Don't Give In
Sermon
Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!
Cycle A Gospel Sermons For Lent And Easter
A colleague in ministry, nearing retirement, said something startling to me. Upon looking at his time in ministry coming to an end he shared he wanted a complete break from anything church related. He stated, “After all, I’ve been preaching the lectionary for 35 years, there really isn’t anything new left to say.” His attitude was light years in another direction from mine, even though I have served more years in ministry than him.
For me, the beauty and elegance of scripture is that it allows any of us the chance to enter into it no matter how long-lived we are, and no matter how many times we have read it or heard it. In the midst of our moment in time, the place we are in our lives, the specialness of this church family, the work we do, the agonies that are upon us or the time of celebration as we pass milestones, a word, the Word, is there, waiting to be mined for what it can say to us, to me, to you, this moment.
Over the years the preachers before me and I have looked to the often used Lenten story of Jesus’ travails in the wilderness from many different vantage points. I am sure you have heard most of them through the years. You have heard the aspect of its historical linkage to the wanderings of the Hebrew people as they struggled with their own temptations in their lives, being tempted by self-doubt, and an often quiet God who seemed to speak only to select people with way too much space in between encounters.
You have likely heard that it bears an uncanny resemblance to our own lives. It shines a light on our experience with God, particularly fragile in the face of the temptations that are around us, but pointing us to the possibility that we can face down the demons of temptations and come out on the other side, whole and complete.
Perhaps you have heard this story of the fasting and praying for forty days and nights with a call to the importance of allowing ourselves to practice the rigor and gift of fasting: the value of the removal of those things that tend to distract us from God, so that we might more purely center ourselves on growing closer to the one who claims us. For those who have long been in the church we can remember the Lenten discipline of “giving up” something for Lent so that we might be better able to focus on what is really important. In equal fashion we can remember the challenge to not give up things, but instead add helpful disciplines to our lives that will aid in our growing closer to God: to be a praying community, to be a discipleship building community, or to put ourselves in situations that will give us the opportunity to engage the great questions asked of Jesus that we must ask of ourselves. For instance, who/what do we really worship? What do we really depend upon for our sustenance? With what power do we align ourselves? Do we follow Jesus’ lead and remind the tempter that it is God we follow? And that it is God we depend upon? Or do we succumb to the temptations and find ourselves distracted from the life God calls us to of loving and serving the one, as well as our neighbors, with complete abandonment?
As I gather myself together for my 39th year in ordained ministry here is what I see. Headlines full of wars and rumors of wars, starving children, the insidious, pernicious, scourge of disease and pestilence, the ravages of aging, the life destroying distraction of drugs, the increasing American culture of taking wonderful words like mission, vision, and servant-hood, and transforming them into the climate of business; not as words of altruism or service to God but as words of ways to increase the bottom line. Might I succumb to my own temptation to ask an awful question? Forty days and nights in the wilderness, what difference has it made that Jesus did not give in? And what of my 39 years of ministry, or the local life of this church, or the centuries of Christian tradition? What about all the Lents we have gone through, all the readings, all the worship, all the special services, and all the prayer? What difference has it made that Jesus did not give in?
With hundreds of thousands of churches all claiming to have it right, many of whom denigrate the other as being a false witness, what difference has it meant that Jesus did not give in? With the challenge by a controversial Chicago priest, Father Michael Pflegar, that if every American church adopted just one child there would be no more orphans in America still unfulfilled, what difference has it meant that Jesus did not give in? With the hope of those who formed Habitat for Humanity to eradicate homelessness, yet with so many still wandering streets and in shelters what difference in this world has it meant that Jesus did not give in?
Perhaps, upon entering my 39th year of ordained ministry, my bias of Lent as a time of intense reflection, affirmation, and commitment to action shows. If Lent does not yield in us the same stalwartness of Christ’s not giving in, not just through words but through deeds, how easy it remains for us to give in to the temptation to just slide through Lent. Frankly, it is easier to come to another Lent with its story of temptation and simply collapse under our own sense of weariness, our own time’s stories that make us wonder if the new age Christ promised, the new Reign of God, will ever come.
Just in this wondering, just in this moment of questioning, just in this potentially depressing array of things still undone, any of us can find cause to utter the words, “I guess it didn’t make a difference.” But if we do, it is precisely at that moment when we fall prey to the other one, the adversary of God, who wishes to tempt us. Just when I might be tempted to say, “It didn’t make a difference,” it dawns on me, again: It is not about us. It is not about our gain or loss.
