Remembering in a Wilderness Place

A sermon preached with the people of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Westfield, New York.

It has been widely noted that the observance of Lent seems almost cruel in our present moment of sickness, conflict and war.

And I want to be clear: I think it is cruel, and quite beside the point, for anyone to suggest your Lenten observance should include excess, manufactured misery. I think we already have quite enough existing misery to work with.

Lent is, and should be, different for everyone – and it will change over time for each of us. There is no “right way to Lent.” In fact, [whispers] you can choose to largely ignore it, if it is not helpful for you.

But this year, I am finding it is helpful for me.

This year, Lent feels like a time, as a Christian community, to put our pain right out front. To wave it like flag. To ash our foreheads, to cover our crosses, to bury our word of greatest joy. To engage in what we might call liturgical catharsis.

To let go of the cultural pressure to always “look on the bright side” or “stay positive,’ lest we look ungrateful or unvirtuous.

To come right out with it. To tell God we are sad, angry, confused, scared, anxious, ashamed. To ask God to deliver us, and others, from every kind of pain.

The Great Litany petitions that speak directly to the misery rolling across our news feeds feel particularly electric this year. The words that speak to the effects of climate change, illness, oppression, violence and war – these are words I desperately need God to hear.

I need God to hear me say that things are really hard here. That it is hard to be human. That what is happening here is not okay. That people are hurting. That we are hurting each other. That I am worried I am not helping enough – or at all. That most of the time, I really don’t know what to do.

And while I know I can take these things to God any time, this year Lent is providing something of a normalizing framework to do so. Because I know this is a time set aside to do messy work with God. To be real with my anger and frustration and sorrow, and to admit I fall short when I do know better. Some might use words like “repentance” and “penitence.” I like “messy work” better.

In our gospel reading this morning we find Jesus friendless in the wilderness.

He has landed in that desolate place directly after his baptism. An event. as I imagine it, that was full of movement and sound and life. The flowing of the river, the murmur of the crowd, the voice from heaven confirming and affirming his identity.

A moment when it must have been easy to know, to feel, to be absolutely assured of God’s presence and God’s love.

But here in the wilderness, with only the company of the devil, I imagine that moment felt awfully distant.

I think what the devil was up to here was to try to get Jesus to forget. To forget who he was. To forget God’s love. To forget what that moment felt like.

Because when you really get down to it, at its heart, to sin is to forget God.

And we know Jesus does not forget.

Three times the devil tempts him to do so. And it strikes me that Jesus leans on familiar words from the texts of his tradition. To each of the devil’s suggestions, Jesus answers with words from the Book of Deuteronomy. And in doing so he tells the devil, loud and clear, I remember.

It strikes me this morning that those of us who may be sitting in our own wilderness places this morning might take a page from Jesus’ playbook. We might use this Gospel story – familiar words from the text of our own tradition – to help us remember.

Here is our God. Sitting with us. Sitting like us. In this world. This actual world. This hard-to-be-human world. This world that is not okay.

Just imagine, for a moment.

God’s presence and God’s love. It is here.

Sometimes it takes work to remember. Sometimes, it takes time set aside. Sometimes, it takes a “liturgical temper tantrum,” or some “messy time with God.” For me, anyway. And that’s okay. That’s what forgiveness is about.

Whether through [serious voice] “Lenten practice” or something less structured, my hope for all of us in this season is that we will find comfort and closeness to God.

That we will remember God’s love.

And that we will find strength in that remembering to put that love into action in this “not okay” world which, we know, is being made new.