You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!
One
last time during this journey through the Lenten season I invite you into the
dark. We might envision this dark as dark woods or a dark wilderness, but
however we imagine it, my hope is that we are learning to walk through it –
with courage and strength – and not to fear it or let it belittle us.
Sometimes
we think of our journey into the nighttime wilderness of the soul as a
depressing jaunt or one that feeds on our guilt and self-loathing. Sometimes we think, at first glance, that it does
not provide the spiritual boost we crave when we come to worship after a hard
week at work.
However,
as we journey together, my hope is that we are learning to trust this darkness
even as we trust the journey. Why?
Because, along the way, each week, we have found gifts. We have found suggestions about who we are
and revelations about who God is. These
gifts are experiences that have the potential to offer us our next opportunity
to meet God.
As UCC pastor
and author Eric Eines writes, “The mystics taught that in the Dark Wood you
discover who you are and what your life is about, flaws and all...
In the Dark Wood you bring all your shortcomings with you,
not in order to purge them or be judged by them, but to embrace them in such a
way that your struggles contribute meaningfully to the central conversation God
is inviting you to have with life.”
We
do not always think of these gifts as gifts because we encounter them most
often in times of struggle.
Consequently, we do not always want to receive them as gifts – the gifts
of uncertainty and emptiness and weathering the storms of our lives and even
being lost.
However,
when we receive those gifts well – when we embrace the uncertainty, the
emptiness, the stormy times, the being lost – and recognize that those gifts
are all part and parcel of being human – we find that they are gifts that, in
the end, we want to keep – and maybe even nurture. Temptation is another one of those gifts.
One
blogger wrote about his experience in a restaurant not too long ago. I am sure we all can relate to it. It goes like this.
The
meal is over. We are pleasantly full,
and the server has just brought some coffee.
Before he leaves, he says, "Kindly allow me to tempt you with a
little dessert."
Well,
we all know that the desserts in restaurants are never little. And, goodness
knows, in the restaurant where we have enjoyed this meal, they are not cheap
either. As for the server, our blogger
explains, well, he was a nice enough chap in a black shirt and pants with a
haircut that completely hid his horns.
There was no sign of a red suit or pitchfork anywhere either.
But,
after all, he had been so nice to us....and worked so hard for us....not to
listen seemed somehow rude. So even though we were both satisfied and satiated,
we indicated a willingness to lend an ear politely, before refusing outright,
of course.
Our
blogger continues the scenario. There
was, of course, the carrot cake that the server described as
"sinful." Next, he highlighted the crème brulee, which he labeled
"irresistible." That selection was followed by the Bavarian torte
(layered with mousse) that he offered under the heading of "obscene."
And he concluded with the ever-obligatory brownie/hot fudge extravaganza known,
in this restaurant, as "death by chocolate," which (he told us) was
"surely to die for.
Our
blogger concludes by saying – quite triumphantly - that we skipped the
chocolate thing. However, we did choose
a little something....one little something....accompanied by two forks....with each of us convinced that we
would (out of kindness, of course) take one bite and then shove the remainder
in the direction of our spouse.
Seven
dollars and several seconds later, the dessert was gone.... the server was
gone....and we were gone....still wearing a silly grin, as if to say: "We
did not really need that. But it sure was good."
All
of us have our weaknesses, right? All of
us have points of vulnerability where our willpower simply crumbles. Ah, temptation! We cannot avoid it, but how can it ever be
considered a gift?
You
know, we always seem to think about temptation as those times when we are
tantalized by what we define as being evil – or at least bad for us. Whether it is that little voice in our head
seducing us into turning a blind eye to that diet we are on when the dessert
cart comes around, or having a history of hiding Playboy magazine or the like
under our mattress, or pulling out the credit card for every impulsive purchase
we find ourselves making, or whatever, we tend to understand temptation only as
something to avoid.
However,
Eric Eines understands temptation much more broadly. First, he writes that temptation is a way of
defining ourselves, of better understanding just who we are. The more choices – difficult choices – we
make, the more prescribed and sharply etched we are as a person. Surely that capacity for self-reflection and self-determination
is a gift. After all, we should not have
someone else – or the world in general – spell out who we are. We are what we choose to be – faithful or
unfaithful, compassionate or hard-hearted, peacemaker or warmonger.
Second,
Eines suggests that much of the time we are not tempted by evil, but rather by
good. He goes on to explain that what
often tempts us is the wrong good – the good we are not called to do, the good
that others tell us is good but that does not ignite our hearts and touch our
souls, the good that does not bring us the deep gladness that God invites us to
embrace.
He
uses the story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness as a jumping off
point. We read in all three synoptic
gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) that, after Jesus was baptized, the Holy
Spirit led him into the wilderness for forty days. There, Jesus determined the essence
of his ministry and articulated more clearly his call from God. Biblical scholar N.T. Wright suggests that
"the devil's voice appears as a string of natural ideas in his own head.
