Parish of St. Ignatius of Loyola; Chestnut Hill, MA
22 February 2015; 5:30 p.m. mass
First Sunday of Lent – Year B
Genesis 9:8-15; Psalm 25:4-5, 6-7, 8-9; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:12-15
Each year, the gospel reading on this, the First Sunday of Lent,
tells us of the forty days that Jesus spent in the desert
just after his baptism and just before the full launch of his public ministry.
The choice is not exactly a head-scratcher:
that magic number of forty days, combined with the testimony from other gospels
that Jesus ate nothing during those days,
sounds an awful lot like the first Lent (cf., Mt. 4:2; Lk. 4:2).
I wonder if Jesus took the
“Sundays don’t count as part of the 40 days” loophole
and gorged himself on pita and hummus
once a week.
That would soothe my conscience.
But this year, the year we hear primarily from the Gospel according to Mark,
we lose all of the other familiar details of the story.
No invitation to turn stones into bread;
no precipice of the temple;
no angels running around to catch a free-falling Jesus;
no vista of all the kingdoms of the world;
no bowing down to Satan or rendering him homage.
Why?
Remember, Mark is the first of the gospel writers to take quill to papyrus.
Because his community is being persecuted, he is, quite literally,
working on a deadline, and thus, it should be no surprise
whenever we see him as we do tonight –
being a “the facts, ma’am, just the facts” kind of guy.
Jesus is in the desert for forty days;
he is tempted by Satan;
some wild beasts are there too;
and angels serve him.
Questions? No? Then let’s move on.
Mark does, however, give us something very significant to consider this evening.
Temptation.
Yes, you heard me correctly, and, no, you have not magically returned
to the 1950’s.
I really want to talk for a bit about temptation.
Temptation is at the heart of Lent because temptation
is at the heart of our becoming ourselves.
Now, I am certainly no expert on the theory of temptation,
though I think that I have logged enough hours in the lab of temptation
to make at least a few basic remarks about its underlying structure.
For temptation to rear its head in a situation,
three things must be in place:
first, I have a series of options in front of me;
second, I choose one of those options; and
third, I am aware that, at least on some level,
I can undo that choice.
Temptation loves to remind us of that third point,
that many of our choices are written in pencil, not in ink.
And there is always an eraser handy.
Perhaps an example can flesh out this point.
Many of us have given up some type of food for Lent.
Imagine that you have said goodbye to cupcakes.
You could have given up other things.
You could have even said that you’re not going to give up anything,
but rather, you’re going to do something extra.
You had options.
But you chose to give up cupcakes.
And there you are, Tuesday of the First Week of Lent,
and someone sends you an exquisitely appointed box from…Georgetown Cupcake.
Temptation strikes.
If you are like me, you might say to yourself,
“Let’s see, have I had any cookies since Ash Wednesday?
Maybe I could give those up instead.”
Before you know it, there is red velvet and
cream cheese frosting flying everywhere.
Options.
Choice.
Undoing that choice.
Trade out cupcakes with other temptations:
being unfaithful in a committed relationship;
giving up on a pursuit right when it starts to get difficult;
skimming a little, maybe more than a little, off the top of the books at work;
lying right to your parents’ faces;
lying right to your children’s or spouse’s faces;
It seems to me that the same structure of
options, choice, and undoing that choice functions in each of these examples.
Things were not so different for Jesus.
No matter what happened to Jesus in the desert those forty days,
we know that he was tempted, and this means we know he came face to face with
options, a choice, and then the possibility of undoing that choice.
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One of the reasons that I love Mark’s Gospel so much is because
in clearing out all sorts of detail, Mark has a sharp, almost Spartan focus
on what is essential.
Jesus’ temptations were not about turning stones into bread,
or flinging himself from the temple,
or subordinating himself to Satan.
Jesus was tempted to abandon the entire life he had chosen to live,
a choice that was still in its earliest, most fragile stage.
He chose to proclaim the Kingdom of God;
to dine with anyone who thought to invite him to the table;
to make simple women and men, not scholars or the religious elite,
his most intimate companions;
to heal, to forgive, to love, to live, to die,
and to trust that death would, for him, and for us, mean life.
And Satan, the great tempter, simply invited Jesus to undo all those choices,
long before they ever played out in real time.
The church gives us this reading to consider in the very first days of Lent
because Jesus’ story is our story.
Call it Satan, as the bible does,
call it the Evil Spirit, as St. Ignatius does,
call it selfishness or wickedness, of any number of other things.
No matter what name you give it, pay attention to that which
derails you from committing yourself
to fighting for something bigger than you,
to living your life for others,
to loving others instead of hoarding the love of others.
That is temptation.
And in inviting you to undo your choices,
temptation invites you to undo yourself.
Sisters and brothers, temptation is at the heart of Lent
because temptation is at the heart of our becoming ourselves.
This is why we pray, “Lead us not into temptation” –
not so much because of the bad place to which temptation leads,
but because of the good place that temptation leaves behind.
It leaves behind freedom, and pain, and love, and loss.
In other words, it leaves behind real life,
and replaces it with the false promise of a perfect life.
May these days of Lent be real, be very real days of life for us.
And when temptation comes, as it inevitably will,
may we be…well…may we be, remain, and become ourselves.
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