Undeterred and headstrong?

     Okay, I know the picture of Edward (Robert Pattinson) is a little cheesy, but have you seen a much more determined face?  This is the face of a man who wants something, who knows what he needs to do to get it, and who plans on carrying it out so that in the end he will win.
     In Sunday's gospel lesson from Luke 13, we get the description of a a similarly determined, undeterred, and headstrong Jesus.  It seems that nothing can stop him now that he is on his final mission, even if he must die in order to accomplish it.  At this point in Luke's gospel, we are right in the middle of Jesus' journey to Jerusalem.  He has already foretold his death, he has discussed his journey and his mission with the great prophets of old Moses and Elijah.  He has done his pre-game warm up and is now in the zone.  Nothing can stop him now.  Jesus knows the ultimate mission: to reconcile God with God's beloved creation.  It is what he was sent to do, it is only he who can do it.
     And when he is confronted by yet another temptation, to flee from danger, Jesus doesn't react with annoyance, frustration, or distraction but instead reacts with sorrow.

Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!

How badly Jesus wants to reconcile all of this hurting and broken world to its intended state.  How desperately Jesus yearns for all people to know love, forgiveness, and intimate relationship with their God.  How fervently Jesus works to make sure that this will happen.
    And yet how badly we want Jesus to not go to Jerusalem and suffer everything that entails.  We want reconciliation to come easily and smoothly.  We want love, forgiveness, and intimate relationship with God to come at the easy price of going to church on Sunday and attending Lenten services.  Unknowingly, we, too, work undeterred and headstrong against everything that Jesus does for us.
     I am left pondering the question: how often has Jesus desired to gather me up as a hen gathers her brood?  How often have I worked tirelessly against what Jesus wants, rejecting his great love for me?  What about you?  Have you worked undeterred and headstrong to reject Jesus' loving arms?  Have you been undeterred and headstrong in your will to do it yourself?  Go it alone?
     Mostly, however, I am left pondering what life would be like if instead of rejecting and going against God, I surrendered and moved undeterred and headstrong into the loving embrace of Jesus, who desires to gather me up as a hen gathers her brood? 

Wilderness as temptation?

     It's not yet Lent, but beginning tomorrow we enter the 40-day journey toward the cross, death, and at the very end, resurrection.  Starting with the mark of ashes on our head, we enter the time in our liturgical seasons that centers on penitence, repentance, and discipline.  Now, these words may all sound scary - and indeed they are churchy - but in the words of Jesus, "fear not."
     Historically Lent has been a somber time in the church year, marked by the celebration of Mardis Gras, or Phat Tuesday, where people have all the fun they can, eat all they want, and purge themselves of the desire for anything good so that for 40 days they can deprive themselves of something, focusing on how much of a sinner they are, how much they don't deserve God's love poured out in Jesus, and how they can better live in the Holy Spirit so their lives are evidence of Christ.
     And maybe this isn't a bad practice.  After all, our reading for Sunday (as is always the first Sunday in Lent) is about Jesus' time in the wilderness.  This year is Luke's version, taken from Luke 4.1-13.  As I have been reading and studying this text, and talking about it with others, we began to see this wilderness story in a different light.  Traditionally I have heard sermons on this text talk about the wilderness as a metaphorical place where we dwell in times of loss, anxiety, sadness, depression, etc., and this is most certainly a great way to read the text.  But this time, we focused on the first two verses where it says:

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. 

Frankie's 1st birthday cake - yummy!

The rest of the text focuses on the three temptations laid out by the devil - to turn rocks into bread, to worship him and get all the kingdoms of the earth, and to throw himself down from the temple mount.  But the first two verses say so much in so very few words.   Jesus wasn't just wandering around the the wilderness that whole time, gazing at his navel and wondering what was God's plan for his life.  He was in the wilderness being tempted.  For 40 days.  And then after the 40 days of facing temptation come the final three, on which the text focuses.
     What was the devil doing to tempt Jesus that whole time?  I wonder because I face temptation all the time.  Sometimes I am tempted in small things - to take that extra cookie when I know I shouldn't.  To speed down the interstate to get where I'm going a whole 2 minutes earlier.  To cut a corner or take a shortcut when the long way around would be better.  And sometimes I'm tempted in big things - to think I'm always right and act accordingly.  To disrespect and think badly of those closest to me.  To think that I have control in all situations.
     Whether the temptation is big or small, they all have one thing in common: me.  They are all about what I think, what I want, what I need.  Me, me, me.  So this week, and in fact this whole Lenten season, I invite you to ponder the mystery of wilderness - not as a place of our soul in tough times, but as a place of temptation.  This can turn even our most sacred spaces into a wilderness opportunity, one where the devil might just come and whisper in our ear, tempting us, enticing us, swaying us.  Yet God has not abandoned us in our wilderness.  No, just as Jesus was full of the Holy Spirit, we too, are filled with God's Spirit.  That Spirit who descended upon us in baptism, who guides us through life, who whispers in our hearts that God loves us, is the same Spirit who gives us strength to withstand the devil and all his temptations. 
     This leaves me pondering, how is the devil tempting you?  How is the Spirit leading and guiding you in life?  How is wilderness a place of temptation?