They are plausible, attractive, and make, as we would say, a lot of
sense." The Gospel story tells us that he confronted temptation on three
fronts.
First,
there was the question of food. “Turn
these stones into bread, and eat your fill.”
After all, forty days with no sustenance is hardly a picnic, no pun
intended.
Second,
there was the issue of political power.
“All these kingdoms can be yours.”
Not bad when the alternative is a future under the oppressive thumb of
the Roman Emperor.
Third,
there was the whole question of miracles.
“Throw yourself off the tippy top of the temple, and let the angels
sweep you to safety.” Supernatural sensational acts would be rather convincing
when it came to developing a following among the superstitious peasantry. Grab them with a miracle – and then follow up
with teaching and preaching?
Think
about these three temptations for a moment.
They were not bad things – not by a long shot. Surely it crossed Jesus mind that: First, if you cannot feed yourself and get
out of this wilderness alive, how can you possibly feed others with your
message? Second, to control the
political situation, to start anew and awaken from the nightmare of Roman
occupation into the instant dream of God’s kingdom, how good would that
be? And third, to “Wow!” the world from
the outset with a blazingly excellent miracle, so people would actually listen
to what you are preaching? It sure would save time!
These
temptations are good things, but they are not the good things for Jesus at that
time. Jesus would not feed himself in
the wilderness now, but one day he would feed 500 people on a hillside. He
would not politically rule the kingdoms of the world now, but one day he would
lay the foundation for a kingdom whose power lay in healing over sickness,
justice over corruption, love over not only all the petty resentments we harbor
but over hatred and malice as well. He would not throw himself at death now
in order to “Wow!” the world with a miracle save, but one day he would hang
from the heights of a Roman cross on a lonely hill outside of Jerusalem,
quietly trusting in a different miracle, that of love and life. Jesus was tempted by the good that
he was not meant to do.
I
do not know what voices call to you, tempting you to do good things, but things
that do not really bring that deep and fulfilling gladness to you. I do not know if it is trying to be all
things to all people in your job, all the while knowing that you will never succeed. I do not know if it is staying in a marriage
for the good of the children when the relationship is destroying you. I do not know if it is being a rescuer –
supporting and throwing a life ring out to everyone – but letting your own self
drown. I do not know what voices tempt
you. I do not know what good deeds you
cannot resist.
However,
I do know that, if your life is anything like mine, as UCC pastor Kate Huey
writes, “We don't often draw apart from the cacophony around us, or the
incessant electronics of our lives, or the overload of messages and material
objects, all of which seem to set up a smokescreen between us and God.” I do know that it is so important to be
intentional about where you put your energies and how you use your abilities
and talents. I do know that it is
difficult these days to find a safe space to listen to the voice of your
soul. I do know that, as we make the
choices day in and day out that define us, those choices ought to reflect the
priorities of our spiritual health, but seldom do. I do know that sometimes we need to let go of
some good things that are not ours to do right now.
And most of
all, I do know that doing the good we are not meant to do at this time can be
downright exhausting and soul sucking.
David Steindl-Rast, a Benedictine monk, once said, “You know that the
antidote to exhaustion is not necessarily rest? … The antidote to exhaustion is
wholeheartedness… You are so tired through and through because a good
half of what you do here…has nothing to do with your true powers, or the place
you have reached in your life. You are only half here, and half here will kill
you after awhile. You need something to which you can give your full powers.”
Surely we are
meant to engage in and be consumed by what makes our life meaningful. And just as surely, to do so is very
difficult. However, to be more aware of the
good that tempts us and more intentional in the choices that define us can eventually
move us more toward living into the fullness of our lives.
As David
Henson writes, this journey into the dark along with this strange gift we have
found – the gift of temptation - “invites us to experience it and to see it as
not only a normal part of the Christian faith but also as an important,
formative part of it as well.”
All the gifts
that we have reflected upon this Lenten season have not been gifts at first
glance. Should they depress us? No.
Should they make us feel guilty or less faithful? No. Do
they have the potential to be spiritually uplifting? I think so.
However, we
must be willing to acknowledge them in our lives. We must be willing to confront them and
dissect them a bit. Even if they appear
more like curses than blessings, before we dismiss them, we need to ask
ourselves, as Eric Eines suggests, “Do I
ever experience any of these?” ... (And) if any of these experiences describe us,
then .. we are in the best possible position to experience profound awakening
and insight about who we are and what we are doing here.”
It is at that
moment of awakening, that instant of insight, that we begin to find the Light
that awaits us, the Light that has always been there with us in the darkness,
the light that reminds us that the darkness too is God’s home. As Biblical scholar John Stendahl writes, " The Holy
Spirit is there, within us and beside us. And if we cannot feel that spirit
inside of us or at our side, perhaps we can at least imagine Jesus there, not
too far away, with enough in him to sustain us, enough to make us brave."
by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine
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