Fourth Presbyterian Church: A Light in the City

March 6, 2022 | 10:00 a.m.

A Rough Start

Shannon J. Kershner
Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 91:1–2, 9–16
Luke 4:1–13

You have got to wonder how Jesus felt about his ministry getting started in this way. He had just been baptized by John in the River Jordan. He had just heard the words of the Divine claiming, “This is my Son, the Beloved One, with whom I am well pleased.” And yet before Jesus could even catch his breath, the same Spirit who claimed him immediately drove him into the wilderness.

A wilderness of testing, of temptation. A wilderness showdown with another voice, this one, not so holy: “So you are the Son of God, hmmm? Let’s just see what kind of Son of God you will be, Jesus.” And that is how Jesus began his ministry. Jesus began his ministry, his way of being God-with-us, alone in the wilderness, fighting testing and temptation. It is not what one would expect for the Messiah, the Beloved One, the one with whom God is well pleased.

Indeed, this whole season of Lent and its practices might not be what some of us expect or, frankly, want from church. Perhaps some of us come or tune into worship each week primarily to be uplifted and to hear words of grace and assurance.

My guess is that at least this morning, after a week full of watching the unnecessary devastation and death Russia is unleashing in Ukraine, with all the pictures of grief and turmoil piling up day after day after day, some of us might be in worship really needing to hear a word promising comfort and divine presence. A word that reminds us that God’s peace will one day be all in all. And still others might come into worship today just plain tired—tired of everything we have all been experiencing in the past couple of years. Folks who just really want this to be a space to push all that aside, even if it is only for an hour.

And while all those reasons for being in worship are valid and understandable, during this season of Lent our focus is a bit different than primarily nourishment or comfort. We sing hymns played in minor keys and whose lyrics highlight Jesus’ walk to the cross. And as you have already seen this morning, we slow down the time of confession, using our liturgy of the Lenten candles. That liturgy is similar to what happens in the season of Advent, but instead of marking the days by lighting candles, here in Lent, we mark the days by extinguishing the light. Finally, the word Alleluia will not form on our lips for these six Sundays, not once. And when you combine it all, the experience of worship during the season of Lent feels somber and perhaps even somewhat unpleasant.

The Reverend Dr. Will Willimon, now professor at Duke Divinity School, once wrote an article about a couple of his own Lenten worship experiences. Years ago, the local Episcopal parish located in his South Carolina coastal town decided to put up three crosses on the lawn adjacent to their church. They draped the crosses in purple for Lent. After a week or so, the church received a call from some local businesspeople. “This is a big season for tourists,” they complained. “We think those crosses could send the wrong signal to visitors at the beach. People don’t want to come down here for a vacation and be confronted with such unpleasantness.” The crosses stayed, but the rumbling continued.

A few years later, Willimon visited a church in Florida. Like today, it was the First Sunday in Lent. He found the service to be a very moving experience, with appropriate Lenten intensity. But at the end of the service, a member of the church approached him. “I regret that you had to visit us during Lent,” whispered the member. “This is not a fair representation of our church, with these dull hymns and the silent recessional. Normally things are much more beautiful and upbeat in our worship.” While Willimon had experienced the worship as powerful and truth-telling, some of the church members thought of it as a downer and a bit embarrassing (Will Willimon, Pulpit Resource, January and February 2005).

Honestly, I understand the feelings of those church members. Lent is a strange season. It might not be what you expect to find at a church. Worship may even feel draining at times, a little heavy, a little too honest. We may not always leave feeling better than when we arrived.

But every time I start worrying about these kinds of things, I remember this: These forty days (plus Sundays) from Ash Wednesday to Easter are among the most countercultural and subversive days in the entire church year. In a culture driven by worshiping success, seeking power (again, what is happening in Ukraine), and meeting one’s own needs no matter who else gets hurt, the season of Lent purposefully takes us in the opposite direction, in a more honest direction (Willimon, Pulpit Resource).

From beginning the season on Ash Wednesday by focusing on our own mortality and the truth that we are not in control; to giving our time of confession more space so we can speak frankly about our brokenness; to the way that our liturgy and sermons try and bring to light our own complicity with injustice and the powers and principalities of our world, our communal posture during the Lenten season stands in complete contrast with much of our prevailing culture.

And if you don’t believe me, just keep track of how many ads you see each day that tell you how to fight the signs of aging, the signs of your mortality. Or just listen to the soundtrack of our world that continually celebrates a narcissistic worldview and a culture of celebrity that is about serving one’s self first and serving others only if we get around to it or get publicity for it.

Scroll through social media and see yet again how what we do or do not do around wearing masks is considered controversial and political rather than complicated and nuanced because we are all just trying to make the best decisions we can depending on the situation. Lenten worship stands in stark contrast to much of what we see and know about the way our world seems to work.

