Wilderness Survival: A Sermon for the First Sunday in Lent

Lent I, February 17, 2013

First UMC Elkin, NC

Romans 10:8b-15

Luke 4:1-13

            The story goes that a priest was working in a slum section of a European city and was asked why he was doing what he did with the impoverished people of the town. He simply replied, “So that the rumor of God may not completely disappear.” Will you pray with me?

            God of the wilderness,

Remind us always that your love is no rumor; your peace is no legend, for in fact these are real entities of your grace. And now, O God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing in your sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

            I can very vividly remember the first time I was lost. I was in Mouth of Wilson, Virginia at Mt. Rogers State Park. A young, green Boy Scout at the time anxious to make it to Eagle Scout I knew that I could handle any trail, climb any mountain, cross any sea. I was sorely wrong. Our first hike out I was separated from the older scouts and was genuinely, completely, lost. Suddenly my wilderness survival training that I had received kicked in. As young as I was I still knew that I shouldn’t freak out, I should stay put, even in those moments lessons from the television show, Barney reminded me I should hug a tree and wait for help.

            I hugged that tree for dear life until my dad rounded the corner, with a smile on his face. We both knew that I was safe, it didn’t mean that I would never lose my way ever again, whether that be on the trail or on the road of life, but in that instance, we both knew that I was safe.

            Jesus’ descent into the wilderness is one that not even I as a seasoned Eagle Scout could deal with. Not only did Jesus probably have no idea which way was north or south, he had to contend with pure, unbridled evil, what we know as Satan. I think we’ve watered down what happened here by giving up chocolate and Facebook for Lent, not to say that our Lenten disciplines are bad, but we must never forget that Jesus gave up something life-giving and nourishing: food. Jesus fasted in the wilderness, not for the sake of spiritual delight, but out of spiritual necessity.

            How many of us have gotten to the point where we give up our cell phones for Lent, or Duke basketball, or alcohol in an effort to gain some sort of spiritual delight? Barbara Brown Taylor, a wonderful theologian had a friend who gave up that cell phone for Lent and she puts it this way, “The problem for most of us is that we cannot go straight from setting down the cell phone to hearing the still, small voice of God in the wilderness.  If it worked like that, churches would be full and Verizon would be out of business.  If it worked like that, Lent would only be about twenty minutes long.”

            Friends we come to this place, this holy, sacred, hall to remind ourselves that we are called to discipleship not for spiritual delight, but because of spiritual necessity. We enter this journey of Lent, not because we want to shine bright for our God, no we enter this time and season to remind us of our brokenness, collectively and individually.

            Then we look at Paul’s words to the Romans that we heard proclaimed today, this is just a lectionary week full of fun Scripture. Have we not dumbed that passage down and looked at it anthropologically? Have we not taken this passage and made terrible excuses as to the persecution of the ‘other’? Let me put this in a little context for you, that would have been like Paul saying to the 1960’s South that there is no distinction between black or white, that would be like Paul telling some people here in the great state of North Carolina that there is no distinction between gay or straight. As some of us might say, ‘those are fighting words.’

            So what do these two, seemingly not-related Scriptures have to do with us, 21^st Century Lenten sojourners trying to make it through these forty days? We come to this place with preconceived notions of what the Spirit of God and the spirit of this congregation look like, we come to this place with distinctions of who in this church has power, and who doesn’t, who will be going to a nice lunch after church, and who won’t. That’s the danger of our time, that’s the temptation. The Spirit of the Divine is moving in this place and most of us are making our grocery lists, some more extravagant than others, some trying to make ends meet and we are all painfully aware of who those people are.          

            The one who was tempted in the wilderness loves you; the rumor of this life-changing, life-giving God isn’t a rumor to us. We have seen the resurrection in our own lives, and we know deep down that the resurrection is happening now amidst the doom and gloom of Lent. But the thing about the resurrection is that it makes us profoundly different than we once were. I think many of us, instead of giving up something for Lent have just given up. That’s a sad reality we as Christians face, our faith wasn’t what it used to be, maybe a parent died or a marriage ended and we just aren’t the same. But in my experience I’ve seen resurrection do its best work in those situations.

            There’s a wonderful song that goes like this, “Surely all people were made for each other, joining together when the days turn to dust. So let the prison walls crumble and the borders all tumble, there’s a place here for us all and ain’t it enough?” Friends this wonderful joy of resurrection that we are all looking forward to on this First Sunday of Lent is something that is available to all of us. Let’s get rid of those notions that Christianity is a Country Club of Saints, and get back to the reality that Christianity is a Food Bank for Sinners. We all came to this faith with nothing, and between you and me we will all leave this life as dust, we were reminded of that on Wednesday. Lent doesn’t come naturally for us Christians, and that’s why we need it. Lent is a call to radical obedience, obedience even to a cross.

