Practice Resurrection!

Easter Sunday
4/20/14
Matt 28:1-10

In the Name of the one who lived, died and rose again so that we might know forgiveness and everlasting life, our Savior, Jesus Christ.  Amen.

Welcome and Happy Easter!  Such a beautiful church and a beautiful day.  It’s quite a gift when creation reflects the glory of the resurrection we celebrate on Easter Sunday.

In Matthew’s gospel all of creation reflects the divine events taking place over these three days.  They are just too big – too important – to not send aftershocks into the earth itself.

When Jesus is dying on the cross – darkness overshadows the whole land.  When Jesus cries out and breathes his last – the curtain of the temple, the very fabric of reality, is torn in two; the earth trembles and rocks shatter.

And three days later, when the women (and just the women) courageously make their way to Christ’s tomb in the eerie first light of dawn – an earthquake rumbles the ground under their feet as lightning strikes amidst an angel’s descent.

For just as the heavens and earth were filled with the glory of God when Christ broke into the world – the heavens and earth resound with the glory of God when Christ breaks free from the bonds of death!

Earlier this week I was talking to someone at a dinner party.  She was telling me about attending an Easter service at St. Thomas’ on 5^th Avenue in New York City.  Amazing architecture – it’s enormous – world-famous boys choir.  If you like church buildings – it’s a must see.

Anyway she is there amidst the throngs, standing in her pew as this gospel is proclaimed.  And when the words – And suddenly there was a great earthquake – aloud – her heartbeat quickens as she literally feels the floor start to shake and tremble underneath her feet and she is like – What…is….happening?  And for the rest of the service she is wide-eyed with that feeling of – holy….moley – wondering – what is God trying to tell me!

Later that day while sharing this life-changing moment with someone – they casually inform her – well, I don’t think that was God exactly, because you know  – the 4, 5, and 6 subway runs directly underneath St. Thomas’ so what you thought was divine intervention was probably just the express train!

Was that a let down for her?  No.  Because, as she and I agreed - if I’m listening to holy scripture about an earthquake – and at that exact moment the earth under my feet starts shaking – I don’t care what the reason – you better believe I’m going to assign some significance to that occurrence and consider it more than just a coincidence.  That would get my attention.  The simultaneous reaction of creation is intended to do exactly that - get our attention.  

Because resurrection: the act of life conquering death; of light overcoming darkness; of love defeating hate; resurrection is the most important event of the Christian life!  The redemptive and restorative act of God which forever and eternally changed our relationship with God – and upon which our faith is built. 

Which is why it is also – the hardest act for so many to believe.  I would imagine loads of people – religious or not – would find at least some synchronicity in my friend who felt the ground shake when hearing a story about the same thing.  But ask people if they believe that Jesus Christ was raised from the dead – and many more people – Christians included – struggle to explain how we believe in something so unverifiable.  It’s beyond belief.

Why is that?  Well – I think we believe it more than we know.

Let’s change gears.  If I sing these three words – Let it go – what movie am I referring to?  Yes – “Frozen” – show of hands – who has seen it – ok if you’re worried about spoilers, they’re coming, so start tuning out - if you haven’t already.

I don’t know about you – but I loved that movie – couldn’t stop singing after I left – despite the pleas from my daughter to stop embarrassing her in the Hunt Valley parking lot.  Thanks to people like me and you – and millions more – this is the highest grossing animated movie of all time.  And like all of those types of movies there are princesses and princes – who we expect to save the day, and the girl, as they always do – with a kiss – prince to princess - of the romantic variety.

I’m not going through the whole thing – but in the end – in the climatic, culminating event when all of creation reflects the sturm und drang of the story – what happens?  As the heroine, Princess Anna struggles to stay alive, her heart literally freezing to death, she fights to make her way through the raging storm.  Trying to get to her ‘prince’ Kristoff for that kiss, that true love kiss which is supposed to save her from death.

But then she sees her sister, Elsa about to be killed by the evil villain. So what does she do? She changes course and instead of saving herself she sacrifices herself and throws herself in front of the fatal blow.  Her heart stops - it freezes.  She dies – it’s the end.

“No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (Jn 15:13)

No matter the story, the death part – the letting go part – saying goodbye – it always has to happen first.

And then we learn what “true love” really is.  It’s not the romantic kind.  True love – is sacrificial love.   Acting on behalf of another, giving of self on behalf of another – that is true love – and what does it lead to?  For Princess Anna?  Her sister?  The whole community? 

