Sunday, March 9, 2025 – Lent I
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 4:1-13
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’” Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
Very early in my ministry, I had the chance to spend a month in the Holy Land. But I wasn’t sure if I could afford it, or if the church would give me an extra week of vacation. When I mentioned my hesitation to my boss, the Rev. George Bailey, he was incredulous. “James P.,” he said. “You have to go! It will set the course of your whole ministry.” And true to form, George was right.
Going to the Holy Land was a transformative experience. I walked the Via Dolorosa where tradition says that Jesus carried his cross. I sailed on the Sea of Galilee. I visited the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem and the Church of Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. I prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and climbed the Mount of Olives and floated on the saline Dead Sea and dipped my hands into the River Jordan.
But the most dramatic site that I visited was also the most foreboding. One day we boarded an air-conditioned tour bus and headed out to the Wilderness; that place where Jesus fasted and prayed for forty days and forty nights. I don’t know what I expected to experience that day, but nothing could have prepared me for what I got.
The bus climbed higher and higher into the mountains and eventually pulled over to the side of the road. I remember that the winds were very strong that day and that it was about 110 degrees. Our tour guide told us that it might be best to stay inside the bus and take our photos from there. But I was 26 and I hadn’t traveled 6000 miles not to step foot on that storied landscape.
I was outside the bus for all of about sixty seconds before I was forced back inside. You see, the sun was far more brutal than I imagined, and the air was hard to breathe, and the winds were full of grit and sand. I did take some photos that day, but they were all snapped with my eyes closed, for fear of the sandblast that pummeled me.
It was an awful place – not fit for humans or beasts. And yet it was here, where Jesus was tested and tempted by the devil.
I was lucky to see that place for myself. But it isn’t necessary for you to actually go there in order to understand the setting. Because the Wilderness is a metaphor for all the hostile and barren places of our lives, where it’s hard to breath and impossible to see what lies before us. And that makes the Wilderness a universal human experience.
The story of Jesus in the Wilderness is always read on the First Sunday in Lent. And in the details of this story, we find the rationale for some of our Lenten traditions. For example, Jesus was in the desert for forty days and forty nights, and so Lent is forty days long - not including Sundays, which are always feast days for Christians.
And because Jesus fasted and prayed as he sought to draw closer to God and understand his call, some of us, seeking to draw closer to God and to understand how we are to live in this world, also fast and pray. Or perhaps we take on some other spiritual discipline during Lent.
But without meaning to, our Lenten observances have become rather tame. Coming to church more often or giving up chocolate until Easter rather domesticates an experience that was anything but. Because Jesus’s time in the Wilderness was nothing less than one human’s struggle against the forces of evil.
And in this story, and many others in the Bible, that evil has a name: the devil, Satan, Lucifer. It’s right there in our holy book, yet it is not a subject often raised in churches like ours. It can seem rather primitive to even mention such a being. And yet, the Gospel writers all gives credence to the idea that evil is personified; that it is organized, intelligent, crafty, and malevolent.
Now don’t get distracted by some notion of a little red man with horns and a pitchfork. That’s far too easy to dismiss as nonsense. Instead, if you want to see evil that is organized, intelligent, crafty, and malevolent, just take a good, long look at the state of the world. Look at how people are abused and mistreated and lied to and manipulated and disdained. Look at how “the powers that be” try to convince us that what we see is not really what we see; that up is down, and white is black, and 2+2 = whatever they say it is.
So, I do believe that evil is a force in the world. And I do believe that it is out to do us harm. But this evil, whatever name we give it, does not just influence people. Evil can influence churches, and institutions, and governments, and movements. As Saint Paul wrote in his letter to the church at Ephesus: “For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.[1]
So, that’s what Jesus was up against: evil. And it was not just some accident. Instead, Luke tells us that the Spirit led Jesus to that place and to that confrontation. Which make me wonder: does the Spirit do the same to me, to you? Does the Spirit take us to those places we would rather not go; to those confrontations against cruelty and hatred that we would rather not have?
I suspect so. And that’s a very stark thought. But even in that idea, there is grace. Lots and lots of grace. And this is why I say that.
You see, the Spirit might have led Jesus into that wilderness. But the Spirit didn’t just drop him off there. The Spirit stayed with him in those moments of trial, in the howling winds and hunger pangs and longings to be anywhere else; in the temptations for power and fame and success at all costs – the Spirit was there, turning that foreboding place into a classroom; taking that desert and making it bloom with the possibility of transformation.
The great preacher Barbara Brown Taylor talks about God’s presence in the wilderness like this: “even if no one wants to go there, and even if those of us who end up there want out again as soon as possible, the wilderness is still one of the most reality-based, spirit-filled, life-changing places a person can be.”
Lutheran theologian John Stendhal put it another way: “… the desert is not God-forsaken nor does it belong to the devil. It is God’s home. (Because) The Holy Spirit is there, within us and beside us. And if we cannot feel the 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.”
