The Beloved People of God

Lent 1, Year A – 5 March 2017

Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Grand Prairie, Texas

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And thus begins the season of Lent!

Every year, we begin Lent with the story of Jesus being tempted by the devil in the wilderness. It is, therefore, tempting for us to distill this story down to a very simple meaning: that Jesus is tempted in the wilderness as we are during the season of Lent, and he resisted his temptations, and so we should, too.

But this story is about much more than Jesus being tempted in the wilderness by the devil. At its heart, this story is about Jesus and his identity as the Son of God. Making this story only about the temptations that Jesus faces is an over-simplification of what is really happening in this story.

In the chapter before this one – so, in Matthew 3 – Jesus is baptized in the Jordan by John.  He comes up out of his baptismal waters, and the heavens open, and God’s voice from heaven proclaims, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

Cut to the next scene, and Jesus is led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. So these heavenly words are still ringing in his ears as he goes out to the wilderness to be tempted. In the Bible, the wilderness is often a place of struggle, so notice how the devil begins his temptations, by going to the very core of Jesus’ identity: “If you are the Son of God…” the devil begins.

Now, I don’t know about you, but in my mind’s eye, whenever I’ve pictured this story, I’ve always pictured Jesus, in his weakened state – weakened by his fasting – softly pushing back the devil with his answers.

But this year, reading this story again, I realize that Jesus actually speaks from a place of tremendous strength and surety. He is certain of his identity as the Son of God, and so he leaves no room for the devil to work. He is certain of his identity as the Son of God, and so he – from a place of strength – is able, finally, to tell the devil to get lost. As commentator and seminary president David Lose says, Jesus is fully aware of who he is, and whose he is.

One of the more popular stories about the reformer Martin Luther is about his time at Wartburg Castle. Luther had just stood up to the church authorities in protest, refusing to recant his writings (which had been declared heresy by those authorities). He became a fugitive, kept safe by Prince Frederick III, who had him whisked away to Wartburg Castle.

During this time of isolation, Luther got to work. He translated the New Testament from Greek into German at a time when finding the Bible in the vernacular language was impossible. He cranked out more and more writing about Scripture and reforms needed in the Church. As the story goes, one night, the devil woke him up, and Luther took an inkwell and hurtled it square at the devil’s head.

Even this old tombstone reminds us whose we are.

Martin Luther also knew with certainty who he was and whose he was.

Every Sunday and every Wednesday, I lift up the bread and wine during the invitation to Communion and I look at you and I say, “These are the gifts of God for you, who are the beloved people of God.” I don’t say these words merely as a point of transition during the liturgy. I say these words each week to you – and to myself –as a constant reminder of who we are and whose we are.

For we live in a wilderness – a place of struggle. We are tempted every day – maybe not to turn stones into bread – but we are tempted to believe lies about ourselves. For instance, think about advertising and how it is, by its very nature, designed to make us feel inadequate if we don’t have the latest phone or the fanciest car. Or think about society’s lies that we are inferior to someone else – or less loved by God - because of our skin color, or gender, or sexual orientation, or (most recently) our political beliefs.

Pretty soon, we find ourselves tempted to believe lies not only about ourselves, but about others, too. And if we are willing to believe lies about others, it becomes more difficult to love them as we love ourselves. Then, we can ignore their human need – and ignore their humanity, even.

These lies about ourselves and about others – they are a slippery slope.

Remembering who we are and whose we are helps us escape that slippery slope. My favorite New Testament book, Romans, reminds us in chapter 5 that while we were sinners, Christ died for us. And then in chapter 6, Paul goes on to say that in our baptisms, we are buried with Christ in his death and we are raised with Christ in his resurrection. We have Christ – we have the life of Christ – and that is more than enough. If we are certain of this – if we are certain that we are the beloved people of God – then we, too, can tell the devil - and all those lies - to get lost.

Consider these words, written by Pope Francis in his message for Lent this year:

“Dear friends, Lent is the favorable season for renewing our encounter with Christ, living in his word, in the sacraments and in our neighbor. The Lord, who overcame the deceptions of the Tempter during the forty days in the desert, shows us the path we must take. May the Holy Spirit lead us on a true journey of conversion, so that we can rediscover the gift of God’s word, be purified of the sin that blinds us, and serve Christ present in our brothers and sisters in need…Let us pray for one another so that, by sharing in the victory of Christ, we may open our doors to the weak and poor. Then we will be able to experience and share to the full the joy of Easter.”

In remembering who we are and whose we are, let us all renew our encounters with Christ this Lent, so that we can better follow Christ as his disciples.

Amen.

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