Resurrection.

The world doesn’t disbelieve resurrection.  Quite the opposite.  We are a people desperately yearning to experience resurrection – so much so – that we have cooperatively spent $1.11 billion (and counting) to watch an animated version of it – and it’s certainly not the only one.  Turn on the TV – and watch a show with Resurrection for a title!  

And yes, it is hard to believe that Jesus Christ was raised from the dead – because you’re right – there will never be a definitive “C.S.I. Jerusalem” that’s going to be able to prove it beyond a shadow of doubt – so ask yourself this – why for over 2,000 years do we keep telling – and listening to the story? 

Or better yet, ask yourself this, when has someone sacrificed for me - bringing light to my darkness – when has someone brought new life into mine?

Ask yourself, when has the ground underneath my feet given way because unexpected news changed everything – but here I am – I made it through.

When have we seen the devastation – of an earthquake, a tornado, a hurricane – and then seen the hands and feet of those who sacrifice their money and energy to get to work rebuilding?

When did I see – the towers my parents worked in crash to the ground – and then in the weeks and months that followed watched throngs of people enter the city to feed and comfort and work alongside people – just like you and me – to do what – to bring new life.

In all those situations – yours, mine, ours – Jesus was right there when the earth and hearts were torn in two.  And then just like at the empty tomb – Jesus is out there, in front – calling us to get up – go! Join with God to show that out of death comes life.

Resurrection isn’t something we believe in or not.  Resurrection is something we practice, or not.  We read the gospel, and tell lots of other stories – animated and otherwise – to remind ourselves that resurrection is real.  It’s like faith – how can you explain it? We don’t need to explain it – we need to point to it.  To see it and participate in it and tell about it.  We need to practice resurrection – that is what fully connects us with meaningful living – here and now.

You have been raised with Christ – Alleluia!  That’s what we give thanks for today. So set your minds on things from above and use your hands and your heart – to be and bring “Alleluia” into those places that need resurrection!  Jesus is out there ahead of you – don’t be afraid – practice, practice, practice – not because we’ll ever be perfect – but because it will reveal to you everything that matters – the the alpha and omega – the beginning and the end of love and joy known fully through life in God through Jesus Christ.  Amen.

- The Rev. Arianne R. Weeks

Will the real blind person please stand up?

Lent 4, Year A; John 9:1-41

The Rev. Joshua Rodriguez

Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.”

Is it just me, or does that saying of Jesus make you a little uneasy, too? All of our readings this morning are about light and darkness, about seeing and being blind. And they’ve been paired in the lectionary to lead us to ask ourselves a question this morning: Can I see? Well, can you? Now, maybe you don’t want to answer this question too soon, maybe you should take some time to really think about it, because, as Jesus tells us at the end of our Gospel reading, “I came… so that… who do see may become blind.” That makes me hesitate to answer that question: Can I see?

I know that not everyone is a baseball fan, but tomorrow is Major League Baseball’s opening day, so there was no way that baseball wasn’t going to make it into this sermon. So, if you’re not a baseball fan, please bear with me. The fact is, if the Gospels were about baseball, they wouldn’t be written from the perspective of the New York Yankees. No offense to those of you who are Yankees fans, but most fans of other teams love to hate the Yankees. The Yankees are the top dogs, the big, rich, powerful team, and the Gospel is the story about how God came and lived as a human being so that the last could be first and the first could be last. Still, the Gospel wouldn’t be written from the Orioles’ perspective either. I know that the O’s are beloved in Baltimore, and as a Rangers fan, I can certainly sympathize with loyal O’s fan, who have supported a team that had fourteen straight losing seaons. But the O’s aren’t at the bottom; they’re solidly in the middle of the pack. No, if the Gospel were about baseball, it would be written from the perspective of the Chicago Cubs, who haven’t won a World Series since 1908, whose fans are the most long-suffering of them all. The Cubs are a team who know what it is to be on the bottom, and the Gospel is the story of how God sided with the people on the bottom.