So while our Lenten worship might not make us feel good each Sunday morning, it will make us feel. It will make us think. It will make us, at least for a bit on a Sunday morning, reexamine who we really are—not who we hope others think we are--and who we are continually being invited to become as children of our living God.

And that leads me to wonder if the importance of self-examination is one reason the Spirit drove Jesus into that wilderness. He had just been baptized. He knew he was claimed by God as God’s Chosen One for the world. So maybe it was then time for Jesus to get honest with himself about what that meant. OK, he was God’s Son. What kind of Son of God would he be?

Thus, Jesus was driven out into the wilderness for forty days and forty nights (scripture’s way of saying “a really long time”) to feel, to think, to reexamine who he was and who he was called to become as God’s Beloved One, God’s only Son. But as soon as Jesus went into that wilderness space and stepped out into that countercultural direction, he heard another voice.

This time, though, it was not the voice of the One who claimed him. Rather, it was the voice of one who wanted to capture him. Jesus went into that wilderness space and heard the voice of temptation, of evil, the voice of the spiritual sludge that always lies just beneath the surface. And noticing Jesus’ vulnerability in the wilderness, the evil one decided to test him with three possibilities, each one designed to see just how countercultural and faithful Jesus was going to be. How far would Jesus push it?

First, the tempter pounced on Jesus’ bodily needs. Jesus had been in the wilderness for a long time, and he was famished. So the voice challenged him to use his power to meet his own needs, to ensure his own survival. “It is not a big deal. Just turn these stones into a little bread. You will take care of yourself, and you won’t really hurt anybody else either.” But in response, Jesus counterpunched with words from Deuteronomy: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”

Jesus showed his own craftiness in his response. By using the word alone, Jesus affirmed that one does need to tend to one’s physical needs, but Jesus also made it clear that his own survival was not his top priority. He would not shrink his mission down to merely what he wanted at that particular moment. He made it clear that his ministry would not be about serving himself first, before being of service to other people. Jesus gave a countercultural response.

Therefore, the voice tried again and upped the stakes. This time the evil one tempted Jesus to use God for his own ends. Jesus could prove he was who he said he was with just one simple move. And it would be easy. Jesus would jump, the angels would rescue him, and the crowd would be amazed. With that one action, Jesus could avoid all future misunderstanding about who or whose he was. All he would have to do is test and prove that God’s word was trustworthy. Test God just a little to see if God’s promises really worked.

But Jesus again said no. He refused to manipulate God, to treat God as his servant. He refused to tell God how, when, and where God was to fulfill the divine promises. Jesus made a countercultural response.

The voice tried one more time, pulling out all the stops. The evil one tempted Jesus to use his power to establish a political empire grounded in the ways of this world. The evil one tempted Jesus to grasp that golden ring, to simply skip all the unpleasant stuff of sacrifice and struggle. “Why not abbreviate the story?” enticed the evil one, “Why not cut out the painful parts and get right on to the victory? Just bow down and worship me, and you can have what you seek on the spot, today.” (Matthew Long, in his commentary Matthew, provides an excellent exegesis of the three temptations and possible implications.)

Just take down those crosses that face the beach. Just cut out the somber hymns and do away with that confession. Instead of talking about temptation or wilderness moments, talk about helpful lifestyle topics. Don’t bring too much politics or too many current events into the sermon. Keep us numb so we won’t ask the hard questions about God’s faithfulness and our calling.

“For if you do,” the voice promises, “you will have a fuller sanctuary, more people joining in online. An increased budget. A name on the preaching circuit. People don’t want to hear about sacrifice or controversy. They want to leave the concerns of the world out there; don’t let them seep into the sanctuary. Let this be an hour of the gospel of positive thinking. Talk to them only about victory and power and blessing.”

But once again, Jesus said no. Jesus said no to following the way of this world rather than the way of God. He made yet another countercultural response. And the tempter went away, at least for a while.

If I understand the text, the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness so that Jesus could discover and decide what kind of Son of God he was called to be. And friends, the season of Lent offers us that same opportunity. We follow Jesus into the wilderness just as Israel went so many generations before, so that we, too, might discover and decide anew what kind of children of God we are called to be.

Will we have the courage to make such countercultural responses? When faced with shrinking down the gospel in order to justify serving only ourselves at the expense of others, what will we decide? When faced with pleading with God to act, will we try to tell God how and when and where to answer our pleas? When faced with promises of success and power, even if getting it causes a little bit of us to die, what will we do?

The Spirit is driving all of us out into the wilderness this Lent, whether we like it or not, whether we are ready to go there or not. Yet we do go, trusting that Jesus has already been there. And while that does not make the wrestling match with temptation any easier, at least we know we do not go through it alone. Thanks be to God. Amen.