March 1, 2009

First Sunday in Lent  (B)

Dr. Susan Fleming McGurgan

 Gen 9:8-15     X  Ps 25: 4-9  X     1 Peter 3:18-22   X   Mk 1:12-15

 

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For Mark,

the Gospel story doesn’t begin 

with angelic visitors or a prophetic dream.

It doesn’t open with a miraculous birth

or a poetic hymn to the incarnate Word.   

 

In Mark’s Gospel,

there is no soaring prose,

no travelers from the East,

no expensive gifts,

no awestruck shepherds,

no jealous, brooding king.

              

Instead, Mark’s Gospel hurls us,

ready or not,

into a lonely and barren wilderness—

a desert—

where everything

either bites

            or burns

                        or stings. 

 

It’s hard to imagine a more dramatic moment

than the baptism of Jesus. 

 

As he emerged from the water,

the heavens ripped open  

and the Spirit descended like a dove   

while the voice of God proclaimed,

“You are my beloved Son, in you I am well-pleased!"

 

This, truly,

would be a moment to savor—

A moment to remember and celebrate.    

 

And yet,

almost immediately,    

Jesus was driven out into the desert  

to be tormented by wild beasts

and tempted by evil.  

 

It’s not exactly what you would expect,

is it?

 

After all,

God was pleased—

no… make that

WELL pleased

with him.

 

But this beloved son was driven    

directly

from a moment of affirmation and love  

into the harsh wilderness.    

 

Experts say that deserts are formed

under unique climactic conditions.

Maps show that they cover

about 25% of the earth’s surface.

Globes indicate they are found

only between specific latitudes.  

 

That’s what the experts say.

 

But we know the truth about deserts,

don’t we?  

 

The truth is,

sometimes,

no matter where we live,

no matter how far we travel,

the desert is all we can see.    

 

Sometimes,  

despite what the weather report

or average rainfall may indicate,  

we find ourselves right in the middle of the desert:

blinded, 

disoriented,

sunburned,

just about dying of thirst.

 

Sometimes, 

the desert feels so familiar,

that we can name every shriveled plant,

every venomous snake,

every blistering ray, 

every irritating little grain of sand.

 

Sometimes,

the wilderness can feel a lot like home.

 

The single mom,

stretched so thin

that she almost disappears,

knows the desert of exhaustion and guilt.

 

The rejected child,

watching silently from beyond the playground,  

knows the desert called Loneliness.     

 

The convict,    

numb to the brutality that surrounds him,

knows the desert of violence and regret.

 

The shell-shocked parish,

reeling from a recent scandal,

knows the desert of a trust betrayed.

 

We know the truth about deserts,

don’t we?

 

The truth is,

despite what the globe says,

deserts aren’t found only in sub-Saharan Africa,

or south-west Nevada,

or in the Sinai peninsula.

 

Some of the harshest deserts

aren’t marked on any map.

They lie just around the corner

or beside the 5^th row pew at the 10 AM mass.

 

But there’s something else

true

about deserts—

something that Mark wants us to hear.

 

Jesus has been there first.

 

That’s the Good News of Mark’s opening scenes.    

No desert on earth is so remote,

            so barren,

            so seemingly inhospitable to life,

that Jesus hasn’t walked there first.  

 

And his presence in the wilderness reminds us

that there’s something else

true

about deserts.

 

Despite all appearances to the contrary,

the wilderness is filled with life.

 

A handful of desert soil,

baked and brown,

blowing in the hot wind,

can be filled with hundreds of seeds,

just waiting for a chance to bloom.  

 

That withered plant,

desiccated and dry,

has living roots

reaching deep into the ground.

 

That empty landscape—

lonely in the harsh light of day,  

comes to life in the moonlight

as reptiles and insects emerge from hiding.

 

Even at it’s most desolate,

the desert is always ready to burst into bloom

at the first sign of life-giving water.  

 

Maybe that’s why God so often uses the desert

as a place for transformation.

Maybe that’s why Jesus emerged

from the waters of baptism

only to be thrust into the wilderness.

 

This Lent finds many of us

traveling through the desert

wrestling with demons 

and tempted by evil.

Some people might look upon that journey

and despair.

 

But we know the truth about deserts,

don’t we?

 

© Susan Fleming McGurgan