struggling, inner-city church in Minneapolis, I was so lonely I really thought I would die. When Gregg and I were trying to have a second child, with help from fertility doctors, and I didn’t get pregnant, it was a devastating wilderness. Before I got help to deal with my anxiety, every time I crossed a bridge or walked into the pulpit and I felt my heart start to race, I realized I was in the wilderness.

I’d like to tell you that there was one Bible story that carried me through all those hard times. Certainly there are stories of lonely people and barren women and terrified people in the Bible, but those didn’t really help. What helped me was Romans 8 and 1^st Corinthians 13, verses about God’s love. God’s love was with me even when I was at my lowest. God’s love was with me when I was at my worst. God’s love was with me when I was being selfish and silly.

So for me, wilderness also became of place of love. That love is with us right now, and will be with us for these forty days. So let’s venture together into the wilderness. I know the way; I’ve been there before.

So have you.