Sermon for First Baptist Corbin, March 1, 2020
First Sunday in Lent, Year A
The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. And the Lord God commanded the man, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die.” Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’” “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.
Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7
Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’ Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’ Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him.
Matthew 4:1-11
I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced near absolute silence. I know I haven’t. I once read a story about someone who spent time in the desert and was stunned by the deep silence they found there. They could hear for miles, and their senses were heightened. The silence was such that, at one point, this person thought they were hearing a helicopter — it turned out to be a fly buzzing around them.
The desert is windy at certain times of the day, sometimes all day. Other people writing about the desert have said that even in the wind you can still hear the silence. But there are always periods of calm when the silence is all-encompassing and awe-some, in the literal sense of the word.
Many of us are uncomfortable with silence. A sleep doctor has said that one reason why many people have trouble sleeping at night is that nighttime is the only time when we found ourselves alone with our thoughts. During the day, we fill our time with distractions and sounds of every kind. Especially nowadays when we have smart phones and portable earbuds, it’s very easy to fill every single second with sound and activity and busyness.
In a similar way, we don’t ever have to spend much time waiting or wanting for something anymore — especially food. We no longer need to be confined to eating foods in season or depending on a good crop to eat. If we feel like having blueberries in January, we can go to the grocery store and get some. Most of us never really allow ourselves to feel hungry anymore; food is so fast and abundant for so many of us that at the first sign of a craving we quickly feed ourselves.
The desert is a dangerous place. It is an arid place where food and water aren’t easily accessible. It’s a place of want — where those suffering from heat exhaustion, dehydration or hunger long for shade, cool water and nourishing food. It’s a place where people run the risk of getting lost or being bitten by dangerous desert animals. And then there is the silence: a silence you can’t escape. Like being alone with your thoughts without distractions, and without easily accessible food or ways to make ourselves comfortable.
If the desert symbolizes struggle, need, hardship and solitude, perhaps our daily routines more closely resemble the garden: abundance of food, ease, and companionship.
In the silence and solitude of the desert, the voice of the tempter echoed in Jesus’ ear. Days earlier, before entering the wilderness, Jesus had heard God’s voice at his baptism, saying “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Now, in the desert, the voice of the tempter questioned whether God meant what God had said and whether God could be trusted to bring about the peaceful kingdom that Jesus yearned for.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear right, Jesus. Are you really God’s beloved Son? Don’t you want to prove it?” “If you are the Son of God, why should you struggle and hunger? Why not take control and provide for yourself?”
“If you are the Son of God, why not make your position plain for everyone? Why not throw yourself down from the temple and proclaim your rightful place by letting angels protect you and carry you? Then you can quickly get the temple in order and end the hypocrisy that has taken over the people of God.”
“If you are the Son of God, why wait to take your rightful place as King of the world? You don’t need other people to crown you, and you don’t need to wait on God, either. Let’s get this done now so you can enact justice and peace in the world.”
The voice of the tempter came when Jesus was the most vulnerable: famished from fasting for 40 days and nights, tired and alone. It spoke in opposition to his vulnerability, challenging him to consider his humanity a curse or an obstacle to be overcome; an impediment to his freedom and purpose. It challenged him to distrust his limitations as human and instead to take advantage of his position as the Son of God. It called him to skip the struggle and difficulties that his ministry would face; to avoid working with people and to avoid suffering and death. It called him in effect to distrust God and God’s care and to instead choose self-sufficiency.
The temptations provided by the devil did not appear evil or to lead to evil things. Instead, they promised good things: nourishing food and sustenance; Jesus as the incontestable head of the church; a world in which Jesus is King. They promised to shortcut discomfort and suffering, and to make the kingdom of Christ crystal clear to all — making it easy for others to believe.
Who wants discomfort and suffering, after all? Not us! No wonder we avoid places like the desert, like we avoid hunger and pain; no wonder we avoid silence and solitude and fill our waking moments with gadgets and distractions. We want ease and satisfaction for our longings, and we want it now. We don’t want to wait.
We prefer the garden, where shade and food and comfort are abundant — where we don’t experience any pain or suffering. So we create our own gardens, keeping the desert at bay, and ignoring the call of the Spirit who is calling us into the wilderness — into the silence and the solitude and the struggle.
Yet even in the garden of our own making, amid all the noises and sounds we create to distract ourselves from the silence of the desert, the voice of the tempter finds us still. As the tempter did for Jesus in the desert, the tempter calls us in our gardens to distrust God and the limitations God placed on God’s creations. The voice of the tempter calls us to question our ability to appropriately hear God’s voice and to instead take matters into our own hands.
The tempter does not necessarily use evil things to ensnare us. Instead, he shows us things that are pleasing to the eye and appear good like a tree that’s good for food; honorable things such as wisdom and knowledge and the ability to provide for ourselves. The tempter tricks us into equating suffering with evil, and vulnerability with weakness. He invites us to consider humanity as something to be ashamed of. He calls us to consider likeness with God as a desirable characteristic which will free and empower us.
Listening to the tempter’s voice does not lead us to satisfaction. Being a superhuman who does not need rest or help — who does not need God — may seem like a pleasing proposition. But in reality, listening to the tempter’s voice telling us to deny our limitations only leads us to brokenness and shame and separation from God and from each other. In the end, even while we strive to be more than human, we still need God’s care. The scratchy fig leaves we sow together to hide our shame don’t prove adequate after all; in the end it is God who clothes us with proper garments.
In contrast to our desire to be superhuman, Jesus resists the voice of the tempter in the desert who calls him to deny his humanity. He chooses to depend on God for provision rather than to take matters into his own hands. He chooses to be obedient to the slow and transformative work of God in bringing about God’s kingdom, rather than the quick and easy way to fame and glory. He chooses to live within the limitations of his human body rather than appeal to his divine origin.
Jesus shows us that suffering in itself is not evil, and that vulnerability is not weakness. He shows us that our humanity is not something to be ashamed of, but rather part of God’s good and purposeful creation. He shows us that depending on God is not a curse or an obstacle to be overcome, but rather resolution for our restless hearts.
The desert may be the last place we want to be. We may be afraid to confront those voices that challenge who we are and point out our limitations. We may be afraid of the struggle, including the struggle that comes with wrestling with our faith. But Jesus shows us that time in the desert is necessary for growth and transformation. In the silence of the desert, we are able to discern who God has called us to be as we embrace our full humanity and dependence on God.
Our world is fast and loud, and quick to satisfy our desires. During the season of Lent, I invite you to consider entering into times of solitude, and silence. I invite you to create deserts; to allow yourself to struggle, and to remember that struggle in the desert isn’t evil. It is the Spirit who leads us to the desert, and it is the Spirit of God who cares for us as we embrace our full humanity.
During Lent, many Christians choose to give up something they enjoy (like a favorite food or a favorite distraction) in order to identify with Jesus’ fasting and suffering. If you choose to do that, I invite you to avoid doing so as a means of punishing your humanity or as a means to become super holy or superhuman. Instead, do so as a means of remembering that we are human — remembering what it is to hunger and need, and desire. Let us make ourselves humble and vulnerable, knowing that where sin and brokenness abound, God’s grace abounds all the more.