First Sunday in Lent (10 March 2019)
John 4.1-13
JoAnn A. Post
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’ ”
Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written,
‘Worship the Lord your God,
and serve only him.’ ”
Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written,
‘He will command his angels concerning you,
to protect you,’
and
‘On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”
Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
Such stories rarely end well, stories of journeys undertaken on the advice of a seemingly-benign companion.
The Big Bad Wolf, disguised as Grandma, lured Little Red Riding Hood close enough to her bed to make a meal of her.
A crafty, cookie-baking witch enticed Hansel and Gretel into her gingerbread home, intending not to feed but to fatten them.
The gleaming city of Oz on the horizon caused Dorothy and her canine/metallic/straw-stuffed/leonine friends to sing themselves straight into disappointment and danger.
With those travelling terrors in mind, I am tempted to jump in front of Jesus, to divert him from this can’t-end-well sojourn into the wilderness. Led by a shape-shifting (“like a dove”) Spirit. Newly baptized. Freshly minted. Boldly named: “This is my Son.” Jesus would have been better off ignoring this illusive Spirit, and going straight to work. What harm would have come of skipping the scary parts of Luke 4 and going straight for the miracles?
But what sort of story would that be? More important, what sort of Savior would that be—jumping from success to success like a frog in a pond, rather than wading through the wilderness where most of us live.
Lent always begins in a wilderness. In all three lectionary years, our 40-day journey opens with our heretofore “hero” wandering skeletal, disoriented, famished in a wind-whipped desert. Not unlike tribes that require a significant rite of passage before attaining adulthood, this 40-day fast was something Jesus had to do. And it was initiated by the same Spirit that had dropped from the sky at his baptism, who now dropped him at the door of the wilderness and said, “See ya’ later.”
What happened in those 40 isolated days; how did he spend his time? We have no idea. But we know that Jesus was not alone. Though the Spirit may have been hovering just off-screen, we know that the Devil—again, form unknown—lurked in the shadows. Waiting to pounce at Jesus’ weakest moment.
And pounce, he did.
From an outsider’s perspective, the devil’s taunts seem foolish. Bread from stones? Own the world? Fall without falling? Nobody in their right mind would be tempted by those foolish, selfish, impossible things.
But Jesus wasn’t in his right mind.
So, unable to debate the devil with his own wisdom, Jesus borrowed the wisdom of another. Rather than trying to stand on his own two feet, Jesus leaned. Leaned into the strength of scripture. Leaned into an ancient faith. Leaned into words he had learned at his parents’ knee.
To the temptation to make bread Jesus replied, “Bread is not enough.”
To the temptation to worship another, Jesus replied, “God is enough.”
To the temptation to fall into angels’ arms, Jesus replied, “That’s just stupid. Why would I do that?” (translation mine)
Even Jesus, son of God, could not withstand temptation on his own. So he leaned on another. And when the temptation passed, he hit the road again.
A professional acquaintance has struggled with drug addiction for most of his adult life. In and out of rehab; in and out of relationships; in and out of work. The lure of that chemical comfort is often more than he can withstand. He uses a variety of tools to stay straight, to stay clean. Exercise. Meditation. But when he can no longer stand on his own, in his darkest moments, in that wilderness of death-dealing desire, he leans. Leans into his sponsor. Leans into is oldest friend. Leans into his pastor. Leans into ancient words. His own strength is not enough, but their borrowed strength, their wise words, their steady love can often protect him until the danger passes.
His life will always be a journey in and out of the wilderness. A journey he cannot survive alone. So he leans. And then keeps on walking.
We are, all of us, in and out of the wilderness, tempted to despair, or doubt, or even death.
I don’t need to warn you against those who would lead you there, those who, like the Big Bad Wolf, make an offer too good to be true. Most of the time, when we are strong and confident, we see them for who and what they are. And run the other way.
But sometimes, when we are weak and frightened we cannot. What do we do then? Who do we trust then? On whom do we lean then? What words fill our ears?
But more important for us is that we become those on whom the world leans. We become the strong shoulder. The sturdy faith. The defining word. When we are strong, we are strong not for our own sakes, but for the sake of all those who, like Little Red Riding Hood, cannot overpower the seduction of danger.
We remind the world and each other that we need more than stuff, that God is enough, that somethings are not worth falling for.
Our Lent Challenge calls us to venture into the wilderness, to be a strong shoulder, a sturdy faith, a defining word for brothers and sisters who suffer homelessness. It is not a simple thing.
What does it mean to a hungry teenager to assert that “we do not live by bread alone?” Have you ever been so hungry you would eat anything?
How do we counter the promise made to a young adult on the street that “all this can be yours, if you . . .” What would it mean to them to, instead, “worship God alone?”
And when someone has fallen so far they have no farther to fall, who will be the angels who protect them?
The wilderness is more than a concept, a literary device for too many. It is a truly dangerous place, populated with tempting voices and alluring vices. Will those wilderness wanderers hear the voice of God through the din, will they recognize us as fellow travelers, and not the Wicked Witch of the West? Will our words and wisdom, our love and strength be enough to sustain them, to carry them to safety?
As we journey through this 40-day wilderness of Lent together, we will take turns. Needing to lean, and being leaned on. Speaking and listening. Feeding and being fed.
And when the world’s wilderness wanderers catch our eye, we remind them that Jesus knows that wilderness, as well. Jesus would not have survived the wilderness intact had he not had tools at the ready.
Words. Wisdom. Confidence that there is always a way through.
We journey together this Lent, with Jesus as our companion.
Homilies 