But the reason why Jesus makes me nervous in this Gospel story is that you and I aren’t Cubs fans. If we keep extending our baseball metaphor, we citizens of the most powerful nation on earth, we nice, respectable Episcopalians, we’re the Yankees. There’s a prayer practice that I love called Ignatian meditation, where you imagine yourself as part of a Bible story. And generally, I find myself picking a “good” part: one of the disciples, or someone who gets healed by Jesus. I never pick a Pharisee. But the fact is, if I’m looking for myself in this story from John’s Gospel, I’m most like the Pharisees. I’m one of the religious insiders, and I’ve got the collar around my neck to prove it. All of us gathered here this morning probably have more in common with the Pharisees than the blind man, and this story doesn’t end all that well for the Pharisees, does it? Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”

This Gospel story doesn’t sound like good news for us Pharisees at first, but it really is, I promise you. We just have to admit that we’re blind. And, luckily, our readings this morning remind us that we are. We don’t see as God sees. Jesus isn’t the king who we’d have picked out for ourselves. We’d have picked Eliab, like Samuel did. Once we get to the point of admitting that we’re blind, of admitting that we are powerless to save ourselves, the Gospel can become good news for us Pharisees, for us Yankees. Jesus can take us back to the beginning and teach us how to be Cubs fans.

There’s freedom in admitting our blindness. Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber says: “Every time we draw a line between us and others, Jesus is always on the other side of it.” Drawing lines is what Pharisees do. It’s what I do. But when I admit that I am blind, that I am incapable of drawing the lines that signify who God loves correctly, Jesus can heal my blindness by helping me draw a line that excludes no one, because no one is on the other side of God’s love: not even me.

The good news of this Gospel story is that it leads us to ask: Who is the real blind person in this story? Jesus gives each of us the answer: Me. And then he opens my eyes.

Amen.

Immediate Cravings and Eternal Desires

Lent 3, Year A

Exodus: 17:1-7; John 4

The people quarreled with Moses, and said, "Give us water to drink."  The Lord said to Moses, "Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink."

Jesus said, "Those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life."

What is the difference between craving and desire?  That is a question I hear bouncing between our excerpts from Exodus and John’s gospel. To my mind, cravings are about feeding an immediate hunger.  Literally – as in wanting a burger from Five Guys when I’m famished – and metaphorically – as in I want what I want – in my life, my job, my relationships, my prayers – when I want it which is pretty much right now.

Desire, on the other hand, is a deeper longing.  We desire meaning – peace –reconciliation.  We desire love.  Desire connects us with things eternal. 

There is water we crave when we’re thirsty.  There is living water to quench our desire for God.

As I’m sure you know, two pretty big events are chronicled in the two chapters previous to what we hear from Exodus this morning.  In chapter 14 – the people are racing for their lives in the desert, with the Pharaoh and his army in hot pursuit.  And the escaped Israelites hurl their fear at Moses - "Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, bringing us out of Egypt?”(Exodus 14:11).  To which Moses replies – do not be afraid.  Stand firm in the Lord. (14:13). 

And you know what happens – the parting of the Red Sea – walls of water on either side – and the Israelites cross on dry ground.  And when the Egyptians continue their pursuit the waves come crashing down and it says the entire army was destroyed.  See Cecil B. DeMille’s epic film, The Ten Commandments, for the classic movie version.

And then, the next big event two chapters and about two weeks later – the freed and wandering people of God are famished and again, they hurl their complaints at Moses - "If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger."  (Exodus 16:3).  To which the Lord tells Moses – tell the people I have heard their complaining and I will rain down bread from heaven (16:4ff).  Which happens and the people who gather up the manna are filled.

I remind us of this because it is on the heel of these events – instances when immediate needs were literally addressed by God – that we hear this morning, the people yet again hurl fear and complaints at their leader, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” 

Did they forget what God had done? (Just like we do?) Why do they continue to accuse Moses – and God – of trying to kill them with suffering when God has consistently responded to their cries?

Because, as I think we all know, desire is forgettable in the face of immediate cravings.  The people had been enslaved and oppressed.  They truly desired freedom and liberation.  But getting there is hard.  That scripture of Paul from Romans reads really well in advance of the journey – we know that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope – and hope does not disappoint (Rom 5:3-5a)  But when we are in the midst of the wilderness of not having answers, or life-threatening circumstance, or identity changing choices – words don’t often satisfy our cravings.  We want fixes and solutions.  We want to just get to the other side of “it” already.

We want a tangible answer in the affirmative to the ultimate question of faith – Is God with us, is God with me, or not?

Unlike the people in Exodus – the woman at the well seems to be having a pretty ordinary day – going about her chores getting some water.  (I always think of this passage when doing chores,  picturing Jesus just sitting there and waiting for me to strike up a conversation!)  It’s a long scripture passage – edited here – so read and reread it.  A lot of inferences and assumption have been made about this woman, who she is and what her problems are.  But it’s a simple story of Jesus meeting someone where they are and tapping right into their desire for God, for a connection to the eternal, for a trust in belief.

