Sermon for March 9, 2025
Lent 1 C
Deuteronomy 26:1-11; Luke 4:1-13
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
Have you ever felt disoriented? It’s a sensation that is maybe less common that it used to be, what with Google maps to direct you from point A to point B, even if you have no idea where you are, or what direction you’re going. I remember, when I was first starting out as a pastor back in the mountains of central Pennsylvania, that I quickly learned there were no roads going in a straight line. And some of the real old rural roads were known as “stage” roads. They were based on the original stagecoach routes, which followed the high ground through the valleys, whichever way it would twist or turn. In the days before pavement, driving on the high ground meant driving on dry ground—your wheels would not get stuck in the mud. But these roads sure could be disorienting—that is, until you learned the landmarks that would re-orient you about where you were and which direction you were headed.
Becoming disoriented can happen in many more ways than just driving and directions. Any time you’ve lost your way—as a person—it’s a time of disorientation. And until you find a way to get re-oriented to who you truly are, and who God made you to be, it is like you’re wandering in the wilderness.
God’s people have often spent time in the wilderness, and felt disoriented. The bible is full of stories about that. Feeling like you’re disoriented and wandering in the wilderness for a time is almost like a right of passage for being a person of faith. We hear about one such story in the Old Testament reading this morning, from Deuteronomy 26. Moses is giving the Israelites instructions about how to re-orient themselves, after they’ve made it through their 40 years in the wilderness, and have entered the land God provided for them, and were able to settle down and grow crops. But Moses knew that, once they had become settled and successful, it would be easy to forget that their new home, and their crops, and their very lives were all gifts from God. And if they forgot that, then it would disorient them about their true identity. The way to be re-oriented was, whenever they would harvest some crops, to take some of the “first-fruits” and give it to the priest, and declare that everything was a gift from God.
Then, after the priest set their offering before the altar, the farmer was to recite a creed. Like we have the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed, the Israelites had their own creed, which began “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor…” And then the creed continued with a brief summary of all that Jacob (who was the wandering Aramean) and his descendants went through, before God brought them to the present day. Now, a key to understanding the meaning of this creed is what they meant when they said their ancestor was a “wandering” Aramean, because they weren’t talking about recreation. Sure, Jacob did “wander” all over the place—from Canaan where he was born and raised, to Aram where he got married, then back to Canaan, and finally all the way to Egypt, where he and his entire extended family settled to escaped famine in Canaan. But Jacob’s “wandering” wasn’t about leisurely strolling through the park to smell the flowers. And he wasn’t wandering across the mountains and forests on a vigorous hike to enjoy the scenery. The kind of wandering Jacob was doing was “struggling” to survive, and “straying” in disobedience to God, and “perishing” by running out of food and resources and being on the way to death. His wandering was a profound dis-orientation from his home and his family, from God, even from himself.
So his descendants, the Israelites, recited this creed about a “wandering Aramean” not only to remember their history, but also to confess that like Jacob they were wanderers, too. Like Jacob, they needed to rely on God to lead them through the wilderness times of their lives, to help them when they were struggling, or straying, or perishing. So they got re-oriented through the “first fruits” ceremony. It was a ritual or liturgical way to return from their own times in the wilderness, when they became disoriented from being the kind of people God meant for them to be. And so the first fruits ceremony concluded by taking the crops they had set before the altar, and then using them to “celebrate (along with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you) with the bounty the Lord had given”.
Becoming re-oriented happens, not only by remembering the struggles and confessing the times of straying, and acknowledging that God brought you to the present moment, but finally by celebrating the gifts of God with others (the Levites, the aliens), in a spirit of generosity and gratitude. We don’t become re-oriented on our own, the creed acknowledges—we need an inclusive group of people to support and be supported by, to truly make it through our times of wandering in the wilderness. It actually sounds a lot like Holy Communion! Holy Communion is our weekly re-orientation to remembering the gifts of God, and acknowledging the forgiveness offered by Jesus, and the celebrating with others as we offer the resources God has provided us.
Jesus, who comes to us in this holy sacrament, also spent time in the wilderness. He was actually driven there intentionally, by the Holy Spirit, where he endured 40 days and nights of being tempted by the devil. Now, the word “tempt” in the Greek really has the sense of “being tested”—like a building inspector who searches for cracks in the foundation, and code violations in the construction, and flaws in the electric and plumbing and heating systems—so that they may be corrected, and made durable over time, and prevent damage and harm from occurring. So Jesus was being “stress-tested” by the devil. That way he would have to find a way to get re-oriented when everything else in life was being dis-oriented, as he made his way to the cross.
Jesus found his re-orientation by embracing his true identity as the Son of God. And as the devil tempted him—with food when Jesus was starving, with power when Jesus was vulnerable, with protection when Jesus was weak—these were all stress-tests for Jesus to learn the true mission that God had given him. Does being the Son of God mean manipulating things for your own selfish desires? Or does it mean living, and teaching, and even dying in a way that will always be pointing others to God? His 40 days in the wilderness was a time when the Holy Spirit wanted to disorient Jesus, so that he would deeply know that the way to be re-oriented again was by sharing the gifts and grace of God for the building up of the whole community.
For us, Lent is a 40-day time of being intentionally driven to the wilderness (in a ritual or liturgical way), so that we can be disoriented and finally trust that God will re-orient us again. The disorientation comes in different ritual ways: the feel of the season is different, things are pared down, more reflective. Our worship committee decided to experiment with rearranging our worship space for the season, making it feel smaller, closer, more intimate—which perhaps will help us see and experience our worship from a different perspective. We even began on Ash Wednesday with ashes placed on our foreheads—a reminder that we are all wanderers on this earth who eventually will perish—and have no choice but to rely on God to carry us through to the other side.
It’s all, in a way, preparation—preparation for when you go through your own time in the wilderness, your own disorientation in life or faith. So that when you are tested, you will know to embrace your true identity as a beloved child of God, and look for help from Jesus who knows that the road to Easter always wanders through the wilderness. Amen.