Scripture: Luke 4:1–13
This past week I was writing up a storm. I was writing feedback to my students on the final papers and projects. I was writing notes of goodbye to my now former colleagues. I was writing parts of the worship liturgy for this worship service.
Writing, writing, writing.
With all this writing, it was a relief to change things up and do a little reading too, from the book “Loving Corrections” by adrienne maree brown, as I worked to catch up with the Racial Justice Book Discussion group1 for the discussion tomorrow night.
In one of brown’s early chapters, she looks at a particular skill used especially by science fiction writers: the skill of of reimagination. This skill of taking something and turning it into something else is raised up in the book as a technique for how we can stay curious and engaged in the face of intractable problems.
For example, the writer Ursula Le Guin wrote books about fictitious worlds where the problems of our own world have been lovingly corrected so that readers can see and feel what worlds with more love, and more justice, and more sustainability would be like.
This skill of reimagining is perhaps what the gospel writers did with the narrative of Jesus spending forty days in the Dark Woods after his baptism. Matthew, Mark, and Luke each tell the story little differently. Mark summarizes the whole wilderness experience in two sentences!2 And because Mark wrote first, some scholars believe Matthew and Luke’s tellings are expanded versions of Mark’s.
Why do Matthew and Luke think that a longer story is important, and that we should know that Jesus was tempted by (and rejected) various forms of power? Because, in a sense, the rejection of power foreshadows the kind of ministry Jesus will be about.
About a decade ago, this congregation reimagined how it recognizes Ash Wednesday by expanding the narrative of the day, in the fashion of Matthew and Luke. Instead of holding a single worship service, a new practice of offering drive-thru ashes and Lenten blessings in the church parking lot became a new norm; local news stations have covered it, and now hundreds of people come to this church, year after year, to receive the imposition of ashes on their foreheads from the seats of their cars.3
What an incredible experience it was this past Wednesday for Rev. Jennifer Zogg, from Church of the Epiphany, and I to experience the reimagined spirit of Ash Wednesday. Over the course of six non-stop hours, we spoke ourselves hoarse offering blessings and sharing the message that each one of us is made from dust and to dust we shall return.
Throughout the day, I asked myself:
“Why people are so hungry for this messy religious ritual?”
“What is unique about Ash Wednesday?
And “what would make major local news channels arrive at 4:30 a.m. to broadcast from the church parking lot and cover this religious spectacle?”
I think there are several different things going on here. For one, Newman Church’s reimagining of Ash Wednesday acknowledges that there are many people who can’t physically navigate houses of worship. Being met in the front seat of their own car was a game changer. Then, there are people who are incredibly busy. Being met in a moment of calm was a balm amidst the busyness. And, there are people who are intimidated or who, for a variety of reasons, experience anxiety about going into a church. Being met on the margins of the church is the preferred place for many.
In the midst of all this messiness, people are hungry for connection and to be told that we are imperfect, finite beings, and that we’re okay—because we of God and loved by God and there is hope for all of us.
We are all carrying more on our hearts than anyone else can know, and it is powerful to be able to share a piece of what we’re carrying with God and with another person.
Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of a season where a shroud is pulled back from our eyes and we realize that we all live in the wilderness and, friends, we come to realize that if we are going to make it through the wilderness we need to find other companions to travel with and strategize with.
This is what the “Dark Woods” experience is all about. Jesus comes out of the woods a changed person, hungry for connection and community. He goes from his Lenten time in the wild back into society to begin his ministry. And I hope you will indulge me as I highlight the fact of all the places that Jesus could have gone to begin his ministry—Jerusalem, Damascus, Emmaus, Bethany, Caesarea—Jesus goes back to his home, to Nazareth in Galilee. “He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone.” Yet a few verses later, it is said that the people there “drove him out of town, and led him to the brow of a hill so that they might hurl him off the cliff.”4
Two reflections: first, East Providence is a relatively flat place, without cliffs, thank goodness. Second, I enter into this ministry at Newman Church with love, and hope, and excitement for the future in my heart. Yet Lent reminds us that we can’t know what the future holds for us, and we don’t know what challenges are ahead. What we can do is follow the example of Jesus in Luke 4: “and worship and serve the Lord our God.” When we do this, we may avoid the distractions that would take us away from the strength to be found in our collective.
So, friends, the Christian year has turned from Epiphany to Lent this week in a strange way, because even though we are in the wilderness, it feels more impossible than ever to move on from the fact that King Herod is still on the throne, and that the three wise seekers who have usually returned home by now are perhaps having more trouble traveling freely to get where they need to go.
We are entering the most contemplative, the most uncertain, and most discomforting season of the Christian calendar, but to some of us it may feel like we’ve skipped the joy of Jesus’s baptism this year and have already been wandering in the Dark Woods for a while.
So—perhaps as we all wander together in the wilderness this Lent, we will find a way to orient ourselves; perhaps a new way forward will become clear, with the help of God and each other.
I look forward to traveling with you this Lent as we reimagine what the path forward might be for us in this distinct year. With joy and hope, I say to you: “Welcome to the Dark Woods.” Here we go. Amen.