Like most of us, the woman wants literal answers to her question.  Jesus directs her attention to something more.  It’s not literal water that Jesus brings, it’s the waters of life.  It’s not about which mountain or city you worship in, it’s about a desire for God in Spirit and truth.  And through taking the time to talk with God the woman’s true desires are met and she goes and shares the good news of that conversation with the people she meets.  She pours out what she has been given to help others who struggle with that question – is God with me or not?

God knows, when we are in the midst of the more challenging circumstances – we are going to call on God just like those Israelites – but it will be about the immediate need.  And our prayers are not always answered immediately. 

God is always with us – but it does not always feel that way.  If at present, you are at a crossroads in your journey – if you are in the midst of challenging circumstances – cry out to God, hurl your fears and prayers at the Almighty.  Our faith is built on people over the ages who did likewise; who were reminded instantly or inevitably that God responds.  The Lord is full of compassion and mercy, slow to anger and of great kindness (Ps 103).

If, on the other hand, at present in your journey things are going ok, pretty well even, why not strike up more conversations with God in the midst of your ordinary chores?  Perhaps in doing so you will follow in the footsteps of people over the ages who came away from that time with God renewed.  And in turn go and share words of experience, strength, faith and hope – with other children of God longing to connect with things eternal.  And through you the question is answered in the affirmative – yes, God is with me.

We walk by faith – not by sight (2 Cor 5:7).  It is a path, a journey, a climb up the mountain and then back down, of getting from one side of the desert to the next again and again.  There is eternal life to be found in walking that road paying attention to our desires for meaning – for peace – for reconciliation – for love. And just like the people the woman shares her story with, we have to come to know and hear and see it for ourselves.  For out of love God has poured that desire into our hearts.  Amen.

The Rev. Arianne R. Weeks

"Imagining Nicodemus"

Lent 2, Year A / John 3:1-17

The Rev. Arianne R. Weeks

Church of the Good Shepherd

Jesus said, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above."  Nicodemus said to him, "How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" John 3:3-4 

Once there was a boy; he was a first-born doted upon and loved.  His family was very devout, more so than most and he slid effortlessly into the rhythms of such a faithful household.  Prayers, regular worship, singing together - all of it was in the fabric of his life from the moment he was born.

When he was in what we’d call elementary school he began his studies of the Torah.  The children didn’t read scripture of course, but would commit to memory what their teachers read aloud.  This boy had a knack for memorization.  It wasn’t that he had special tricks for doing so it was just that the words resonated with something deep within him and memorizing came easy.  The prose and the poetry struck a chord and poured forth effortlessly as if already written on his heart.

So it was clear to him and everyone else that he was destined for the religious life.  Should he become an Essene – someone who lived the life of a monastic out in the desert adhering to strict laws and purity codes?   No, that did not fit this gregarious child.  Maybe a Sadducee?  No, they were too elitist and kept their distance from the common folk.  But this boy was the common folk, and he loved being with people – he loved praying and singing together.  He loved the festivals and the solemn assemblies.

And inside, although he never shared this with anyone, he loved the feeling that washed over him when said his prayers, completed religious tasks, and recited those scripture stories.  For he did these things out of pure love and desire to bask in the presence of God and feel his loving hand.

So a Pharisee he did become.  Continuing the rich oral tradition of teaching the law of Moses that pointed towards the coming of a Messiah.  His congregation was well-known for their songs, and prayers and right ways of worship.  And as the numbers grew he was sure his approval rating in righteousness did as well.   

Now, don’t get me wrong, this priest was sincere and authentic.  But in adulthood, the simplicity and eagerness with which he engaged his religion changed.  He noticed himself critiquing those around him who made mistakes.  Who stumbled over their words in proclamation or forgot the proper postures for prayer.  His patience grew short and his temper more quickly flared.  It was hard to sit still with one person and simply listen when there was so much busyness to tend to.

Sometimes he sat in worship, his body going through the motions – but his head somewhere else entirely.  Running down the long list of appointments he had to keep.  Worrying about the new congregation down the street – they had just called a much younger rabbi (who was rumored to be a great preacher).  Or rehearsing the chastising awaiting his children who spent far too much time playing and not nearly enough memorizing sacred texts.  Didn’t they understand who their father was?

