Matthew 4:1-11

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. The tempter came and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread." But he answered, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.'" Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'" Jesus said to him, "Again it is 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; and he said to him, "All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me." Jesus said to him, "Away with you, Satan! for it is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'" Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

I wondered about this Gospel this time around in a different way than I usually do. I’m used to seeing Jesus as some kind of a super hero, duking it out with the devil, in the wilderness. And I always read this story knowing how it’s supposed to end: like Superman and Lex Luther, or Spiderman and the Green Goblin, or Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader – I know the good guy, in Jesus, is going to come out on top.

But this week, I wondered if Jesus knew that when he made his way into the wilderness after his baptism – that he would come out on top, I mean. And I wondered if that’s why he made his way out into the wilderness in the first place. First of all, it’s important that you know, I’m not convinced Jesus is milling around in the woods or out in the desert – wherever this “wilderness” was for him – with an actual “devil” like this:

or like this:

or like this:

or like this, even:

You are free to disagree, but I think Matthew’s Gospel has personified “the Tempter” in order to tell a really great story about what was going on in the heart and mind and spirit of Jesus. And it makes much more sense to me to understand it that way.

What I’m saying is, I think “the Tempter” where Jesus is concerned, is somewhere between a hooved, horned, pitch-fork-carrying, fire-breathing shyster in the desert – and the dark, doubting, deceitful, depths of Jesus’ human psyche. Whatever the case, that darkness is having its way with Jesus – testing his faith, questioning his identity, teasing him with alternatives, taunting him with options, tempting him to choose something other than God’s best for him. And I wonder if – when Jesus makes his way into the wilderness – he’s just as curious as the proverbial devil to know who’s going to win.

See, right out of the gate, Jesus hears, “If you are the Son of God…” And I wonder if Jesus is thinking, “I never said I was the Son of God!” That’s what my mom’s always told me, but she talks to angels. Dad dreamed it in a dream, once too, but he’s just a carpenter – and not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

People had been telling Jesus his whole life he was something special … descended from the house of David ... “Emmanuel” … “God with us,” and what not. Those magi from far and away, those “wise men,” showed up with gifts for him when he was just a boy. He probably heard stories about how King Herod had tried to kill him because of it. John the Baptist had been telling everyone that Jesus was “the One – the Lamb of God – who would take away the sin of the world.” And when he was baptized, there was a hole in the clouds, a dove, and some voice, somewhere, said something about Jesus being the beloved Son of God.

But who among us would have been so sure? So what if, after all of that, even Jesus wasn’t so sure? What if he had his doubts? What if he felt like just an ordinary, average, everyday Joe … not Jesus, son of the most high God? What if he wanted to know for certain? What if he needed some proof… some confirmation… some assurance that he was up for whatever this task and title – this “Son of God” business – was all about? And what if all of it felt more like a burden than a blessing sometimes? What if he felt foisted upon, rather than faithful about all of this more often than not?

What if that’s what drove Jesus into the wilderness … his doubt, his uncertainty, his cynicism, I mean? When I consider it that way, Jesus starts to look less and less like an untouchable, unrelatable, unreachable superhero and more like you and me…

… like someone trying to make his way in the world, buying or rejecting the ideas and the opinions so many others have of him… (Do you know anyone like that?)

… like someone trying to live up to the expectations and the assumptions others have put upon him, in ways he can manage, if not be proud of… (Do you know anyone like that?)

…like someone trying to prove – to himself and to others – that he’s worthy and valuable and that he’s up to something worthy and valuable with his life and with his time and with his work… (Maybe you’ve felt like that yourself a time or two.)

…like someone who wants to take risks, who wants to choose the good, who wants to have faith in something or someone greater than himself; and like someone who needs some help – or at least some fresh perspective about – all of that from time to time, because it can be a heavy load to bear. (Haven’t we all danced with that devil more than once, ourselves?)

It’s why what Jesus is up to this morning can be a powerful encouragement for each us. He follows the Spirit of God into the wilderness for a season of time long enough to get away from all the voices and all the people, all the opinions and all the ideas of the world around him, and he considers it from the holy perspective he knows God would have for him.

And so I wonder if that’s our invitation and challenge, with all of this, this time around.

“One doesn’t live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” We are invited not to live by or for the “bread” of this world – the things, the money, the stuff and the possessions that never last. But we are invited to be fed, nourished and sustained by the better things of love and grace and mercy and hope that come from the mouth of our creator.

“Don’t put the Lord your God to the test.” God’s love for you has already been proven. It already is. You are already beloved. So we can take risks. We can choose the good for the sake of the good. We are invited to trust in God’s mercy because we can, not because we have to. And we are invited to test the world around us with the love and grace of God, instead, and to see who or what is left standing when we do.

“Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.” Jesus reminds us not to be distracted or deceived by the false gods that surround us in this world – all of those competing voices and ideas and opinions that challenge or feed our egos, unnecessarily. We are invited to live humbly and in awe and with grateful generosity for what is God’s in this world, and not our own. And we’re invited to join God in sharing that with others.

