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We gathered on Wednesday night in the descending darkness, with a table full of candles and the perfect instruments to welcome in the season – flute, cello and piano. We talked about our mortality, we celebrated (which seems a strange word to use) the fact that we are dust, and to dust we shall return.
Stuck between the hyperbole of the Super Bowl and the sappy sentimentality of Valentine’s Day, we have entered Lent…so we’re supposed to somehow be simultaneously jubilant, romantic, reflective and repentant…the emotional equivalent of saying, “She sells seashells by the seashore”, 10 times fast.
But this is a good time to do all of those things, and to be lost in a mix of emotions. It’s a good time for Lent. It’s a good time to set aside the “alleluias” in our liturgy, to engage in some spiritual discipline. But if Lent is only giving up your chocolate or red meat, or some other deprivation, then we’re missing the ‘reason for the season’. Lent is about identity. And our identity is formed, at least in part, by our acceptance of what we say each and every Sunday – Hear the good news. We are children of God, beloved by God and accepted by God. Thanks be to God.
Now, if we are children of God, and we embrace that, and we are beloved and accepted by God, and we embrace that, then we should have some room to confess and confront those places in us that don’t quite make the mark. So, Lent is here for us to examine those places, not to embrace some warped theology about our inherently sinful nature, or to wallow in our shortcomings, but instead to have our 40 days in the wilderness, identifying reaching for and nurturing our best selves…what Lincoln once called, the “better angels of our nature.”
This can begin by us counting our blessings which, ironically, can be revealed to us by eliminating something from our lives. See, when you give up chocolate, it isn’t because chocolate is bad, it’s because it serves a role in our lives. Giving it up makes you appreciate that role or it makes you fill it with something else, perhaps something that you have taken for granted. It’s why I always advise people to not only give up something for Lent, but to add something as well. Replace that afternoon candy bar with a 10-minute walk, or a time of quiet reflection, or a cup of tea and a conversation. Make time to reflect, to examine what really is a blessing to you…you might find it isn’t stuff at all.
The Book of Deuteronomy is largely a law book…the “code” of the ancient Hebrews, told in narrative form. But the “law” for the Jews is so much more than just a set of rules, it is a cultural identifier, a way for them to talk about identity. So the “rules” have a story. And for the Hebrews coming out of the desert after 40 years of wandering, the fulfillment of the “promised land” comes with responsibilities…the need to remember that they were once foreigners in a foreign land and to acknowledge their new “blessing” with a little ritual of remembrance. First and foremost, before they start counting up their material blessings, they acknowledge the real blessings. So, the “law” says, be mindful, be thankful and, please notice this very important detail, show that gratitude by treating other foreigners with respect and generosity, instead of joining in the fear mongering and intolerance. That’s a biblical value, friends.
There’s another word for what this “law” is trying to evoke, a word that rarely gets mentioned as an important, faithful trait – humility. Good, holy, humility. But don’t get me started. Our gospel truth begins here. Know that God loves you completely and fully….AND it ain’t all about you. God ALSO loves everyone else the same way. So, have gratitude for the blessing of God’s eternal love, and show that gratitude by acting with humility, generosity and respect.
It is just these things, of course, that Jesus gets tempted by in the desert. After his “anointing” in the Jordan, according to Luke, Jesus goes for 40 days into the wilderness where he gets tempted by diabolou, the adversary, what has been traditionally interpreted to be “the devil.” There the adversary tempts the hungry Jesus, thin from 40 days of fasting, with food, and with control and with safety. Maybe if this was being written today, the adversary would tempt him with youth, or money or fame.
Isn’t this, after all, what permeates our culture? We live in the wilderness, constantly tempted by lies…that we aren’t young enough, or thin enough, or rich enough. We are told in a thousand different ways that what we are isn’t good enough or, worse yet, is bad. Whether it’s our skin color or our gender, our sexuality, or our political views, we’re bombarded with the sense that we are not enough. Or, as David Lose reminds us in his commentary on this passage – “Consider also how many of the messages during this election seek to create in us insecurity and fear. Terrorism, immigrants, corporations, joblessness, low wages, high taxes, the wealthy, the poor – depending on which candidate you listen to the target shifts, but the message is the same: you should be afraid because you do not and are not enough; elect me and I’ll keep you safe.”
This is what Jesus resists. He resists letting the adversary define him. He resists having the identity given to him in the river Jordan, just a few weeks earlier wrested away from him. He resists. And, in part, he gets that identity reaffirmed by his resistance.
But, hold on. There’s an important feature of this story that often goes unmentioned. It isn’t the adversary that drags Jesus out into the wilderness. It is the Spirit. That’s the Holy Spirit for those of you keeping score. Wait, isn’t the Holy Spirit supposed to be on Jesus’ side? I mean, according to some much, much later theological speculation, the Holy Spirit is Jesus…well, sort of. It is and it isn’t…see think of water, how it is ice and vapor and…wait, don’t get me started.
Why does the Spirit want to subject Jesus to this? He’s basking in the literal glow of the the dove descending on him. Why not just keep that going? Maybe we can find some traction in the words of a man who lived hundreds of years before Jesus, and who wasn’t part of this story at all. At his infamous trial for “corrupting youth”, Socrates stated that the “unexamined life is not worth living.” Maybe the Spirit sends Jesus into the wilderness for the same reason that Deuteronomy lays down this law about remembering. When we don’t examine these things we call blessings…when we don’t take time to do some introspection, we set ourselves up to simply act out of instinct, without reflection or consciousness. We take the power that has been handed to us and it invariably becomes a club or something we use to humiliate someone else…unless we learn to resist that temptation. Unless we built in ourselves a capacity to resist that temptation. Unless we don’t give in to the easy answers, the simple solutions that often deny our true identity…unless we learn to trust in the promises that God gives to us. Unless we make the first part of our discipleship be trying to live like Jesus, not just believe in him.
I had an opportunity to resist just yesterday. A man died Saturday. A man with whom I profoundly disagreed, and who repeatedly spoke words of hatred and exclusion, in very public and powerful ways, and did harm to people I love and people who love them. Many people will not miss him, some even cheering his passing.
A man died Saturday. One who had a wife, and children and grandchildren, and colleagues and friends. Who gave of his immense intellect and keen judicial mind in pursuit of what he believed to be true and just. Many people will miss him, and will always be grateful for his life.
The temptation is there for me to be less than mournful, for me to even celebrate the death of this person who was considered an enemy by me and so many of my people. But, as a colleague of mine put it, the welcome embrace of heaven is God’s alone to offer… and mine to attempt — feebly, imperfectly, inconsistently, and often badly — to imitate. And that is a big part of the claim that I cling to, sometimes with the tips of the edges of my fingernails. And I often reach for it by resisting what I’d rather do. At my best moments I realize that it is part of my identity.
Amen.