The gospel truth is this. Jesus, in his standing firm, is a reminder that we are to focus our lives on and in God. That someday, there will be a last nail driven to build the last home for the last homeless person. That someday, there will be a last child adopted because she/he is the last orphan. That someday, the swords, guns, knives, hateful words, bigotry, and “isms” that ravage us all will be beaten into plowshares, replaced with words of praise, made beautiful in the lives of diversity and genuine acceptance of all. I will gather up all my years, all our stories, and this story from Matthew and know that the difference began anew with Jesus not giving in.
It does make a difference that Jesus did not give in, not because the challenges have been completely overcome, but that we live with a promise that perhaps this day, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a time far, far away, in our souls, on our own world, within our galaxy, within the sum of all the universe, the reign of God will be completed and all will be harmonized as it was intended to be.
And while we hope and speculate about its coming in the here and now, or sooner rather than later, our Lenten journey calls us to the part we will play, as co-participants with Jesus in not giving in. His story helps us in turning away from the temptations, rebuffing the call to abandon our hope for some sort of worldly perception that other things are better than God, or that the world is not really in the hands of God, but in the hands of the adversary of God or in hands of the humans taking it to themselves for power and influence.
It does make a difference to know that Jesus did not give in to the temptations laid before him. For all of us must know anew that putting our hope in Jesus enables us to put our feet, one in front of the other, to follow the Christ on the way to the cross. It enables us to take up his journey to live for others first, to give away all we have for his world, to turn the other cheek, to care for the steady stream of widows and orphans, and to stop wandering aimlessly but rather to live purposefully in the work of God to love justice. It enables us to walk with humility, and to live in peace with this creation that groans for all to understand that we, in turn, are co-participants in making that which God wishes to be come to fruition.
When the feelings of being tired or worn down come out, perhaps, just perhaps, it is time for me to double down my efforts, for all of us to double down our efforts. For who knows whether it will be me or you, or some other whose life we touch, who will be the tipping point that stops the wilderness experience forever and brings about the completion of the promise that God will finish what was begun in that wilderness long ago?
I will not give in, I will not give in, I will not give in — I will not. We will not give in, we will not give in, we will not give in — we will not. He did not give in, he did not give in — he is not giving in. Let us go, together, wherever Christ leads us this Lent, let us never give in. Let us join the Creator, let us follow the Christ, and let us experience the Holy Spirit as never before so that we might follow completely the one who calls us to be his followers. Blessings to us all as we share this Lenten journey together. Amen.
For me, the beauty and elegance of scripture is that it allows any of us the chance to enter into it no matter how long-lived we are, and no matter how many times we have read it or heard it. In the midst of our moment in time, the place we are in our lives, the specialness of this church family, the work we do, the agonies that are upon us or the time of celebration as we pass milestones, a word, the Word, is there, waiting to be mined for what it can say to us, to me, to you, this moment.
Over the years the preachers before me and I have looked to the often used Lenten story of Jesus’ travails in the wilderness from many different vantage points. I am sure you have heard most of them through the years. You have heard the aspect of its historical linkage to the wanderings of the Hebrew people as they struggled with their own temptations in their lives, being tempted by self-doubt, and an often quiet God who seemed to speak only to select people with way too much space in between encounters.
You have likely heard that it bears an uncanny resemblance to our own lives. It shines a light on our experience with God, particularly fragile in the face of the temptations that are around us, but pointing us to the possibility that we can face down the demons of temptations and come out on the other side, whole and complete.
Perhaps you have heard this story of the fasting and praying for forty days and nights with a call to the importance of allowing ourselves to practice the rigor and gift of fasting: the value of the removal of those things that tend to distract us from God, so that we might more purely center ourselves on growing closer to the one who claims us. For those who have long been in the church we can remember the Lenten discipline of “giving up” something for Lent so that we might be better able to focus on what is really important. In equal fashion we can remember the challenge to not give up things, but instead add helpful disciplines to our lives that will aid in our growing closer to God: to be a praying community, to be a discipleship building community, or to put ourselves in situations that will give us the opportunity to engage the great questions asked of Jesus that we must ask of ourselves. For instance, who/what do we really worship? What do we really depend upon for our sustenance? With what power do we align ourselves? Do we follow Jesus’ lead and remind the tempter that it is God we follow? And that it is God we depend upon? Or do we succumb to the temptations and find ourselves distracted from the life God calls us to of loving and serving the one, as well as our neighbors, with complete abandonment?