And inside, although he didn’t share this with anyone, he was finding that the seasonal observances of faith – the specific prayers on the specific days – the solemn assemblies and days of fasting – were all beginning to feel like a matter of course – year in and year out, giving up this and taking on that – what was the point?  The fervor he had as a child was gone.  The practices felt as religiously exciting as other daily duties – like brushing his teeth. 

You see, what had once been a pure desire to simply bask in the holy light and loving hand of God had gotten confused with a faith that was supposed to earn its righteousness, through accomplishments and achievements, far too often based on needless comparisons with those around him.  He had grown blind to the words of blessing that were still written on his heart.  His vision now clouded by the benchmarks of the world.

One afternoon the rabbi went to visit with a widow.  She had three sons and so was well-provided for.  In fact the weekend past, she had accompanied one son and his family to a wedding.  It had been quite the party she shared with the rabbi (he probably would have disapproved – far too much cavorting).  And the strangest thing had happened.  One of the reasons the party was such fun was that the wine was really flowing – but – the host had underestimated the tolerance of his guests – and they ran out.

At the widow’s table, she said, there was a rabbi.  And when the servants mentioned to him that there was only water left in the jugs – he told them to go back and take a second look.  And apparently, they had been wrong the first time.  For all the jugs were filled with wine – and not just any wine – but the good stuff.  The kind you’re supposed to serve at the beginning before everyone is drunk.  The rabbi at her table didn’t explain anything about it – but the men who were sitting around him wouldn’t stop talking about it and said this was a sign - of glory to come.

Our rabbi told his parishioner that this seemed to him a rather silly story; but, inside, something struck a chord.

And in the coming days the stories of this other rabbi kept popping up. In pastoral visits, when with his colleagues, even his wife mentioned something.   So finally, the rabbi decided he needed to meet this guy for himself.  What could it hurt?

Well, it might hurt he thought, if someone saw the rabbi of the largest congregation meeting with an itinerant teacher with just a few followers.  So, he went out at night, on the sly – hoping the darkness might keep his actions from even God’s eyes.

He met with the teacher and just talked.  And for our rabbi, the conversation was strange.  He tried at first to compliment the teacher, hoping to get his approval, but that didn’t seem to work.  So he asked what he thought was a straightforward question, but failed to get a straightforward – let alone what he thought was the right answer.

Now maybe it was because it was late and he was tired.  Or maybe it was because he was so tired of what his faith had become – our rabbi decided he would be open to the words of this teacher.  The strange phrases and metaphors didn’t make sense but he wasn’t going to dismiss them outright.  

For in between there were words he did understand.  God loves.  God gives.  God saves.  And as he walked home mulling over sacred conversation, repeating those words over and over – God loves.  God gives.  God saves – his sight began to clear.  And forgotten words of belovededness poured into and out of his heart.

From that night on, the rabbi changed his strict observances.  He decided to fast from worrying about the perfection of his practices; and feast on spending more time with his children.  He fasted from words of criticism and critique and feasted on speaking words of gratitude.  He fasted from always comparing himself to others and feasted on thanking God for the gifts he had been given to share. 

The rabbi took a lifelong fast from worrying about what each day would bring and feasted on starting each day anew – wondering how God through him might share holy blessings. 

Indeed, having regained the vision he had as a child our rabbi felt born again.  Once more seeing the world as if it was already God’s kingdom – filled with the divine light and touched and held in the hand of the Almighty.  Amen.

Identity Crisis

The First Sunday of Lent, Year A

Matthew 4:1-11

The Rev. Joshua Rodriguez

“After Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River, God led him to the desert. Jesus was all alone without any food for 40 days. He prayed to God for help, but it was still really hard to be in the wilderness.”[1]

That’s how my favorite children’s Bible begins its version of our reading from Matthew’s Gospel. I love that line: “it was still really hard to be in the wilderness.” That’s this story in a nutshell, isn’t it? And when I think about it from that perspective, it makes sense why we always hear this story on the First Sunday of Lent, when we’re at the beginning of our own forty day journey in the wilderness, at least metaphorically. It’s a reminder that, while things are probably fine right now, and whatever discipline we’ve taken on for Lent seems easy, it’s not going to stay that way. A couple weeks from now, that won’t be the case. I’m going to be looking for excuses to set my discipline aside. I need that reminder that things will get tough.

