Community Church Sermons
Year C
February 17, 2013
The First Sunday in
Lent
Hunger Games
Luke 4:1-13
Rev. Rhonda
A. Blevins
Associate
Pastor
I
should have known something strange was brewing down below.
A few
weeks ago I was home with my 5-year-old son. He was playing downstairs and I
was doing some work upstairs when I started to hear the noises associated with
him rummaging through the pantry looking for food. He likes to be independent,
and he has gotten pretty good at making himself a peanut butter sandwich, so I
figured that’s what he was doing. I
resisted the urge to go downstairs and control the situation, allowing him to
have a little autonomy.
When
the rummaging subsided, I decided to go down and assess the damage, and
possibly brag on him for being a big boy and making his own sandwich. Well sure
enough, that’s exactly what he had been doing—making himself a sandwich. But it
wasn’t a peanut butter sandwich. In fact, he was quite proud of his new concoction—a
marshmallow/syrup sandwich—on whole wheat of course. Not quite sure how to
respond to such creativity, I asked, “Jake, why in the world did you make a
marshmallow/syrup sandwich?” He looked at me like I was stupid and said, “I was
hungry.” Duh.
Thank you captain obvious.
In
our gospel lesson today, we find Jesus hungry. After his baptism in the Jordan
River, which is considered the beginning point of his public ministry, Jesus
went into the wilderness, presumably to fast and pray. The story from the
gospel text picks up on day 40 of his fast. “He ate nothing during those days,”
Luke tells us, “and at the end of them he was hungry.” Really, Luke? 40 days
without food—you think he might have been a little hungry?
Sometimes
I wish Luke had been a psychologist instead of a physician. I would have
enjoyed knowing a little of how Jesus felt
after 40 days of fasting instead of a cut-and-dry clinician’s diagnosis. Luke’s
words to describe Jesus’ state: “He was hungry.” Duh.
Thank you captain obvious.
It
has been suggested that 40 days is the maximum period of time a normal human
can go without food. Jesus was at the weakest point of his wilderness
experience –perhaps the weakest point of his life—maybe even close to death.
That’s the moment when Evil Personified came calling—the Devil wanted to play
some games with Jesus—some hunger games.
The book and movie by the same
name, The Hunger Games, tells the
story of a dystopian post-America in which an oppressive regime maintains
control by keeping the people hungry. Not only that, but to lord power over the
people, the government sponsors a brutal reality show that drafts 24 children
at random against their will—against their parents’ will—forcing them to
participate in a bloody battle-to-the-death played out on national television.
They call the reality death match, The
Hunger Games. One child is left standing at the end of the games each year.
The rest are brutally murdered at the hands of other children as the whole
nation sits back and watches.
Why don’t the people rise up
and demand an end to this slaughter of innocent children? Why don’t they
boycott the games and refuse to watch? There are a host of reasons, but one
reason is simply that they are hungry. The child who wins the game receives a
bounty of food for his or her district. The people are desperate for food.
Morality isn’t much of a concern when survival is at stake. In their hunger,
they are weak.
Hunger makes us all weak; and
Jesus is hungry.
The three temptations Jesus
experiences in the desert suggest he is not only physically hungry, but that he
is mentally hungry as well as spiritually hungry. He is hungry in body, mind,
and spirit:
·
The first
temptation meets him at his place of physical hunger: “Tell this stone to
become bread.”
·
The second
temptation meets him at his place of mental hunger: “If you worship me, it will
all be yours.”
·
The third
temptation meets him at his place of spiritual hunger. This is the only time
the tempter uses scripture to make his case: “Throw yourself down. . .his
angels. . .will lift you up in their hands.”
The
temptation for his weakened body is food—“don’t
you need bread, Jesus?” The temptation for his weakened mind is control—“don’t you want power, Jesus?”
The temptation for his weakened spirit is religion—“don’t
you believe God, Jesus?” These three temptations are broad-stroke
representations of every temptation known to humankind. In fact, the author of
Hebrews states that Jesus was tempted in every possible way, yet was without
sin. (Heb. 4:15)
I’d
like to say that I’ve gotten to the point in my spiritual journey where I’m
above temptation. Yeah, not so much. I mean, I give up chocolate on Wednesday
but by Sunday I’ve got evidence of my guilt all over my face!
