Christopher Thomas
Sermon for the First Sunday of Lent, Year A – 3/1/2020
Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
Psalm 32
Romans 5:12-19
Matthew 4:1-11
One of my favorite movies of all time is the 1983 cult comedy classic, “National Lampoon’s Family Vacation.” “…Family Vacation” records the ups-and-downs, the trials and temptations of the quintessential American family, the Griswolds. At first glance, the Griswolds, Clark and Ellen, seem to have everything that good, clean 1980’s living can provide – a beautiful home, two seemingly well-adjusted kids, and a dog. They have it all, right down to the proverbial white-picket fence. What, oh what, could possibly make this scene any better?
How about a road trip! To Walley World, of all places, that nirvana of theme parks, where happiness and joy abound, the streets are lined with gold, there are no lines for rides or bathrooms, and all things are pristine and perfect! Well, who wouldn’t want that capstone to the American dream? However, it’s along the way that the Griswolds systematically, through all these crazy contortions and machinations, deconstruct and then reconstruct what happiness, success, and the meaning of life, actually look like.
Now, the reason that this film is such a foundational theological touchstone for me is because I lived this, literally, almost every summer of my life. There was no reason to read myself into the Griswold story, because, quite frankly, the Thomas family was that story. How do you learn about journeys, other than by living them out!
The Thomases set out, year after year, in the Grand Marquis, because there were five of us and a dog, and our family tradition was and is to travel with every single thing that we owned, because we wanted to be prepared for any possible eventuality that might arise, and plenty of eventualities always seemed to rise to the level of our expectations. Do you have any idea how much you can cram into the trunk of a Grand Marquis? I do, and I can tell you, it’s a lot, AND golf clubs!
We set out on these journeys with all the highest of hopes and expectations, to some less-than-exotic destinations, say to the Appalachians, or the Ozarks, or the Rockies. My parents always seemed to know what the goal was; the adventure was in the “getting.” The craziness, the messiness, the trials and the temptations, were all wrapped up in the “getting.” If we could somehow magically just skip the “getting,” go from home to destination, the American dream, our very identities, might have had some hope of surviving intact.
But that was NEVER to be the case. Because we couldn’t get to the Appalachians, or the Ozarks, or the Rockies without seeing Rock City, because, signs for hundreds of miles proclaimed that we HAD to see Rock City, and the Thomases simply were not to be left out of a movement, and who knew when or if we’d ever be back through those parts again. And so, we acquired a bumper sticker, a few souvenir spoons, collected a little more junk food, and moved on down the road.
In between stops, there was always plenty of fighting between the kids in the back seat. All those perfectly posed family poloriods belie what was really going on behind the scenes. “Mom, make him stop looking at me.” “Dad, the dog’s on me.” I can just see my father trying to drive down the road swatting at us with his right arm.
Somehow, miraculously, we always got where we were going, after break-downs, and break-ins, and break-through. I am sure my parents must have thought, “We are never doing this again!” But, interestingly enough, we always did. 11 months of space between those experiences must have dulled their senses or their memories, or maybe it was the banality of everyday life; but come next summer, we were off again!
Those were my first real, tangible memories of journey. Journeys change you. They always do. There’s simply no way that you can leave the safety and security of where you are, and move somewhere else, and not be changed. Journeys always test us and challenge us with trials and temptations. Journeys lead us through wilderness. Journeys always transform us, hopefully if we’re intentional and aware, in ways that are helpful and beneficial (but not always!).
And so, last Wednesday, with the marking on our foreheads of a greasy ash cross, we laid our worldly identities down as we stepped out on a pilgrimage, yet again, through the wilderness of Lent, headed toward what we know will be the sure and wonderful shouts of Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed. We know where we’re going. We’ve been on this trip many times before. We know where we’re starting, and we know where we’ll end up. It’s that unknown factor, the x, the adventure, the real change-agent, that is the “getting,” how we get from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday morning. That’s actually the scary part.
It’s common for us to consider what that spiritual journey is going to look like as we step off the mark. Lots of folks talk about what they’re going to give up, or take on, or change, as a discipline to bring meaning and provide some sort of sustenance along the way. It all still seems so fresh and exciting when we’re at the beginning, only four days into our 40 day journey. What’s it going to look, and feel, and taste, and smell like, 10, 20, 30, or 35 days in?
Jesus, fresh off his baptism, is led, by the Spirit, out into the wilderness for some journey-time of his own. He’s just heard, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” 40 days of wilderness time, fasting from all of life, with the specific intent of being challenged by temptation.
Now, remember, Jesus, God’s gift of divine come among us, Immanuel, just months ago, is this unique personage referred to as both, “Son of God,” and simultaneously, “Son of Man,” divine in humanity. Jesus’ journey experience is about preparing him for his earthly ministry, developing and honing his compassion and empathy for humanity, living into what it means to be “Son of Man.” It has nothing to do with his own glory or glorification. And so, these temptations to “Son of God” are worthless and meaningless to the journey that Jesus is on. He’s crystal clear about that, even as he stares into the abyss of hunger and fear and power. In that moment, he knows who he is. He is sure of his identity and his purpose. Temptation has no authority over Jesus.
Adam and Eve’s handling of temptation is slightly different, and it, of course, skews their journey. God’s given them a mission and a purpose, something that they are to accomplish, something that clearly identifies them as children of God. They are integral parts of God’s glorious creation, and God missions and purposes them with tilling and keeping creation, and that is important and critical work!
However, what Adam and Eve lose sight of, in their own temptation moment, is what we are admonished to every single Ash Wednesday, when the sign of the cross goes onto our foreheads, and we are again reminded, because we must be continually, yearly, monthly, weekly, daily, moment-by-moment, reminded, that God is God, and we are NOT!
Creator – creation
We have to be reminded what our role in the grand play is, and it is not Creator, and this is a good thing.
I know you must be thinking, “This is so simple. I get it. Why do you feel the need to keep telling me this over and over again?”
The reason is this. When you, me, us, we, get out there, out to the point on our journeys where we can’t see from where we came, and we can’t yet quite see the other side, there will be the temptation, the fear, the desire, whatever you want to call it, to want to take (or grab) control, to BE God. It is human nature, and it happens to all of us, practically every single day that we live our lives in the world around us.
And so, what is the key, as we start our Lenten journey, this pilgrimage toward the cross that must come on Good Friday if we have any hope of the resurrection of Easter Sunday? How do we live “temptation-resistant” lives?
Fasting – Prayer – Repentance
If we genuinely open ourselves up to this journey-process, this process of fasting, prayer, and repentance, in faithful, faith-filled ways, leading “temptation resistant” lives, I know that we will be changed. We are going to be changed in ways that radically alter the way we perceive ourselves, the way we perceive St. Thomas, our community, and the world around us.
And we will have a whole new way to shout, “Alleluia” on Easter Sunday morning!
Amen!