As I gather myself together for my 39th year in ordained ministry here is what I see. Headlines full of wars and rumors of wars, starving children, the insidious, pernicious, scourge of disease and pestilence, the ravages of aging, the life destroying distraction of drugs, the increasing American culture of taking wonderful words like mission, vision, and servant-hood, and transforming them into the climate of business; not as words of altruism or service to God but as words of ways to increase the bottom line. Might I succumb to my own temptation to ask an awful question? Forty days and nights in the wilderness, what difference has it made that Jesus did not give in? And what of my 39 years of ministry, or the local life of this church, or the centuries of Christian tradition? What about all the Lents we have gone through, all the readings, all the worship, all the special services, and all the prayer? What difference has it made that Jesus did not give in?
With hundreds of thousands of churches all claiming to have it right, many of whom denigrate the other as being a false witness, what difference has it meant that Jesus did not give in? With the challenge by a controversial Chicago priest, Father Michael Pflegar, that if every American church adopted just one child there would be no more orphans in America still unfulfilled, what difference has it meant that Jesus did not give in? With the hope of those who formed Habitat for Humanity to eradicate homelessness, yet with so many still wandering streets and in shelters what difference in this world has it meant that Jesus did not give in?
Perhaps, upon entering my 39th year of ordained ministry, my bias of Lent as a time of intense reflection, affirmation, and commitment to action shows. If Lent does not yield in us the same stalwartness of Christ’s not giving in, not just through words but through deeds, how easy it remains for us to give in to the temptation to just slide through Lent. Frankly, it is easier to come to another Lent with its story of temptation and simply collapse under our own sense of weariness, our own time’s stories that make us wonder if the new age Christ promised, the new Reign of God, will ever come.
Just in this wondering, just in this moment of questioning, just in this potentially depressing array of things still undone, any of us can find cause to utter the words, “I guess it didn’t make a difference.” But if we do, it is precisely at that moment when we fall prey to the other one, the adversary of God, who wishes to tempt us. Just when I might be tempted to say, “It didn’t make a difference,” it dawns on me, again: It is not about us. It is not about our gain or loss.
The gospel truth is this. Jesus, in his standing firm, is a reminder that we are to focus our lives on and in God. That someday, there will be a last nail driven to build the last home for the last homeless person. That someday, there will be a last child adopted because she/he is the last orphan. That someday, the swords, guns, knives, hateful words, bigotry, and “isms” that ravage us all will be beaten into plowshares, replaced with words of praise, made beautiful in the lives of diversity and genuine acceptance of all. I will gather up all my years, all our stories, and this story from Matthew and know that the difference began anew with Jesus not giving in.
It does make a difference that Jesus did not give in, not because the challenges have been completely overcome, but that we live with a promise that perhaps this day, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in a time far, far away, in our souls, on our own world, within our galaxy, within the sum of all the universe, the reign of God will be completed and all will be harmonized as it was intended to be.
And while we hope and speculate about its coming in the here and now, or sooner rather than later, our Lenten journey calls us to the part we will play, as co-participants with Jesus in not giving in. His story helps us in turning away from the temptations, rebuffing the call to abandon our hope for some sort of worldly perception that other things are better than God, or that the world is not really in the hands of God, but in the hands of the adversary of God or in hands of the humans taking it to themselves for power and influence.
It does make a difference to know that Jesus did not give in to the temptations laid before him. For all of us must know anew that putting our hope in Jesus enables us to put our feet, one in front of the other, to follow the Christ on the way to the cross. It enables us to take up his journey to live for others first, to give away all we have for his world, to turn the other cheek, to care for the steady stream of widows and orphans, and to stop wandering aimlessly but rather to live purposefully in the work of God to love justice. It enables us to walk with humility, and to live in peace with this creation that groans for all to understand that we, in turn, are co-participants in making that which God wishes to be come to fruition.
When the feelings of being tired or worn down come out, perhaps, just perhaps, it is time for me to double down my efforts, for all of us to double down our efforts. For who knows whether it will be me or you, or some other whose life we touch, who will be the tipping point that stops the wilderness experience forever and brings about the completion of the promise that God will finish what was begun in that wilderness long ago?
I will not give in, I will not give in, I will not give in — I will not. We will not give in, we will not give in, we will not give in — we will not. He did not give in, he did not give in — he is not giving in. Let us go, together, wherever Christ leads us this Lent, let us never give in. Let us join the Creator, let us follow the Christ, and let us experience the Holy Spirit as never before so that we might follow completely the one who calls us to be his followers. Blessings to us all as we share this Lenten journey together. Amen.