And we can do this, not because we’re superheroes, but precisely because we are not. We can do this because we are beloved children of God. And when we buy that, when we believe that and live accordingly – in those moments when we choose wisely and faithfully and in ways that our heart’s desires honor God’s desire for our heart – the devils of doubt and deception and temptation to do otherwise will leave us, and we will know relief and rest and joy and peace which passes all understanding. And I think that kind of rest, relief and joy might feel something like being waited on by angels.

Amen

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

"Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven. "So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

"And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

"And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

To begin my message this evening I will share a poem by Jan Richardson titled, “Blessing the Dust.”*

All those days
you felt like dust,
like dirt,
as if all you had to do
was turn your face
toward the wind
and be scattered
to the four corners

or swept away
by the smallest breath
as insubstantial—

Did you not know
what the Holy One
can do with dust?

This is the day
we freely say
we are scorched.

This is the hour
we are marked
by what has made it
through the burning.

This is the moment
we ask for the blessing
that lives within
the ancient ashes,
that makes its home
inside the soil of
this sacred earth.

So let us be marked
not for sorrow.
And let us be marked
not for shame.
Let us be marked
not for false humility
or for thinking
we are less
than we are

but for claiming
what God can do
within the dust,
within the dirt,
within the stuff
of which the world
is made,
and the stars that blaze
in our bones,
and the galaxies that spiral
inside the smudge
we bear.

This beautiful poem addresses the sense of frailty that many of us feel. Forces in our world conspire to make us feel ashamed of our frailty, so we try to sweep it under the proverbial rug. We are taught to present ourselves as strong and independent people who can overcome any obstacle by sheer determination and hard work. We are praised for accomplishments and encouraged on all sides to be more, accumulate more, and earn more.

Allow yourself to imagine how much different the world would look if it were organized not around the Nike slogan “Just Do It,” but around the admission “I just can’t do it.”

Imagine a world where people are free to be honest and vulnerable, scared, and with their needs on full display. Just imagine if the world looked more like what is happening across the world in Christian churches on this Ash Wednesday.

On this day the Christian church reaches into the world’s misguided attempts at self-reliance, positive thinking, judgement of self and others, and tendency to ignore pain and jockey for positions of power. On this day the church reminds all who will listen that it is okay to feel as insubstantial as dust; as though the slightest breeze or breath will scatter us into the wind. It is okay to feel as insubstantial as dust because that is exactly what we are.

And as the poet declares, “Did you not know what the Holy One can do with dust?”

Every good and glorious gift in our universe is built of the same building blocks of matter (or, what we’ll call dust): the blazing sun, the majestic mountain, the singing bird, the lovers’ touch, the beating heart, the newborn child, the wrinkled hands of a grandmother.

On Sunday mornings the adult forum has been exploring a book by Richard Rohr titled, The Universal Christ. One of his points that has generated fruitful discussion is his insistence that Christ is in everything: every drop of water, every plant, every animal, every rock, and every person. This statement has a tendency to offend us when we think we are special--that is, when we think our ability to think, reason, and invent demonstrates we are more God-like than the rest of God’s creation. The idea that Christ is in everything takes center stage on Ash Wednesday, as our worship is undergirded by the awareness that we are all dust, that everything is dust, and that God is able to do amazing things for the dust that was created, loved, and destined for a beautiful eternity in God’s care.

On this day the church reminds all who will listen that it is okay to feel as insubstantial as dust; as though the slightest breeze or breath will scatter us into the wind. It is okay to feel as insubstantial as dust because that is exactly what we are. It is okay to feel as insubstantial as dust because it turns out dust is anything but unsubstantial.

The season of Lent calls us to put aside all the strivings and judgments that we use to set ourselves over and against others. When Jesus invites his followers to engage in spiritual disciplines such as almsgiving, prayer, fasting, and simplicity, he takes great care to warn against using these disciplines as measures of success or pursuits that make us better than those who do not engage in the disciplines.

The spiritual disciplines are only ever meant to be invitations to awaken us to the reality of God’s presence in your life. Giving away your money, fasting from food and drink, and praying are not tricks to make God appear in your life. God is already there. Instead, these disciplines help to eliminate the voices and impulses that would keep you from recognizing God’s presence.

Over the next five weeks I would like you to join us here at Cross of Grace as we explore various spiritual disciplines that will help you feel and open your eyes to God’s presence and promise for your life. Each worship service will include liturgy, music, teaching, and a space to practice a discipline such as the spiritual reading of scripture, fasting, varieties of prayer, mediation, and the practice of reconciliation.

We will engage with these disciplines in the public space of worship, but not with the purpose or intention of leading others to think more highly of us for being an outstanding Christian. God loves us because we are dust, not because we are religious. The reason we embark on this journey of discipleship is because that is how we can come to feel and understand God’s love for us. And once we understand God’s love for us we can more adequately share God’s love for others.

May this Lenten season be one where you can bring your weakness and frailty before God and others, and expect God to feel God’s loving embrace in return.

I will leave you with another poem by Jan Richardson titled, “Will You Meet Us?”*

Will you meet us in the ashes,
will you meet us in the ache
and show your face
within our sorrow
and offer us your word of grace:

That you are life within the dying,
that you abide within the dust,
that you are what survives the burning,
that you arise to make us new.

And in our aching, you are breathing;
and in our weeping, you are here
within the hands that bear your blessing,
enfolding us within your love.