Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
ché la diritta via era smarrita.
Halfway through the journey we are living
I found myself deep in a darkened forest,
For I had lost all trace of the straight path.
These are the opening lines from the most famous poem in Western literature The Divine Comedy of Dante. Of course, nobody reads Dante any more. And not just because it's in 14 th -century Italian. It's a poem, for God' sake. A long poem. A poem that lasts 541 pages in this edition. And it's small type. But there are some pictures.
But I love this opening. Because it is as true today as when Dante wrote it some 700 years ago. Who here, if you are more than thirty-five or forty years old haven't woken up one day and said: I don't have a clue what I'm doing. Who put me here in the middle of the woods. Where am I going? What am I doing here?
Now if that hasn't happened to you, it will. It's an eternal truth. When we are young, we have all the answers. Which is ironic because we don't know what the questions are. When we are older, we know all the questions, but have no good answers. What Dante is talking about is the mid-point the point where realize that our answers have nothing to do with life's deeper questions, and those deeper questions overwhelm us.
We are lost.
We have entered the desert.
Every year, Lent begins with an account of Jesus in the desert being tempted. This is the first step on our Lenten journey. The test. That is where the word temptation comes from. Temptare , in Latin, means to test the strength of. It is good to know what our strength is before the journey begins. No, not the Temptation Island kind of test. Not the chocolate cake kind of test.
This is more like a spiritual Parris Island . We are going to be put through our paces. This is a take-no-prisoners kind of test.
So why the desert?
The Judean desert is a formidable place. This is where, according to Luke's account, Jesus would have gone. It is mountainous, it is barren, it is scary. I know. I've seen it from inside an air-conditioned bus.
Actually my one brush with a real desert taught me all I need to know about deserts. Michael, my son, and I were going hiking in Zion National Park a couple of years ago. Going from Los Angeles to Utah on Route 15, we stopped at a little store in the middle of Nowhere, Arizona . It was right out of Central Casting for a desert scene. Sand as far as the eye could see. That hallucinogenic haze on the road. Tumbleweeds. A one-pump gas station.
When we got out of the car, out of the air-conditioned car, I thought a blow torch had hit us. It was that hot. Had to have been 115, 118 degrees. No relief. No shade. Nothing. Just the mind-numbing heat. Which changed to cold at night.
How could anything anyone survive this?
But that is the point of the test: to survive. To survive the temptation. In doing this, Jesus is entering a realm of the collective unconscious. This is a story that we tell over and over again in different forms. It doesn't always take place in the desert. But it always has to do with surviving tests, overcoming temptations, to get home. When Jesus leaves the desert, where do we next see him? In Nazareth , his hometown.
But we'll get back to that.
Let's look at a few illustrations of this theme in our culture. Inman, the hero of Cold Mountain is trying to work his way back home to Ada . Along the way, he encounters test and test, temptation after temptation. And the story of Inman and Ada is nothing more than an updating of Homer's Odyssey where Odysseus is trying to work his way back home to is wife, Penelope.
The Lord of the Rings is a virtual run of these stories strung together. Frodo and Sam going through the Dead Marshes with Golum. Merry and Pippin going through the Fangorn Forest with the talking trees.
All journeys. All tests.
All buried deep in the recesses of our minds. Why? Because these deserts appear in many forms. We're all subject to them.
Losing your job and being out of work: you're in the desert.
Getting divorced and starting over again: you're lost in the desert.
Being sick, not knowing how sick, waiting for test results: you're in the desert.
Depression: oooh, that's a desert.
So how do we connect Jesus with all of this?
First, let's get the Lukan story in order. What has gone on before Jesus enters the desert? ( Previously, on the Gospel of Luke
)
Jesus has been baptized by John. The spirit has descended upon him, and he has been recognized by the father as His Son, his beloved. This is a transcendent moment. He knows, now, that he is, to quote the Blues Brothers, on a mission from God.
This is, no doubt, a traumatic event for Jesus. Psychologically and spiritually traumatic. The beginning of the journey always such. Think of Inman in Cold Mountain he's wounded and left for dead. Frodo encountering the Ring Wraiths perfect corollaries for the devil.