            That cross, the one that is looming over our heads this Lent, is that is the great equalizer. I’m reminded of that hymn, “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea.” When I was little I always heard that hymn sung and thought it said there was a ‘wilderness in God’s mercy.’ I tend to like both versions, because both paint a profoundly correct picture of the cross.

            I can remember when I was little we’d often vacation in Boone, we’d take our RV up there to the Flintlock Campground and if you wanted to find us, your best bet would be to look at Tweetsie Railroad there on Highway 321. If you’ve never been to Tweetsie Railroad, it is a Wild West them park that culminates in a 3-mile train ride around a mountain. One thing that is engrained in my memory of those many times at Tweetsie was when you boarded the train and sat down, the conductor of the old steam locomotive would warn everyone on the train about the dangers of cinders and ash coming from the locomotive that could get in your eyes. They cautioned against sticking your head too far out of the train’s open face car so that that wouldn’t happen.

            I however, knew better. I knew that if I put my parent’s sunglasses on I could stick my head outside the train car at will, and see all the scenery, maybe even a cowboy or Indian. That worked well, but I wanted more, I wanted to be free from my parent’s sunglasses and often I would take them off. This would end in disaster. The ash and cinder would, as the conductor warned get in my eyes. I had forgotten his words of caution until yet again, I had ash on my face.

            Isn’t that a lot like us? We forget our Creator’s warning every year, until yet again, we have ash on our face. We will journey through this Lent with fresh ash; we will remember we are dust. Then Easter comes, and we find ourselves celebrating, and forgetting the ash. That’s why we need conductors and Lent to remind us that things aren’t always what we want them to be, there is pain in getting to Easter, there is pain when you get ash on your face.

            So for now, we forget the distinctions of Jew and Greek, because we all look the same with ash on our face. We forget the realities of gay or straight, black or white because we all look the same with ash on our foreheads We remember that this is a time for wilderness survival, a time when getting lost isn’t a bad thing because when we are lost that gives us opportunity to be found. The beauty of grace is that it is a lot like my parents after I got that dreadful ash in my eye, they’d help dry the tears and then they’d put their sunglasses back on my face and remind me that it was best to keep them on.

            As I was writing this sermon, I couldn’t help think but another example of the Lenten season. I went home this weekend to visit my parents, and saw their dog, Holly. I grew up with Holly, and she is starting to show the signs of aging. Her back legs just aren’t moving the way they used to, her hips are falling to arthritis and it was, at least for me, a reminder that things we love age, get older, and will as much as we hate it, eventually die. We are reminded; every day that resurrection takes death. You know John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement had this to say about the resurrection of our furry friends, and I believe it rings true for us as well, “Thus, in that day, all the vanity to which [animals] are now helplessly subject will be abolished; they will suffer no more, either from within or without; the days of their groaning are ended. At the same time, there can be no reasonable doubt, but all the horridness of their appearance, and all the deformity of their aspect, will vanish away, and be exchanged for their primeval beauty. And with their beauty their happiness will return; to which there can then be no obstruction. As there will be nothing within, so there will be nothing without, to give them any uneasiness: No heat or cold, no storm or tempest, but one perennial spring. In the new earth, as well as in the new heavens, there will be nothing to give pain, but everything that the wisdom and goodness of God can create to give happiness. As a recompense for what they once suffered, while under the "bondage of corruption," when God has "renewed the face of the earth," and their corruptible body has put on incorruption, they shall enjoy happiness suited to their state, without alloy, without interruption, and without end."

            Wesley’s words about animals, penned years ago ring true for us today. The beauty of Holly, my dog, and the beauty of myself are that we are all broken and beautiful. We will all, the entirety of God’s creation need resurrection. To some that might sound unrealistic or even downright wrong to others, but the God I know accomplished everything on the cross of Christ, no exceptions!

            Holy friends, I tell you stories of wilderness survival, of Tweetsie Railroad, and the story of my dog Holly, who is getting older, not to paint a bleak picture of temptation, of divisiveness, and of death. No, I feel that all these situations, whether I was in Scouting in the wilderness, or laying on the floor of my parent’s house with my dog Holly reminded me that I am incredibly and irrevocably lost. You might wonder where the joy in that is. But I started to realize that by the end of Jesus’ temptation, Jesus was a different type of lost, another Gospel text talks about the angels feeding him and even the next verse in Luke beyond what we read said he was, “filled with the power of the Holy Spirit.” This type of lost is best described as Charles Wesley once wrote in a now-iconic hymn; we all are lost in wonder, love and praise. Let that be for us a reality this Lent, we may be lost, but the rumor of God isn’t gone yet, because we have ash on our face and a song in our hearts. Let’s search for the resurrection.

Amen.