The fact is, we all go through wilderness periods in our life, and not just in Lent. There are going to be times when our spiritual life feels dry like a desert, when it feels like God doesn’t hear our prayers, and when the Tempter sidles up to us and whispers in our ear, “If…”

Did you notice that? The Tempter speaks to Jesus in conditional statements, and only in conditional statements. A lot can hang on an if. “If you love me…” “If you cared…” “If you were a good son or daughter…” “If you were more like your sister or brother…” “If… if… if…” Ifs hurt. I think that’s why the Tempter is so fond of them. Ifs chip away at our very sense of self, of who we are. And it’s easy to start to let them infect our thoughts, isn’t it? “If I were a loving spouse…” “If I were a good son…” “If I were smarter… prettier… stronger… thinner… taller… better…” “If… if… if…”

I think it can be easy to get caught up in how fantastic this story sounds, and miss the point. It’s easy for me to say, “I haven’t had this sort of mystical experience of temptation, so this can’t possibly to have anything to do with my life.” I think the Devil has a lot to do with that. When we hear that word, it’s hard not to think of some grotesque supernatural figure wielding a pitchfork, like we have in our stained glass window by the Smith Room. We like this idea of the Devil as a personification of evil. That’s easy to deal with; easy to dismiss. But I don’t think that’s what Matthew had in mind. Matthew, before he became one of Jesus’ disciples, had spent his life seeking God according to the promises and commands of the Hebrew Bible, and the Hebrew Bible doesn’t present the devil as some sort of evil supernatural being. In fact, the Greek words that Matthew picks to describe the devil are actually really impersonal. He’s “the Tempter” or “the Accuser.” And in the Hebrew Bible, the Accuser is just that: an angel whose job was to accuse human beings of wrong doing in the divine court, sort of like a heavenly DA. The Hebrew word for accuser, “Satan,” is a title, not a person.

The devil, the Accuser, in this story isn’t some pitch-fork wielding Prince of Darkness, he's that nagging whisper in the back of Jesus’ mind, the one that tells him that God couldn’t possibly love a human being like him. And while I’ve never had some sort of mystical experience where the Accuser took me up to a very high mountain, I have heard that whisper of doubt. Have you? Have you lain awake at night wondering, how can I possibly be good enough? Have you had someone tell you that you’ll never amount to anything, never make the team, never understand algebra, never get into a good college? That is the whisper of the Accuser, and that is what Jesus heard in the wilderness.

This story isn’t about the devil; it's about Jesus having an identity crisis. Each of these three temptations that Jesus faces directly relates to an expectation that the people of God had about what sort of person God’s messiah would be. Some people thought that the messiah would be a new Moses, providing bread for hungry people, just like Moses asked God for manna in the wilderness. Some people thought that the messiah would appear in the Temple, reforming the sacred worship of the Lord God of Israel, and correcting what they perceived as corrupt practices. Some people thought that the messiah would reestablish the kingdom of Israel, overthrowing the brutal and oppressive Roman Empire, and reestablishing the Kingdom of David. People prayed desperately for these things, none of which was, necessarily, bad. And so, the Accuser slipped up behind Jesus and whispered, “If you are the Son of God… be who the people want you to be.”

That’s the sort of doubt that keeps me up at night. “If God really loves you, then why doesn’t everything work out all right? Maybe God doesn’t really love you. Maybe God wouldn’t love a failure like you. Maybe God couldn’t love a failure like you.” Have you ever been there? Did you catch how our reading began this morning? “After Jesus was baptized…” Immediately after, in fact. After Jesus saw the heavens opened and the Holy Spirit descending as a dove and heard a voice from heaven saying, “This is my son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” After all this, Jesus still has doubts. He still has fears. But he doesn’t listen to them. He doesn’t let them rule his life. And he doesn’t let them rule our lives either. Each of us, at our baptism, received the same assurance of God’s love for us. In that moment, God declared each of us God’s beloved child, something that we were before we went into those waters, but now we had that identity confirmed. The answer to those doubts that our Accuser whispers to each of us is Jesus’ answer: “I am God’s beloved child. Away with you!” It’s still very hard, at times, to be in the wilderness,

but, in those moments of crisis, Jesus gives us the grace to claim our identity as God’s beloved child, assuring us, that whatever dark night of the soul we might go through, God will never leave us or forsake us, God will never take back that declaration God made at our baptism: “You are my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.” Amen.

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[1] Spark Story Bible (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2009), 248.