Where is glory?

     This week I am blessed to be at a Stephen Leader Training Course, one of the first steps in getting the Stephen Ministry program started at our congregation.  The congregation sent me along with one other key leader, and together we will learn what it means to be Stephen Leaders and how to train Stephen Ministers so that Christ's ministry through our congregation can reach even more people in a personal and compassionate way.
     That said, we are learning about how to be compassionate, how to listen and be fully present in the midst of suffering and hurt, and how to best be Christ's presence to those in need.  So reading Sunday's gospel lesson is a little funny.  It starts out well enough, Luke 9.28-36 talks about the scene of Jesus' transfiguration.  Jesus has gone away to pray - he has performed miracle, taught, and people constantly want more and more from him.  And he needs space.  He needs to get away and he needs to get re-centered on what his purpose is, and how he is going to accomplish that purpose.  So as he is praying, and as his disciples are fighting sleep, Moses and Elijah appear and have a little chat with Jesus about his journey to the cross, starting the moment he leaves the mountain.  Peter babbles something about making homes so that they can just stay where they are - nice and neat, shining and basking in Jesus' glory.  And then the cloud comes and overshadows them.  For the early listeners, their minds would have gone straight to the time when Moses himself was on the mountain and God came to talk with him, to give him instruction and the law (and in fact it's the same word used here and in the Greek translation of Exodus.  The voice comes, reaffirms that Jesus is, in fact, God's son, and that the disciples needed to listen to him.
     This is all great and good.  Lovely and fine.  But there is a second portion to our gospel text this week, found in the very next verses: Luke 9.37-43. In this portion of the text, Jesus is confronted by a father who desperately wants his son to be well. He is possessed by a spirit that dashes him to the ground and causes the boy to convulse and foam at the mouth. The man has asked Jesus' disciples to heal him, but to no avail.  They are unable.  So, the man goes to the best of the best.
     You see, prior to Jesus' transfiguration he has fed 5,000 people with 5 loaves and 2 fish.  He has brought a girl back to life and healed a woman everyone counted as lost.  Everyone wants a piece of Jesus' glory, and the man just wants his son to be well.  Now, in my training this week, we would talk about how to listen to the man, how to be with him and show empathy and compassion, how to pray, and how to be Christ's presence.  Except Jesus takes all that training and throws it out the window.  Instead of having compassion, instead of seeing a father in need, hurting because his son hurts, instead of seeing a broken person in need of healing, Jesus sees just another glory hunter and responds in kind:

 

You faithless and perverse generation.

How much longer must I be with you and bear with you?

Bring your son here.

 

     This is not what our Stephen Ministry calls 'compassionate caregiving.'  This is a rant taken out on a man who was just asking for is son to be healed.  Maybe Jesus is just a little on edge because he knows what is coming (the cross) and he just wants to get it over with.  Maybe Jesus is just really tired because after a night of praying he didn't get much sleep.  Or maybe it's just that he is so frustrated that people don't get it.  They think he is there to save them - give them food when they're hungry, bring their dead back to life, heal people with spirits and other illnesses - they think he is the miracle-worker, genie-in-a-bottle, savior.

     Except that's not who he is at all.  Notice God's voice didn't say, "You are my Son, the healer."  God's voice didn't say, "You are my Son, the military commander."  God said, "You are my Son, the chosen."  Jesus' glory wasn't in the healing, and it wasn't in the miracles.  Jesus' glory wasn't in the visit from Moses and Elijah, and it wasn't in the majesty of becoming dazzling white.  Jesus' glory was in the cross.  And people just didn't get it.

     Unfortunately, I am people.  I don't get it.  I always say how great God is when amazing things happen - when people's cancer suddenly goes away, when someone walks away from a car accident when by all means they shouldn't have, when someone's broken life becomes whole and healed.  Except, according to Jesus, that's not where his glory is.  His glory is in the cross, in the suffering itself.  This leaves me pondering this week: where do I find glory?