Sermon on Luke 4:1-13

Pastor Jennifer Garcia

The Executive Skills for Church Leaders conference I attended in January took place at Spirit in the Desert retreat center outside Phoenix, Arizona. One of our leaders, Desta Goehner, pointed out the minimalism of the desert landscape.

Granted, it was a highly curated desert landscape with a labyrinth and walking paths and sculptures, but we were still warned of the wildlife we could encounter, and I still wouldn’t want to get too up close and personal with the spines of those cacti.

The idea of the minimalism of the desert got me thinking about what we encounter when we strip away the excess.

What remains when we’re away from the distractions of various media, the responsibilities of daily life, the routine that keeps us moving forward without having to ponder what’s next?

There was a psychological study about ten years ago where participants were left alone for 15 minutes with a button they could shock themselves with if they chose. Even though all the participants had said they would pay money not to be shocked, over the course of the 15 minutes, 67% of men and 25% of women chose to shock themselves at least once.

It seems that we’re pretty uncomfortable sitting with our own thoughts to the point where physical pain is sometimes preferable (though in my own unqualified opinion, I wonder if human curiosity might be to blame for some of the shocks).

But we all have the anecdotal evidence of seeing many people, myself included, pulling out their phones in the grocery store line, listening to music or podcasts while running errands, and a lot of other methods to prevent silent down time with our thoughts.

The minimalism of the desert or the minimalism of a metaphorical wilderness can be uncomfortable, even painful.

We can experience a metaphorical wilderness when we’re alone with our thoughts, which may be why we try so hard to avoid that.

We can also be thrown into a metaphorical wilderness by life circumstances: a change in our health, the ending of a relationship, a shift in our work, finances, friendships, or living situation.

Suddenly what was normal is taken away and we have to reckon with difficult emotions like grief, anger, shame, or fear or a mixture of any number of them.

We all go through wilderness times in our lives—sometimes by circumstances beyond our control, sometimes on purpose because we want time and space to ponder apart from distractions.

Lent can be a season for intentional wilderness time. We can use Lenten disciplines to help us reflect—to give up distractions or take on a practice of contemplation.

Whether you’re in a wilderness time right now on purpose or by circumstance, Jesus has been there.

Before our story today, Jesus had just been baptized and was grounded in his identity as God’s Beloved.

But then he was led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit’s prompting. Far from a conference at a manicured desert retreat center, his stay in the wilderness was one of deprivation and hunger.

We see examples of him going away to pray, sometimes with his disciples and sometimes alone. But this was the longest wilderness time.

After 40 days of no food, he was faced with the temptations that tend to cause us humans to compromise our values and allegiances. We tend to cave for our basic needs, for power, and for our reputation.

But Jesus turned control back over to God each time he quoted scripture to the tempter. He brought everything back to the Law, which asks God’s people to trust God above all else.

Jesus trusted God to provide for his needs. Jesus trusted God that he would be given the power he needed to accomplish his mission instead of seeking glory for himself. And Jesus trusted his identity as Beloved and didn’t need to prove it to himself or anyone else by testing God’s love for him.

He rejected self-sufficiency and worldly power in favor of depending on God and building an interdependent Beloved Community from the ground up.

He faced what we face. He endured his wilderness. He knows what it’s like to hunger and to want things and to want to fix things by one’s own power.

We won’t always make the right choices when it comes to these things. That’s why we need Jesus.

But when that happens, he doesn’t look at us with disappointment or condemnation. Instead, he pulls us in, lets us rest our head on his shoulder, and says, “I understand. I know it’s hard. I’ve been there. I love you anyway, just as you are. We’re going to get through this together.”

No matter what wilderness we journey through—whether the season of Lent, an intentional practice of reflection, or life circumstances we would rather trade in, thank you very much—Jesus is right next to you through all of it. He knows what you’re going through and will never leave you.

There was a pop song by Rachel Platten that came out a number of years ago called “Stand by You,” and even though it’s not a religious song, it always makes me think of Jesus staying with us in the worst circumstances of our lives and offering us strength. Here are a few of the lyrics:

“Hands put your empty hands in mine
And scars show me all the scars you hide
And hey, if your wings are broken
Please take mine 'til yours can open too
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you

'Cause I'm gonna stand by you
Even if we're breaking down
We can find a way to break through
Even if we can't find heaven
I'll walk through hell with you
Love, you're not alone
'Cause I'm gonna stand by you”

Jesus had literal and figurative wildernesses throughout his life. He knows what it’s like. He’s not scared away by anything we experience.

He’ll walk through hell with you, and we can stand with each other through every wilderness of this life.

Love, you’re not alone. We’re going to stand by you.