March 9, 2014

          I’d like to begin today where we left off the last time we were together.  By that, I don’t mean last Sunday morning when many gathered here to hear Pastor Clare speak of the thin places in our world and heart.  No, I mean where we left on Wednesday night, Ash Wednesday, when many of us gathered here to begin the season of Lent together. 

          My reflections that night ended with some thoughts inspired by a bumper sticker I had seen recently.  A few weeks ago, I saw a minivan with the bumper sticker that read “Change how you see, not how you look.”  (2X)

          That bumper sticker summed up an important message for the beginning of Lent.  Ash Wednesday is the one day, the one worship service, where many in attendance, actually change how they look.  By choosing to have one’s foreheads marked with ashes, a very visible reminder both of our mortality, and for the faithful, of our witness to the power of God’s abiding love that comes to us in the resurrection, we change how we look.

          However, the season of Lent is a time for us to instead “change how we see.”  Lent stands out in the church year as the time when we commit ourselves to see the world differently, when we choose to see the world as Jesus did.  We enter Lent following the model of Jesus, who faced up to the temptations so that he could begin to draw on the strength and promises of God.  We enter Lent mindful that during his time in the wilderness, Jesus chose to fast, an ancient spiritual practice, designed to force the body through a time of living without in order to find the deeper resources that lay within.

          The story of Jesus in the wilderness, facing times of temptation, is always the Gospel lesson for the first Sunday in Lent.  And so, each year, when we gather on this Sunday, we hear this familiar story, told by either Matthew, Mark or Luke.  In all three versions, Jesus is tempted by the forces of evil three times.

          The first temptation comes when Jesus, who has been fasting, is taunted by the devil to turn stones into bread that he might eat.  The second temptation comes when Jesus is led by the devil up to a mountain top, shown the world as they knew it at that time, and offered power over all of it.  In the third temptation, Jesus is raised up to the highest pinnacle overlooking Jerusalem and dared by the devil.  “Throw yourself down and let’s see the angels come and rescue you.  It shouldn’t be any problem whatsoever IF you are indeed the son of God.”

          Centuries later, we see these three temptations through the lens of two thousand years of church and world history.  In these modern days, we speak often of the value in learning to discern the needs from the wants in our lives.  It’s a common theme in stewardship sermons, the challenge to look at the blessings we have from God, to sort out the needs in our daily lives—food, shelter, health care, transportation—from the wants of our daily lives—HBO, the snazziest cell phone, designer clothes in a variety of colors, more car than we can handle, more house than we really need.  The lists are endless, but we are wise in the course of living the faithful life to sort out the wants from the needs. 

          Also in our modern days, we also often hear the importance of understanding our true selves, taking time in our younger years “to find ourselves,” to sort out what might be our greatest drives and passions, our greatest gifts, talents, and blessings, and then to find a way in the course of our days, to live our lives utilizing these blessings and finding both personal identity and fulfillment.

          What’s interesting 2000 years later is that these three temptations cross a wide spectrum.  The Rev. Peter Gomes, in his excellent sermon on this passage, sums the three temptations up in an engaging ways that I share with you today.  In that sermon, he notes that the first temptation, turn these stones into bread, has to do with a human need—hunger.  The second, worship me and all this will be yours to rule, has to do with a human want—power.  And the third, IF you are the son of God, throw yourself down and let the angels rescue you—has to do with identity, with our core, with our efforts to be true to our inner self.

          In their own way, these three temptations we hear today, cover all the bases of what makes us tick; wants, needs, knowing and proving who we truly are, at least as we measure it in these modern times.

          Lent is known as a season of spiritual disciplines.  And many times and for many people, those disciplines are ones of denial.  Many spiritual disciplines call us to deny ourselves something comfortable or something routine, in order to help to settle us down and open us to the guidance of the sacred in the Holy Spirit.  These forms of discipline help us to learn to live more simply or to at least live somewhat differently.

          In a time of self-denial, many times, people do indeed rediscover their strengths, their inner self.  Through a time of elective testing, many find a greater self-awareness of both their gifts and limits, their power and their vulnerabilities.         

