Lent 1C

Every Lent, we begin by hearing the story of Jesus’ time in the desert, and how he resists the temptations of the devil. He goes to the wilderness, the place of desolation, struggle and trial. He enters not only the actual physical wasteland but also the wasteland of Massah and Meribah, into the entire Israelite wilderness tradition of temptation and trial. The accounts of Jesus in the desert speak of his fragility: he is tired, he weeps, he hungers and thirsts.

The temptations Jesus faces all address his relationship with others and with God. First there is the temptation to turn stones into bread. Jesus is confronted by the temptation to acquire economic power at the expense of others, to choose the path of economic provider, to be the one who could satisfy other’s demand for food… but to be in that role would mean he would have one over his neighbour, because there would be a hook there, the hook of power over someone else’s basic needs.

The second temptation asks that he perform a miracle, that he assert his spiritual power, using his spiritual resources to attract the support and devotion of others to the point of manipulation, to be a wonder worker. God would not be worshipped in this display of power; only Jesus’ capacities would be the focus of attention.

Lastly, Jesus confronts the temptation to acquire political power in exchange for idolatrous worship. He could become a political autocrat, a one-man show.

Each temptation represents a call to accept power, a call to distance himself from his neighbours and God. Jesus sees in the temptations the danger of accepting this personal power; instead, he takes what could be evil and offers the good of his power to the community. His power here is the Holy Spirit who nourishes the Christian community, who infuses it with the power of God working within it to perform spiritual miracles. Instead of turning stones into bread, Jesus gives of himself to be eucharistic bread. Instead of performing a miracle, in a spectacular display of power, Jesus creates a community that will be a spiritual force. And instead of becoming a dictator, Jesus walks with his community that will be committed to values of equality, and share to transform those forces in society that differentiate people unfairly. (1)

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Maybe it is a factor of growing older, but it seems to me as though keeping a Lenten discipline was far easier when I was a kid than now. I remember how my youthful piety tortured my mother for six weeks because I gave up everything with butter in it (don’t ask me why — I can’t remember the logic behind it). Did I think any more of Jesus because of my fast? I am not sure. I just remember how good it felt to hit Easter and I could put butter on my toast again.

Now it seems so much harder to take on some action of denial. Now keeping Lent means more a conscious attempt (or struggle!) to be silent, still aware, to listen to my heart at prayer, to find those moments of intersection of the holy and the daily and the daily with the holy and to enter consciously and willingly the desert spaces of my life. Maybe it is a function of my life, with its busy-ness, the time spent doing things when I really need to be still, but the idea of giving up something for Lent in quite the same terms as I did as an earnest seventh-grader just doesn’t ring true.

Maybe we need to remember Lent’s original purpose. It was two-fold in function but singular in purpose. Lent was a time for preparing newcomers into the faith tradition, a time to introduce newcomers to their future relationship with God. At the same time, as the Ash Wednesday exhortation in the prayer book reminds us, Lent was a time when notorious sinners sought forgiveness and were restored to right relationship with the rest of the community. In both cases, Lent was a time to sustain relationships — with God and neighbour.

‘Lenten disciplines and routine that call us to self-examination and interior meditation only strengthen our tendencies to bear up under life alone, or in silent communion with some distant deity. In a society already fractured and isolated, and among a people hunkered down in individualism, many of our customary spiritual disciplines serve not as preparation for life in community or the healing of our disaffections, but rather as exercise to extend our powers of endurance. So much of what passes for Lenten or other spiritual discipline renders us unfit for human companionship.’ These critical words written by Sam Portaro, Episcopal Chaplain to the University of Chicago, also contain grains of truth.

We are relational beings with one another and with God. We need one another. And God needs us. Rabbi Abraham Heschel believed that God created humanity in order to have a conversation with us, because God needed someone to share the wondrous stories of creation and covenant. And Heschel also believed firmly that it was dangerous to pray alone. One had to pray in community, too.

On a deeper level, according to writer Wendy M. Wright, ‘Lent is a time when we enter into the mystery of pain and brokenness, both our own and the world’s, to discover that we are not alone, that what seems hopeless is in fact hope-filled, that what appears dead can spring forth in life. It happens because we are embedded in a wider, more sustaining matrix of love than we can possibly imagine.’

If we are to fast this Lent or take on some discipline, then it should be the type of fast that Isaiah envisioned God desiring:

This is the fasting that I wish: releasing those bound unjustly, untying the thongs of the yoke; setting free the oppressed, breaking every yoke; sharing your bread with the hungry; sheltering the oppressed and the homeless; clothing the naked when you see them, and not turning your back on your own.

This citation from Isaiah 58, read on Ash Wednesday, is our presiding bishop’s mantra — she knows it so well that this summer at General Convention, when testifying to adopting a policy that would commit The Episcopal Church to giving 0.7% of its operating budget to support the Millennium Development Goals (a resolution that was subsequently passed), she was able to recite it by heart. It is one of those passages from scripture, along with the Beatitudes and Magnificat, that should guide us in our daily life, whether during Lent or any other time of year.

Isaiah describes relational activities, actions that bring us not only closer to our neighbour but also to God. So maybe Lent is more about finding the balance between personal and private reflection and engaging on a true, honest level with our neighbours, to try to bring about healing and integration to this broken world. That doesn’t mean that we never enter into the desert, but always, we emerge from that place of stillness to engage with the world. Each person must find his or her natural rhythm of time apart and time with community for both nourish us. Always we walk with our neighbour rather than uniquely by ourselves even though we spend time alone.

While the particulars may vary in how we approach this Lent, may we spend it and our life in the love of neighbour and of God… ‘because we are embedded in a wider, more sustaining matrix of love than we can possibly imagine.’

END NOTE
(1) Based on Kenneth Leech, We Preach Christ Crucified (Cambridge, MA: Cowley, 1994), 15-16.