Wilderness

Lent reminds us that the wilderness isn’t optional. It’s part of the deal. Not because God wants to make things hard on us— but because the wilderness strips away the noise. It forces us to confront what we really believe.  

Stanley Spencer, Christ in the Wilderness: The scorpion

So, here we are. First Sunday of Lent. And if you're like me, it probably snuck up on you. One minute, I’m in a post-Christmas lull, and the next, there’s ashes smudged on my forehead. 
 
For ministers, this particular Sunday always feels a bit like Groundhogs Day. No matter where we’ve been with Jesus, we get sent back to the Jordan, into the baptismal waters again.

Whether you’re ready or not, Lent is here, inviting us to take a long, hard look at who we are and what we’re becoming.

​It challenges us and pushes us to places we don’t always like to go.​

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him. And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved;[a] with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan, and he was with the wild beasts, and the angels waited on him.  - Mark 1:9-13 -

Every year, lent kicks off with one of the three gospel stories of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness. Mark’s gospel is by far the shortest. He doesn’t waste any time. The action moves quickly - which seems so counterintuitive to the slow, contemplative nature of the season.
 
Yet, these four, fast verses give us plenty to think about. Jesus gets baptized. The heavens tear open. God declares, “You are my beloved Son.” And then--boom—off he goes into the wilderness still dripping wet. No party. No reception. God has no time to waste.
 
And if we blink, we might miss some crucial clues to understanding faith. For example, before Jesus does anything noteworthy—before he preaches, heals, feeds, or saves anyone—God names him and claims him. “My son, the beloved.”
 
This isn’t so much about revealing who Jesus is, but who God is. The one whose loves us for no other reason than - as Richard Rohr points out - “God can’t help but love the things God makes.” That includes you and me.
 
Which tells us before we do anything, God claims us and names us, “Beloved.” This is the foundational truth of our faith. Because we belong to God, we can face the challenges that lie ahead. Without this knowing, without this belonging, the wilderness will eat us alive. Yet how many of us go through life not believing this truth?
 
Greg Boyle has written extensively on gang members who have been through more wilderness than most of us can imagine. Each one believes the same thing: that they’re unlovable. They don’t see themselves as good enough or worthy enough to be a part of God’s family.
 
Henri Nouwen wrote,“Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the Beloved.” We might think we’re not good enough, or do enough to earn favor with God. We tell ourselves we need to do more, be more, achieve more. But God says, “No. You’re mine. That’s enough.”
 
Salvation, true healing and transformation, isn’t about having it all together or proving yourself. It’s simply trusting, as Boyle tells the homies, “God is just too busy loving you to have any time left for disappointment.” (Boyle)
 
But here’s the thing…Once you realize that, buckle up. When Jesus realized his belovedness, the Spirit immediately drove his soggy self into the wilderness.
 
Again, God doesn't waste a second. One moment, Jesus is floating in the Jordan, basking in divine love. The next, he’s wandering in the desert, hungry, exhausted, face-to-face with every doubt and temptation.
 
Maybe you know what that’s like. In the morning everything is fine, perfect even. Then by noon, you’ve lost your job. Or received an unexpected diagnosis.

I’ve been there. One minute I’m killing it in seminary. The next cancer was trying to kill me. There wasn’t any time to think or ask God, “why me.” We were just driven into the wilderness without passing go or collecting $200.
 
Lent reminds us that the wilderness isn’t optional. It’s part of the deal. Not because God wants to make things hard on us— but because the wilderness strips away the noise. It forces us to confront what we really believe. Do I actually trust God enough to do what God is calling me to do?
 
You see, the wilderness doesn't create the lies we tell ourselves. It exposes them. And when they’re out in the open, God can transform them. God doesn’t waste a second of our life, or anything we go through. As Rohr tells us, “The wild spaces of the wilderness is where we unlearn the lies we have believed about ourselves.” And that’s what makes this particular space both sacred and scary.
 
To truly understand who we are, we have to spend time in the wilderness confronting the wild beasts that come to harm us. And I’m not talking about hyenas or lions. But fear, addiction, anger, guilt, or shame we carry. Our first thought isn’t to face these things, but to run away from them. To distract ourselves. Stay busy. Numb the pain.

But that’s not what Jesus does. He stays. He doesn’t avoid the beasts. He sits with them. And something amazing happens.
 
Jesus goes into the wilderness fully human. And in facing it all - his doubts, fears, hunger, struggles - Jesus walks out ready to live his Christ nature. Having been emptied of the human mess, he makes space for his divine self to emerge. What then does that say about the beasts we face? That hidden secret? Or bitter grudge?

Lent is a time to confront them head on. It’s a season to fast from our old identities and behaviors.  And feast on the truth of our divine nature. This is how habits are broken. And newness begins.
 
We belong to God. That’s enough. This doesn’t mean it will be easy, or without its challenges. To embrace our new identity, the old must go away. And loss, no matter how big or small, can be hard to navigate.
 
But when we sit in the wilderness, when we stop running away from the beasts, we realize we’re not alone. God is with us. Just as God was with Jesus - through the wilderness and grave - there are angels caring for us. This could mean celestial creatures sent by God. Or it could be the Christ within me, caring for Christ in you.
 
Teresa of Ávila wrote,
“Christ has no body on earth but yours.
He has no hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.”
 
Just as we receive God’s grace and love, we are also called to offer it to each other.
 
We might not have halos and wings, but together, we can be a community of love that ministers to those struggling with their demons. When we lean on one another, knowing and belonging, then we not only find our salvation but we also become a part of God’s healing and restoration of the world.
 
This was something Greg Boyle did with Homeboy Industries. He created a radical new community that redeems, restores, and transforms gang members into beloved children of God.
 
Isn’t that what we’re called to do? Be little angels helping people who are spiritually lost to find love, belonging, and healing? Every act of goodness, mercy, love shown towards another is more than just a window into heaven. It’s an open door out of the wilderness and into God’s heart.
 
Jesus doesn’t stay in the wilderness. And neither do we. He steps out tested, yet unshaken. The beasts don’t break him—they reveal him and his true identity. Jesus emerges ready, clear on who He is and what He’s here to do.
 
And that’s the invitation of Lent. A call to the wilderness—not to suffer, but to be transformed. Not to prove ourselves, but to strip away every lie that tells us we aren’t enough. And to listen for and rely on the only voice that matters—the one that has been speaking over us since the beginning: You are my beloved. That is enough.  
 
God doesn’t waste a second of our life. And neither should we. Instead, let us step into it. Own it. Let it shape who we are - a community that loves God, loves others, and serves both.
 
Let‘s be a people who walk with Jesus to the cross knowing that, as Easter morning will reveal, love breaks through the darkness of death. And always comes out victorious.
 
And that is enough.
  ​