The wilderness teaches us the most important lesson that we can ever learn. And it’s simply this: there is no place that God is not. There is no moment so bleak that it is devoid of hope. Even when evil rages, it will not ultimately triumph. Love wins, every time. And the wilderness, while harsh, will not kill us. In fact, it might even heal us. And it will most certainly make us more like the One who walked this way before us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] Ephesians 6:2
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 4:1-13
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’” Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
Very early in my ministry, I had the chance to spend a month in the Holy Land. But I wasn’t sure if I could afford it, or if the church would give me an extra week of vacation. When I mentioned my hesitation to my boss, the Rev. George Bailey, he was incredulous. “James P.,” he said. “You have to go! It will set the course of your whole ministry.” And true to form, George was right.
Going to the Holy Land was a transformative experience. I walked the Via Dolorosa where tradition says that Jesus carried his cross. I sailed on the Sea of Galilee. I visited the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem and the Church of Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. I prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane and climbed the Mount of Olives and floated on the saline Dead Sea and dipped my hands into the River Jordan.
But the most dramatic site that I visited was also the most foreboding. One day we boarded an air-conditioned tour bus and headed out to the Wilderness; that place where Jesus fasted and prayed for forty days and forty nights. I don’t know what I expected to experience that day, but nothing could have prepared me for what I got.
The bus climbed higher and higher into the mountains and eventually pulled over to the side of the road. I remember that the winds were very strong that day and that it was about 110 degrees. Our tour guide told us that it might be best to stay inside the bus and take our photos from there. But I was 26 and I hadn’t traveled 6000 miles not to step foot on that storied landscape.
I was outside the bus for all of about sixty seconds before I was forced back inside. You see, the sun was far more brutal than I imagined, and the air was hard to breathe, and the winds were full of grit and sand. I did take some photos that day, but they were all snapped with my eyes closed, for fear of the sandblast that pummeled me.
It was an awful place – not fit for humans or beasts. And yet it was here, where Jesus was tested and tempted by the devil.
I was lucky to see that place for myself. But it isn’t necessary for you to actually go there in order to understand the setting. Because the Wilderness is a metaphor for all the hostile and barren places of our lives, where it’s hard to breath and impossible to see what lies before us. And that makes the Wilderness a universal human experience.
The story of Jesus in the Wilderness is always read on the First Sunday in Lent. And in the details of this story, we find the rationale for some of our Lenten traditions. For example, Jesus was in the desert for forty days and forty nights, and so Lent is forty days long - not including Sundays, which are always feast days for Christians.
And because Jesus fasted and prayed as he sought to draw closer to God and understand his call, some of us, seeking to draw closer to God and to understand how we are to live in this world, also fast and pray. Or perhaps we take on some other spiritual discipline during Lent.
But without meaning to, our Lenten observances have become rather tame. Coming to church more often or giving up chocolate until Easter rather domesticates an experience that was anything but. Because Jesus’s time in the Wilderness was nothing less than one human’s struggle against the forces of evil.
And in this story, and many others in the Bible, that evil has a name: the devil, Satan, Lucifer. It’s right there in our holy book, yet it is not a subject often raised in churches like ours. It can seem rather primitive to even mention such a being. And yet, the Gospel writers all gives credence to the idea that evil is personified; that it is organized, intelligent, crafty, and malevolent.
Now don’t get distracted by some notion of a little red man with horns and a pitchfork. That’s far too easy to dismiss as nonsense. Instead, if you want to see evil that is organized, intelligent, crafty, and malevolent, just take a good, long look at the state of the world. Look at how people are abused and mistreated and lied to and manipulated and disdained. Look at how “the powers that be” try to convince us that what we see is not really what we see; that up is down, and white is black, and 2+2 = whatever they say it is.
So, I do believe that evil is a force in the world. And I do believe that it is out to do us harm. But this evil, whatever name we give it, does not just influence people. Evil can influence churches, and institutions, and governments, and movements. As Saint Paul wrote in his letter to the church at Ephesus: “For our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.[1]
So, that’s what Jesus was up against: evil. And it was not just some accident. Instead, Luke tells us that the Spirit led Jesus to that place and to that confrontation. Which make me wonder: does the Spirit do the same to me, to you? Does the Spirit take us to those places we would rather not go; to those confrontations against cruelty and hatred that we would rather not have?
I suspect so. And that’s a very stark thought. But even in that idea, there is grace. Lots and lots of grace. And this is why I say that.
You see, the Spirit might have led Jesus into that wilderness. But the Spirit didn’t just drop him off there. The Spirit stayed with him in those moments of trial, in the howling winds and hunger pangs and longings to be anywhere else; in the temptations for power and fame and success at all costs – the Spirit was there, turning that foreboding place into a classroom; taking that desert and making it bloom with the possibility of transformation.
The great preacher Barbara Brown Taylor talks about God’s presence in the wilderness like this: “even if no one wants to go there, and even if those of us who end up there want out again as soon as possible, the wilderness is still one of the most reality-based, spirit-filled, life-changing places a person can be.”
Lutheran theologian John Stendhal put it another way: “… the desert is not God-forsaken nor does it belong to the devil. It is God’s home. (Because) The Holy Spirit is there, within us and beside us. And if we cannot feel the 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.”
The wilderness teaches us the most important lesson that we can ever learn. And it’s simply this: there is no place that God is not. There is no moment so bleak that it is devoid of hope. Even when evil rages, it will not ultimately triumph. Love wins, every time. And the wilderness, while harsh, will not kill us. In fact, it might even heal us. And it will most certainly make us more like the One who walked this way before us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] Ephesians 6:2
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