Before he has PERFORMED in any way, God declares Jesus beloved. This declaration is what strengthens and equips Jesus for the struggles and realities of his life and ministry. He can love others, because he knows himself to be loved. He can offer healing to others, because he knows himself to be whole. He can invite others into the work of God because he knows himself to be invited into the work of God. In this moment he realizes he doesn’t have to prove himself to the tempter, and instead he orients his life around the truths and promises of God and God’s action in the world.
Lent 1A. Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7; Rom 5:12-19; Matt 4:1-11. A sermon for Diaconal Sunday 2023.
Today’s gospel reading is a bit of a whiplash from last week. Last week we were with Jesus up on the mountaintop. His inner circle of disciples was with him, and they had this mystical experience of watching Jesus be transfigured, surrounded by Moses and Elijah, and he was validated and blessed by the voice of God. Last week’s story was filled with wonder, revelation, inspiration and community. It was this rare moment where the fabric between human and divine between past and present, between holy and secular folded together.
We like those stories. We like it when we can witness the essence of who Jesus really is with our whole body. We like it when God speaks directly and confirms that Jesus really is God’s son, and we are right to listen to him. We like it when our history, tradition and beliefs are validated. You may remember that Moses and Elijah being the physical manifestation of the law and prophets. Let’s face it—we like epiphanies. We like mountain top experiences. We like transfiguration moments. No wonder Peter wanted to build structures to preserve those moments. We do the same thing. We like these stories.
But Jesus doesn’t let the disciples stay there on the mountain. More importantly, Jesus himself doesn’t stay there in that transfiguration moment. Jesus comes down from the mountain.
And if you’ve ever had a mountaintop experience—maybe a week at camp, or a weekend retreat, or a moment in worship or a really great family holiday, or a “bucket list” opportunity—you’re probably not surprised that our story today finds Jesus in the wilderness. The way Matthew crafts the Jesus narrative, the transfiguration story comes closer to the end of his ministry. But the way the church tells the story through the rhythm of the lectionary, this mountaintop moment of Epiphany precedes the wilderness experience that begins Lent. Think about your own life and what it’s like to go back to work after a really great holiday. We know this transition from mountain top to wilderness…and it’s NOT fun or comfortable.
And yet, that’s where Jesus is. He is on the mountain when the voice of God breaks through and he is in the wilderness where the presence of God seems harder to identify. The wilderness is lonely and filled with pressure to perform. The wilderness saps your energy and leaves you facing your hunger for safety, security and affirmation. The wilderness is not fun.
And yet, that’s where Jesus is. On this first Sunday in Lent, we talk about beginning a journey to the cross. Over the next several weeks we hear stories of Jesus seeking to invite others to expand their understanding of God, self and neighbour. He tries to articulate what he believes God is up to and what that has to do with his current realities. And he tries to navigate, challenge and dismantle systems of tradition and authority that are no longer serving beloved community. This journey leads him to and through persecution, rejection, and ultimately crucifixion. That’s where we’re headed.
All of which begins with an experience in the wilderness where Jesus has to fundamentally decide if he can trust the promise of his belovedness apart from his performance. There are lots of different ways to understand these temptations to turn rocks into bread, to jump off a high pinnacle, and to bask in the worship and adoration of the nations. But at the core of these temptations is the question of whether the Word of God is enough. Each time the tempter challenges Jesus, he refutes the temptation with a reference to God’s word. I always thought Jesus was referring to the Law and the prophets—and maybe he was. But in the way Matthew tells the story, what was Jesus’ most recent experience of the word of God? At the end of chapter 3, Jesus is baptized and the voice from Heaven says, “this is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” What if THAT is the word of God that Jesus finds to hold onto in the wilderness? “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God,” Jesus says. He doesn’t need to exert his power over the rocks to satisfy his own hunger because he knows himself to be more than physical satisfaction. He doesn’t need to prove that the angels will catch him or that the enations will bow down before him because that voice from heaven has already declared him beloved.