          In my house, as I suspect also in many of yours, there is a variation of Murphy’s Law which takes place.  The original Murphy’s Law reads, “If something can go wrong, it will go wrong.”  And while that is true, the variation of this Murphy’s Law in my home reads, “No kitchen counter can remain uncluttered.” 

          I don’t know what things are like in all of your homes, but in our house, no counter can remain uncluttered for long.  A vacant counter becomes a magnet for piles of mail, catalogues, magazines, coupons, etc. 

          Something like this form of Murphy’s Law is at work in our hearts.  In his time in the wilderness, which he invites us to follow him to these days, Jesus seeks to discipline himself and in the process, learn to hear more clearly the subtle, gentle voice of God, calling him forward to new depths of faith.  

          In the wilderness, we learn and focus anew on the silence within and the quiet empty part of our lives.  In us all, there is a part, a space in our heart, set aside for God, the sacred, the divine in creation. 

          In our church facility, we have this room, this Sanctuary, this area set aside for us to meet together and be open to God.  We literally use this room for nothing else but to pursue our search for God in some way.

          So too in our heart.  Deep within us is an inner Sanctuary, a place set aside for God.  And Lent is the time for us to reclaim the Sanctuary; the time to chase away all the forces surrounding us that would seek to clutter up that empty place like the clutter that fills the countertops in so many of our homes.

          We can do that in a number of ways.  Through a recommitment to prayer, to planning to set aside some time each day to keep silent and be silent, choosing a devotional or a book to read and inwardly digest.  Certainly, during Lent this year, we’ve many opportunities to explore the wonders of walking, both as a form of low impact exercise as well as a chance to be with ourselves and God each day.

          We are wise to recognize and treasure that empty space, our inner Sanctuary.  The spiritually mature learn to live with the empty space, leave it open as one way to “prepare ye the way of the Lord.”  We don’t use this space as a warehouse from Monday to Saturday, then clear it out for Sunday.  No, we keep it vacant and well maintained, for to us, this is sacred ground, a hallowed place.

And yet, many treat their inner sanctuary much differently.  Far too many of us struggle with it.  As a people, many are not comfortable with the increasingly rare silences of the world.  I have a single friend who upon waking every morning, turns on CNN so she can hear some other voices in her home.  As comforting as this may seem for her on one level, those voices, that news, over and over again, is indeed one way she fills that empty space rather than learning to live with it.

          An increasing number of social scientists and biologists are making the argument that almost everyone is addicted to something in their lives.  We are well aware of the most destructive addictions in our world-alcohol, substance abuse in many forms, gambling, sex addictions.  But for some, the lure and power of addictions can be equally compelling, although in more socially beneficial ways.  Work, exercise, increasing efforts to care for others.  There are a great many ways people seek to fill that void, clutter up that place set aside for God to reign in our lives.  And these same social scientists argue that whatever we might use, whether it be personally destructive or socially beneficial, that fills the void and that we cannot avoid doing in the course of our days is an addiction.

          We need to learn to live with a little hunger within, a little emptiness in our hearts.  Jesus’ time in the wilderness gave him a chance to unclutter and know in a transformative way the value of leaving space in your life, your heart, your schedule for God.  A very busy man decided to spend a few days in a monastery to begin his spiritual search.  The monk who showed the man the way to his small austere cell in the monastery said to the man as he was leaving, “I hope your stay with us is a blessed one.  If you need anything, please let us know and we’ll teach you how to live without it.”  (Yancey, Prayer, p. 54)

          In the course of our lives, we will all spend some time in the wilderness, most likely more than once.  It can be a rich time, to learn the treasure of silence, to face up to temptation and build a spiritual foundation, to unclutter our lives to make room for God.  Time alone with God is rich.  A writer named Nancy Mairs, comments, “Who one believes God to be is more accurately revealed not in any creed or statement of faith, but in the way one speaks to God when no one else is listening.”  (Yancey, Prayer, p. 45) 

          May the days ahead of us in this season of Lent be a time when we can do the spring cleaning necessary to make room for God in our hearts, our lives, our precious schedules.  May it be a time when we reclaim the sanctity of silence, of time alone with our Creator.  May it indeed be a time when our focus is on “changing how we see, rather than on how we look.”  And may we learn to hear the same voice that led Jesus first out into the wilderness, where Jesus could learn to hear that voice above all others in the course of his days.  Amen.