Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent, March 9, 2025
Deuteronomy 26:1-11+Psalm 91:1-2,9-16+Romans 10:8b-13+Luke 4:1-13
If you are a fan of musical theater, the name Stephen Schwartz will likely ring a bell with you. He's the composer and lyricist of such musicals as Godspell, Pippin, and a little production called Wicked. Not everything he wrote turned to Broadway gold, however, and one of his lesser-known works is Children of Eden which tells stories from Genesis, from the creation of Adam and Eve to Noah and the Flood. The Cain and Abel part of the story includes a showstopping tune called Lost in the Wilderness that incudes these lyrics:
Lost in the Wilderness
Lost, slowly dying in the wilderness
With no chance of living, until you confess
You're lost in the wilderness
Don't you ever watch the eagle fly to the sun
And wonder how he got to be so free
If you ever have you know your journey's begun
Hey what've we got to lose, when already we are
Lost in the wilderness
And where we are headed, I couldn't guess but
Off we go without a warning
Running as we hit the ground
Where our future lies a-borning
Where our hearts are outward bound
Till one bright and distant morning
We may stop and look around
And there in the wilderness
Finally we'll be found![1]
The truth is, I don't know if Jesus got lost out there in the desert for forty days. In fact, we don’t know anything about what happened during that time except for the temptations. In Matthew's gospel, the devil doesn’t show up until the end, when Jesus is tired and famished and at his most vulnerable. In Luke (and Mark), it sounds as if the temptations span the entire forty days. I imagine Jesus wished, at least for a moment, to be lost enough for Satan not to be able to find him.
In the early gospel stories when the disciples have no clue who it is they have hitched their wagons to, the demons are the ones in the know. The demons are the ones whose tricks and wiles are being threatened by the arrival of goodness on this earth, the Son of God who is on a mission of love, of restoration and forgiveness, and proclaiming a new way of being where the least and lost get the best seats at the table, where forgiveness reigns, and where the first suddenly find themselves at the end of the line. It is not a very popular message for those on the side of the Tempter, the one who knows just what a starving and disoriented messiah might desire most - a full belly, to be worshipped, and to have power. Not that Satan actually had the power to grant any of these things, but even if he were, Jesus was not buying.
Being lost in that wilderness must have been scary and lonely and so quiet that self-doubt and self-questioning became constant companions. Who do I think I am? I grew up in a no-account town in a no-account part of a no-account country. What was I thinking coming out here? Why did the spirit compel me to come out here?
In each account of Jesus's baptism, his sojourn through the desert immediately follows. He is driven out into the wilderness, but why? And why the temptations?
Recall that in the stories of his baptism, as Jesus comes out of the water, a voice is heard - by him if not by everyone else - calling him Beloved. Those might have been the last words that he heard before heading out on his own. Beloved. Beloved. Beloved. Away from the crowds and those who needed something from him, he was freed from the distraction of thinking of anyone or anything other than this: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased" (Luke 3:22).
No, Satan, I don’t need your bread. I am the Beloved.
No, Tempter, I don't need anyone to bow to me. I am the Beloved.
No, Evil One, I don't need worldly authority. I am the Beloved.
The desert can be a cold and forbidding and dangerous place. It is also filled with beauty as it springs to life with the slightest bit of rain, or as the sun's shadows create depths of unimaginable color in the sand and rocks. And it is quiet. You can hear yourself think, away from the noise and the voices that seek to monopolize our attention, to tempt us into taking notice of the next outrage, the next shiny new thing, the next object to be consumed. In the desert, you can remember who you are, that you, too, are called Beloved in your baptism, that this is the most important thing. Going "where (y)our hearts are outward bound, till one bright and distant morning, we may stop and look around and there in the wilderness finally we'll be found!" We'll have come to ourselves as ones who bear the imprint of God. It's easy to lose sight of that amid all the storm and chaos that surrounds us.
There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I would meet up with people, ask them how they were doing, and inevitably the response would be, "Oh, I'm so busy." We have been plagued by the tyranny of busyness. But there was a shift, maybe since the end of the pandemic, when I would ask the same question and get in response, "Oh, I am so tired." I'm tired of being busy. I'm tired of having no time to simply be. I'm tired of not having enough capacity to do all that is expected of me. I'm tired of having no energy to enjoy my family. This kind of tiredness cannot be fixed by getting a good night’s sleep. This kind of tiredness takes refreshment of a different kind, something that will fill you up rather than draining you.
It is a custom among many people to give something up for Lent or take on a new discipline of prayer of service or study for Lent. From the earliest days, these forty days leading up to Christ's passion were a time of introspection and self-denial, much as Jesus engaged in during his time in the desert, preparing himself for the road that lay ahead of him. And I commend these kinds of practices.
And. And this year, I am not going to ask anything of you except this: do whatever you need to do to recharge, to fill your tank, to reconnect with yourself and those you love. Do whatever it is that will wrest your attention from all that is life-draining and instead is life-giving, reminding you that you are Beloved.
A couple of weeks ago, I finally succeeded in connecting two women who I really wanted to meet because they have so much in common in their work, but after weeks of trying to find a mutually agreeable time, it turned out to be on a Friday. Those of you who know me know that I guard my day off fiercely, but if it had to be Friday, then so be it. And as much as I was looking forward to finally getting them together, I also was not thrilled to give up the day normally reserved for myself. And I have to tell you that the three of us chatted non-stop for an hour and a half, and I left there filled with such gratitude and warmth. What felt like it would be a drain was actually just the thing I needed to recharge. So, during Lent, I plan to do more of that. Not on a Friday, mind you, but when I can, I plan to make time to be with friends. Some of them will have to be on Facetime or Zoom, and some of them I will reach out to by writing a good old-fashioned old-school letter, but connecting, nurturing relationships and friendships is how I plan to keep a Holy Lent. Because "life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us."
Over these next weeks, between now and Easter, find what fills you up, what reminds you of just how Beloved you are, and do that. If we all walk this path together, just imagine what we might find on the other side. Spoiler alert: what is waiting for us is nothing less than resurrection.
[1] https://genius.com/Stephen-schwartz-lost-in-the-wilderness-lyrics