Skip to main content

Lent & Wilderness

This morning, I led a hospital ecumenical service, and gave a short message on Luke 4:1-13 and its significance for those of us who are observing Lent. 

I decided to post it here because I'm planning on sharing some Lenten poetry in the next few weeks, and I know that many of my readers are from Christian traditions that don't observe Lent, or from traditions that aren't exclusively Christian. I hope this helps set Lent into a specific context and a narrative - and I'm always happy to hear what doesn't make sense, or dialogue around any of the content. If you're unfamiliar with the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness, click on the link above so you can see what story I'm referencing!


For many Christians around the world, we are now in the season of Lent.

And when Christians talk about Lent, there are a few other words that are very often heard:
wilderness
fasting
temptation
preparation

Each of these words is present in the Scripture story we just read, and they are important both in the story of Jesus and in our own lives.

First of all, the wilderness. This story is set in the wilderness - Jesus is alone, isolated, and far from civilization for forty days. Generally, this setting is seen as symbolic of the Old Testament exodus,  an echo and re-working of the time when the Israelites spent 40 years wandering in the desert after being freed from Egypt.

Deserts are not easy places. They are short on many of the necessities of life, and for the Israelites, it led to deep fear, complaining, anger, and disbelief in God.

I imagine many of us can relate. We have wildernesses in our own lives. Illness is often a wilderness of sorts; we feel out of control, trapped, unable to access the things we are used to having as part of our lives. And we, like the Israelites, quickly become discouraged, afraid, and angry.

If you are from a Christian tradition that observes Lent, you are probably familiar with the idea of fasting. Historically, Christians fast from or give up something important to them during the season of Lent - often, it is a type of food - meat, or sugar, or coffee. Today, fasting from technology is becoming more common. We do these things not because fasting itself makes us holy, but when we are deprived of our usual habits and supplies, we make space to encounter God. The time that the Israelites spent in the wilderness, isolated and without any resources, is a time of very unique interaction with God. God led them by a pillar of cloud and fire. God came down and dwelt in the tabernacle. God spoke with Moses and gave them the Ten Commandments.

But with fasting, there is also always temptation. I can sneak just one little bite of a chocolate bar, right? It’s okay if I turn on the TV just for the news… It’s no big deal if I have one coffee…

In our story today, Jesus is faced with that same temptation. Having had no food for 40 days, Satan comes to him and says, “You can turn this stone into bread.”

And here is where Jesus is different than us: he doesn’t do it.

Satan tries again, and raises the stakes. “I’ll give you everything you want, if you worship me.”

Jesus refuses. So Satan tries a third time. “Throw yourself off the temple. God will send angels to save you.” But Jesus chooses instead to trust God.

I want to point out a difference between the Israelites in the wilderness and Jesus in the wilderness. Jesus didn’t encounter God. He encountered Satan. But he trusted God. Even in the perceived absence of God, even when Satan was so close, so real, Jesus trusted God’s words to be true, and God’s goodness to be enough.

Sometimes our deserts are more like Jesus'. We may encounter God in mysterious and wonderful ways, but more often, it seems that God is silent and Satan all too near. We are tempted to give in and give up.

And here’s the really wonderful part of our story: because of Jesus’ story, because Jesus faced Satan and walked away, because of Jesus' death and resurrection, we don’t have to trust in our own ability to stand firm.

The beauty of the Christian story is that as Christians, Jesus’ whole life is given to us. All of the things Jesus has done are on our behalf. Jesus resisted Satan on our behalf. Jesus went into the desert on our behalf.

So when we are in the desert, Christ is with us. When we cannot resist temptation, or we feel like giving up, giving in to the doubts and the lies and the offers that Satan holds out to us, Jesus is our hope. Jesus is true. Jesus is present. And Jesus loves us.

For Jesus, the wilderness was a time of preparation for his upcoming ministry, for the difficulties he would face, and ultimately, for his death and resurrection. And it was a time of victory; the passage ends with Satan leaving, waiting for an "opportune time." But that time never comes. Christ's victory over Satan begins here, in the wilderness.

For us, the time of Lent, or our wildernesses that have nothing to do with the church calendar, are a time of preparation too. They prepare us to let Jesus closer. They prepare us to let Jesus work on our behalf. And they are a place of victory, because even when we come face to face with our own failures (I didn't even last four days without failing at my lent fasting!), the grace of God meets us. It is a place of victory because Christ is always with us. Christ will always conquer. And Christ will always love us, even in our failures.

Amen.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thin

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st