Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Psalm 91:1-2,9-16; Romans 10:8b-13; Luke 4:1-13
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Today is the first Sunday of Lent and by now, most of us have already given up on whatever we gave up for Lent. I mean, after all, it is the season of giving up.
I get asked a lot what I am giving up for Lent each year and I have had a lot of different answers over the years—some have to do with setting myself up for failure like chocolate or wine. One year I gave up television and thought I was going to end up to give up my marriage as well—Steve got very frustrated with that one. Every night for six weeks, our conversation went something like:
“Hey Steve, I’m home. Where are you?”
I’m in the den. Come in here.”
“Are you watching TV?”
“Yes.”
“Then I can’t come in there.”
“What? I have to turn off the TV to be with you?”
“Yes. You know I gave it up for Lent.”
“Fine. Go somewhere else.”
“OK. I will.”
Thirty seconds later…
“Fine. I turned off the TV. Come in here. And never give up TV for Lent again!”
Every. Single. Night.
I am particularly good at giving up things within a context of very specific rules. For instance, if I give up drinking it is only inside my house, that way I can sit on the back porch and drink wine whenever I want. One year I gave up chocolate on days the didn’t end in “Y”. As a child I discovered the Lent loophole—you all know this one right? Ever Sunday is a mini-Easter—you only have to give up things from Monday thru Saturday—which means I doubled down on Sundays and over-indulged on whatever I gave up the rest of the week. I guess, in truth, I am not all that good at Lent.
I think one of the reasons I’m not very good at Lent has to do with the way I enter into Lent. Often when I am thinking about giving up something for Lent, I placed it in some ideological context that might demonstrate how well disciplined I am but rarely reflects theological growth. And that is the rub. When ideology—what we want our world to be—starts informing our theology—what we believe about God—we better watch out. In those times, we have allowed the devil to enter our wilderness and to distract us and replace God with our own wants and desires.
In the temptation story we read today, the devil shows up and starts tempting Jesus—first with food, then with power, and finally with God himself. The interesting thing is that these temptations are not about doubt or losing one’s faith but about gaining something. In that something, they are ideological in nature.
The first temptation may be about turning stone to bread, but it is the ideology of economic wealth, the reality of being fed, of satisfying one’s material desires. Jesus’ reply centers on his belief about God—how he understands theology—one does not live by bread alone. The unspoken thing is that the bread of life is God—that is where true sustenance and satisfaction can be found. To have favored the ideological narrative, Jesus may
well have said, one must eat in order to gain strength. That sounds reasonable. Instead, he recognizes that true strength can only come from God.
The second temptation is about power and glory. The devil promises to give Jesus all the kingdoms of the world. He need only bend the knee. Again, Jesus’ response is grounded in his knowledge of God, “Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.” There is a funny thing about finding these two words together in scripture—Lord and God. The word for Lord might be better understood as mercy and the word for God reflects justice. It draws together mercy and justice as the true nature of God. We might even read Jesus’ reply as, “Worship the mercy your justice and serve only a justice of mercy.” That is a theology centered in mercy, a far cry from the ideology of power and glory that most people associate with politics today.
The third temptation is about God. It is almost as if, in the devil’s desperation, he is trying to trick Jesus into allowing him to become his puppet master. “Let me tell you, the Son of God, what to do so that I can control God, and you can perform for me.” Climb up that pinnacle, jump off, and let the angels float you down to the earth. Though Jesus’ reply is about not putting God to the test, sometimes I wonder if that test might have more to do with Jesus losing his patience at such a shallow play of manipulation. You
would think the temptations would get harder, but if you are God, this must feel a bit like being goaded into something. Yet, Jesus’ warning to not put God to the test does not come with judgement. Again, it seems to be wrapped in the guise of mercy. Jesus remains rooted in what he believes about God. It is through this lens that Jesus is able to defeat the devil and his temptations, even as he is faced with the distractions of the ideological desires of the world.
We live in a world that uses the lens of ideology to inform its theology. One of the most powerful examples of that is the way that Christian Nationalism has crept into our beliefs and influenced our imaginings and understandings of God. We talk about God as conquering hero and warrior, all-powerful and all-knowing. We depend in God to be strong when we are weak—forgetting that over and over again throughout the Gospels, the story of Jesus is one who was humble and meek and mild, faithful to us, always showing up for us—a lamb led to slaughter. The story of Passover, of Easter, is not the version Judas wants to hear—one in which Jesus defeats the enemies of Jerusalem and rules with power and might giving the Israelites their rightful place in the social hierarchy of the world. That is ideology. That is what we want for the world
What God wants for the world is how Jesus demonstrates an ordered life. The temptation story of Jesus begins with his baptism—he chooses God and orders his life around what he believes about God. Almost immediately that is
disrupted—because as hard as we might try to see the world through the lens of theology—what we believe about God—our true ideologies of wealth and politics and power keep getting in the way. Ideology is threatened by theology. What we want in the world is threatened by what god wants for us. Those threats can serve as temptations; they can lead to disordered lives.
None of us is Jesus. Were we to face those same threats of the devil, we would probably be less inclined to double down on what we believe about God and, instead, try to justify our desires. Put some rules around it so that it works for us. “If I but turn one stone into bread, it would be enough to feed my children and I wouldn’t take a bite.” “I don’t need glory from all the kingdoms of the earth, I just want to fix the problems and make the world a better place.” “I have no intention of playing God, but God, if you could, I do need you to do this one thing for me.” The subtle nature of our ideologies is that they always seem to serve some greater purpose—the problem is that they don’t seem to serve God’s purposes.
Through baptism, Jesus has ordered his life around God. That is the essence of true theology—what we believe about God—that lives are ordered around God. When the devil comes calling in the wilderness of chaos—the place of disorder—and offers the distractions of ideology—what we want the world to look like—the real temptation is will we fall prey to what we want the world to look like; a human-centered world not a God centered one. Jesus is able to navigate that disorder because he has chosen an ordered life—a life based on God.
Order, disorder, and reorder—this is what Lent is really about. It is how we choose what we know about God, our theology over what we want in the world, our ideology. It is how we disrupt ourselves that we might live a God-centered life. The giving up part of Lent is about voluntarily choosing to disorder our lives so that we might examine our own ideologies and recenter on what we truly believe about God. Maybe that is by not eating chocolate or drinking wine for forty days or maybe your life has been disordered enough right now in other ways.
The year I gave up television, was one of the few years I actually maintained my discipline throughout the season—much to Steve’s chagrin. I disordered my life and Steve’s that year. The reordering of life after Lent included a lot less television. In large part because it also included an awareness that enjoying one another’s company was much more fulfilling that watching TV—a recognition of the theological value of relationships. Though I must admit, had Lent taken place during football season, I might have had to give up my marriage that year or, at the very least, make a rule that I could watch TV when Alabama was playing.
Amen