One of the things that makes this passage so powerful for me is that here, in my opinion, we get our closest glimpse of the humanness of Jesus next to when he is in the Garden of Gethsemane. In both cases, we have a vulnerable Jesus. A Jesus who is physically hungry. A Jesus who is being assaulted by doubt.
The narrative from Luke today tells the story, but it does it in a way that separates us from the real humanness of Jesus. It is almost the stuff of comic books and superheroes. People flying around, from mountaintop to temple top. Let us think about this for a minute, and also those personal deserts that I just mentioned the desert of depression, or the desert of divorce, or the desert of disease.
Because this is the genius of Christianity knowing that divinity, in the form of Jesus, experienced what we experience. So let's get the white-robed, perfectly coiffed Hallmark Jesus out of our minds. And imagine him like one of us. This is what Nicholas Katzantzakis does in The Last Temptation of Christ. Jesus reacts in a manner similar to what we would do if we had heard the voice of God. If we had been led, not by choice, but by some other power the Spirit into the desert. He is dazed and confused. He lies under the scorching sun, beset by doubt, writhing in doubt. Am I going crazy? At night, he hears things all around him. Eyes in the night looking at him. He can't sleep. He can't eat.
Does any of this sound familiar?
If you are battling disease, it should.
If you are troubled in your relationship, it should.
If you are prone to depression, it should.
Here is Jesus at his most vulnerable, and the devil shows up. Now you can interpret this character any way you like. If the little red guy on your shoulder works for you, fine. For me, evil is an energy. An energy that is drawn to weakness. An energy that will exploit weakness for its own advantage. I do believe it is impersonal it attacks without motive and without justification. And I believe, also, that just as I cannot fully explain love, I cannot fully explain evil.
But it's there.
When evil attacks Jesus, it is attacking his call. It is saying: c'mon, the ends justify the means here. You're hungry. Who's going to notice if you turn a couple of rocks into bread. You know you're hungry. You know you want it. Go ahead, it won't make any difference.
What?
Okay, go hungry. Suit yourself. But power. C'mon, you're the Son of God, aren't you? You're going to end up with a whole bunch of power anyway go for it now. Just acknowledge me just a little bend of the knee, and it's yours. This whole shebang, it's yours.
What? You don't want power. Oy. You make me vant to spit. Let me tell you something, this next thing, jumping off the temple, doing the angels saving you routine, all that glory, you're gonna want to think twice about this one. See, this is my last offer. You don't take me up on this offer, believe me, you don't want to know what's going to happen.
Does the name Golgotha mean anything to you?
No? Trust me, it will.
And so Jesus turns the voice of evil down flat. He has chosen to be faithful and patient. He has chosen to be faithful than immediately successful.
Not unlike someone who is depressed turning down a drink.
Not like someone with relationship problems not turning to someone new.
Not unlike someone who is sick resisting the urge to turn on God.
We all have our deserts, we all will be tempted.
For me, the stones in the story are this: trying to hard to achieve results. I am constantly questioning: are we growing? Am I doing the right things to make us grow? Am I preaching on the right things? (Is my stole straight?)
The temple top is the temptation to be spectacular. To put on a show here, which would mean that worship gets lost in the shuffle. To preach the word of the Gospel in such a charismatic fashion can I get an Amen? that people faint in the aisles can I get another Amen? that people are healed, that people come from far and wide to can I get a Stop That!
And the mountaintop: that's an easy one. All the benefit being in the clergy involve. Like a reserved parking space down at Norwood Hospital . Like
like
like
well, I know there's some others, but I'll have to get back to you on that.
When all the while, all I really need to do is what Jesus did in the desert. Be patient. Listen to the all of God. And be faithful to it. Do not succumb to the temptations.
And this congregation
you're not off the hook.
What are the stones and bread for you? Knowing that sometimes you're going to find something here that feeds you and other times not. But that doesn't make the time you were fed more important.
Where's your temple top? Thinking God can do great things just because you ask for them. Remember: you're going to find God far more in the ordinary than in the spectacular.
Where's your mountaintop? Whose opinion carries more weight? I am waiting for the chicken screen around he altar before I deliver that sermon.
This passage sounds so ominous. But there is so much good news in it. It's telling us there's no shortcuts. It's telling us that when we are in the desert, Jesus has already been there. It's telling us that going through Lent requires us test before starting.
And it's telling us above all to listen to God's call for us, and be faithful to that call.