I don’t know if this is as significant to you as it was for me as I was reflecting on this text this week. I don’t think I’ve ever really considered that “word of God” that Jesus anchors to as he faces temptation is the voice of God at his baptism declaring him beloved and affirming that God is already pleased with him—before he has performed any miracles, made any disciples, challenged any unhealthy religious and political systems. Before he has PERFORMED in any way, God declares Jesus beloved. This declaration is what strengthens and equips Jesus for the struggles and realities of his life and ministry. He can love others, because he knows himself to be loved. He can offer healing to others, because he knows himself to be whole. He can invite others into the work of God because he knows himself to be invited into the work of God. In this moment he realizes he doesn’t have to prove himself to the tempter, and instead he orients his life around the truths and promises of God and God’s action in the world.
Today is diaconal Sunday, which is a day to lift up and learn about deacons, but also a day to affirm and call out the diaconal call each of us receives in our baptism as we, too, are anointed with the presence of God and hear the words “you are God’s child. God is pleased with you.”
Deacons will often say that we are called to serve the church and the world in those margin spaces. Deacons in Canada serve as spiritual care providers where they sit with people in the margins between health and illness or the margin between life and death. Deacons in Canada serve as musicians and congregational leaders, encouraging and supporting people in the margins between faith and doubt, between complacency and conviction. Deacons in Canada serve in community organizing and engagement roles, inviting people with resources and people in need of resources to cross the margins of separation, prejudice, and self-protection into a more abundant experience of justice, advocacy and mutuality.
Deacons in Canada serve in these and other margin spaces, and if you know about or have been in a margin space, you know that margins can often feel like wilderness. And guess who knows what it’s like to be in the wilderness…Jesus! At the heart of diaconal ministry is a desire to show up in those wilderness spaces, experiences and realities as a reminder that Jesus—the very hope and presence of God—is in the wilderness as well. Jesus, the beloved of God, is present with those in the margins with a word of hope and promise in the face of wilderness and temptation.
But Diaconal Sunday isn’t just about those individuals we call deacons who have been formed, trained and ordained by the church to do the ministry of word and service. Diaconal Sunday is a day to say to the whole people of God—not just pastors and not just deacons—that you have the same promise and call that Jesus heard in his baptism. In the waters of baptism, you heard those words from the mouth of God. You are a beloved child of God. With you God is well-pleased. Before you perform, gain prestige, or even do good for your neighbour, you are a beloved child of God and God is pleased with you. And like the deacons in the ELCIC, you have a call to be in those margin and wilderness spaces as the presence of God in the world. You bring the promise and presence of God into your work spaces, into your families and relationships, into your service and volunteer spaces, into your recreation and holiday spaces. You bring the promise and presence of God into your work for justice and equality for the most vulnerable.
Dear friends in Christ, my guess is that individually and as a community you know this wilderness reality. As a congregation it may feel like the anxiety over your future or your resources. It may feel like the pressure to hold onto systems and structures that served us for a time but are no longer serving those not like us. It may feel like the dream of regaining relevance and prominence as a sign of external affirmation. It may look like seeing the pain, suffering and injustice in the world and feeling overwhelmed to make any real impact. It may feel like something different altogether, but I imagine we each can identify a “wilderness” space. If you hear one thing today, I hope you hear this: Jesus is in that space with you. You are beloved, and God is pleased with you.
This language of diakonia is a reminder that while we are most often somewhere in between the mountain top highs and the wilderness lows, in our baptism, we—all of us—are called, gathered and sent with the promise and presence of God to follow Jesus daily and to serve our neighbor in whatever way we are able. That’s not just the pastor’s call. It’s not just the deacon’s call. It’s not just the adults’ call. Whatever our age, race, background, identifying labels, or status, we lean into living out this baptismal call every day in every area of our lives as we come to know what Jesus came to know in that wilderness—that we can trust the word of God that says we are loved and that God is already pleased with us. We don’t have to perform to prove our belovedness, it is given to us as a promise. And as we walk the journey of faith, what may feel like the loneliness of the wilderness is sometimes the threshold…the margin space…where God reveals God’s self to us and calls us again into a lifelong journey of witness, service, worship and fellowship.
As we enter into this season of Lent, may we journey with Jesus, knowing that we are not alone, that God is with us, and that we are deeply loved.
amen