March 9, 2025
First Sunday in Lent
Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16
Romans 10:8b-13
Luke 4:1-13
The context of this sermon is
100% written by a human
Perhaps Lent is arriving at just the right time. We are living through a period when all principles and treaties are being summarily broken, when the most powerful country in the world is aligning with a dictator instead of allies. This week, my youngest son, Samson, suggested that by the time his kids were grown – if not sooner – the rules of the world will look very different. I could not say otherwise, although I still hope for the best; change is coming.
Lent is the time when we are supposed to confront the trouble in the world, and in our lives, and stare at it for a while. These are the times when we live in the shadows, and we are forced to come face-to-face with our own truths. If we take it seriously, it’s not an easy time. But if we do take it seriously, it is, in the end, a healing time.
This morning, we begin with a meeting between Jesus and the devil in the desert. It’s a good tale – one we’ve seen played out a hundred times since. Our hero is tempted by someone or something to leave his proper path. Maybe it’s pride, or greed, or doubt. But someone usually plants it, and he finds himself at the crossroads.
So, along comes the Devil, sauntering up to Jesus while he fasted alone in the desert. The Devil has come with his three challenges, his clever tricks for the Son of God.
First the devil taunts: “If you are really so great, turn this stone into a loaf of bread.” Jesus was probably hungry – he was fasting, after all. But he refuses: “No one can live by bread alone.” In other words, life, Jesus is saying, is about more than material goods – it is about self-worth, and integrity, and who we are at the core of ourselves.
So, the devil tries again, this time preying on the potential glory-seeking of Jesus. “I promise you kingdoms as far as the eye can see,” the devil says. “And all you have to do is worship me.” Jesus answers: “Worship no one else but God.”
Now, I have always thought that this offer was the easiest for Jesus to decline: the devil, in this telling, isn’t disguising his identity, and Jesus never seemed particularly greedy for fame and glory. But for us, it’s a lot trickier: for us, the devil may hide in more insidious ways and tempt us to seek glory, even if it means selling out, just a little, one small step to one larger step at a time.
Finally, the devil pulls out all the stops - his trickiest of tricks. “If you’re so special,” the devil says, “then throw yourself off the cliff and let God catch you.” Maybe this one gave Jesus pause. He had his own doubts, after all. Perhaps he was tempted to find out: did he really matter to God? Wouldn’t it be great to stick it to the devil and put him in his place?
But once again, Jesus refuses. He says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” And the devil finally gives up and wanders away – departing, we are told grimly, until a more opportune time presents itself.
It’s that last trick of the devil’s that I want to address today.
Who could blame us for not wanting to test God? This question gets put to me in a whole number of ways. Doubt is part of faith, and so it’s a question that often comes up.
People ask: how do you know God is real? Or more precisely, if God is real, why would God let this bad thing happen to me? Or how could God let this tragedy happen? Perhaps we are wondering, “Why doesn’t God step in and resolve what’s happening in the world right now?”
I have a close friend, who is an atheist, and we often discuss religion. Right now, in the middle of a very difficult time, he said this to me: “I wish I could believe as you do, to have this faith in a higher power.” And then he said, “But I know if I did, I would just be angry at God for letting this happen to me. So, any faith I had would be lost.”
This is a significant part of the Lenten journey, to help us develop a deeper appreciation of what it means to follow the gospel, and what it means to trust in the existence of God. When we put God behind the bad things - or even the good things - that happen in our lives, we have put God in the wrong place. God sits beside us and walks with us, and that is quite different.
The faith that each of us takes from the gospel, and, most importantly, the lessons we learn by following it, are what carry us through those hard times, and lead us to the better times. The knowledge of inner strength – that helps us withstand both hardship and temptation. The belief in our self-worth – that tells us we don’t need kingdoms to be powerful. The trust that we are loved and valued – that tells us not to waste time with trumped-up tests and trials.
That is Jesus walking beside us and even helping to carry us over rough patches. Which is what I told my friend: The God who has my faith doesn’t view me as a plaything to manipulate. My relationship to God is more loving than that and runs deeper than that.
God doesn’t let things happen to me; God guides me to get through the crappy things that happen and teaches me how to make things better for myself and for other people.
And that is far more powerful – far more life-sustaining – than a faith that spends time looking to heaven waiting for a sign. We are meant to look straight ahead, knowing heaven walks with us.
So, here’s the question: what if Jesus had leapt from the cliff that day with the Devil, would God have saved him? Well, I suppose that depends on your view of saving. Even when we leap off that metaphorical cliff by mistake or carelessness or intention, God doesn’t abandon us. It’s when we are mistaken or careless that we instinctively lean most heavily on the gospel.
But don’t be misled: our understanding of the gospel should come from a place in which God assumes us to be -- at our best -- thoughtful, reflective, and independent people. I know there are some pulpits where ministers preach God’s grace when certain lives are spared in tragedy. Or where the congregation is encouraged to pray for wealth and prosperity to come to us.
That’s not this pulpit. Because that understanding of God assumes that some are chosen and others are abandoned. It assumes that all the active and gracious life taught in the gospel is just a great story, that really we just need to go home and hope for the best. That kind of faith assumes that God is either pushing from behind or pulling from the front. But God was sitting with Jesus each time he met the devil’s challenge. And God is the strength that sits with each of us the same way.
That’s the thing: We don’t test God. God doesn’t test us. God stands with us while we are tested. And however you articulate that presence, we all have to the make the teachings of the gospel true and active.
When the world is a grim place, when it seems especially dangerous and cruel, the smart question isn’t, “Why did God let this happen?” It’s “What, with God’s help, will we do about it?” The smart emotion isn’t fretting and stewing about what change is on its way. It’s staying curious, listening for the gospel and reflecting in prayer, “What change will I make happen?”
That’s the lesson of Ash Wednesday – accepting the dark thought that we are dust and to dust we shall return and deciding what to do about it. And it’s the journey of Lent, recognizing our shadow selves and seeing them for what they are. What will we do about them?
What will we do? What will we change? What world will we leave behind? Now, that’s the ultimate test -- one worth taking over and over again, until we get it right.
Amen
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