Some
of us, while believing Jesus faced temptation, think that we’re above the whole
“temptation thing” ourselves. I wonder
if this subtle, unspoken attitude, which I find all-to-common in churches
today, I wonder if it’s because we have a little temptation metric in our minds
. . . a little sin-o-meter if you will.
A little gossip isn’t so bad, but slander is terrible! A little flirting
doesn’t hurt anybody, but adultery is sinful! A little violence on television
is OK, but committing violence is wrong! A little materialism is natural, but theft
is outrageous! I think these are the hunger
games we play with God. Think about it. . .the temptations Jesus faced weren’t
all that bad, right? There’s nothing against the law about turning stones into
bread. In fact, if Jesus turned stones into bread, he could feed the whole
world! If he had control over the nations, he could wipe out injustice. If he
could fly, he could convince the whole world to put their faith in the one true
God. What if Jesus began to think, “These temptations aren’t so bad at all . .
. in fact, they can be used for good!”
In
our distorted way of thinking, maybe we believe we’re OK so long as we don’t
cross over into the “big sin” category. We’ve lost a sense that what we say and
do matters. We’ve lost a sense that we live life in the very presence of God.
We’ve lost a sense of wanting to be holy.
Here’s
the problem. We’re all hungry. We all have deep needs within us. This is the human
condition. Desire isn’t wrong—in fact, if we can notice and name our
desires—the hungers that drive us—we can use them as clues on the pathway toward
God. Most of our needs—outside the elemental food, clothing, and shelter—most
of our needs are god-sized needs, needs that only God can fulfill. But instead
of looking inward, where the Spirit of God dwells, we grasp around trying to
feed our hunger and fill our God-sized holes. We take things meant for good and
self-medicate with them. For physical hunger some self-medicate with food, sex,
drugs, and alcohol. None of these things
are “bad” until they’re misappropriated or abused. To assuage mental hunger or
anxieties, some seek power, wealth, control. None of these things are “bad”
until they’re misappropriated or abused.
To satisfy spiritual longings, some become hyper-religious, expect divine
intervention, and seek emotional highs. Again—none of these things are “bad”
until misappropriated or abused.
Saint
Augustine said, “God, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are
restless till they find their rest in you.” Our desires are infinite. But they
all lead to our one, gaping emptiness that can be filled by God and God alone.
Back
to Jesus in the desert. Why did he do it?
During
his 40-day fast, he gave up all non-essentials—all of the crutches that prop
most of us up our entire lives so that we don’t have to experience the deep hungers
of body, mind, and spirit.
·
For 40 days He
gave up food—“he ate nothing during those days”—
he gave up food and faced down his physical hunger.
·
For 40 days He
gave up control—placed himself at the mercy of the elements—
he gave up control and faced down his
mental hunger.
·
For 40 days he
gave up religion—he gave up any support from a faith community—
he gave up religion and faced down his spiritual hunger.
A
40-day fast from life as he knew it, and at the end, not one bit of chocolate
on his face.
On
this first Sunday in the season of Lent, we’re at the beginning of our 40-days
with Jesus in the wilderness. The traditional Lenten fast helps us “give up”
some crutch we use to treat the symptoms of our desire instead of feeding the
deeper, God-sized hunger within. Another approach is to “take up” a crutch,
usually some spiritual discipline, to help us work through our symptoms so that
we can get to a place of addressing the deeper reality within.
For a
moment, I want to address those of you who are retired, or as one friend told
me, “I don’t like to say ‘I’m retired,’ I like to say I’m ‘post-career.’” So a
word to those of you who are “post-career.” There has never been a better
opportunity to go deeper in faith. Franciscan Priest and prolific author
Richard Rohr says that retired persons are uniquely situated in human history,
to take what he calls the “further journey.” He says most of us never take the
further journey in the life of faith, because for most of human history, people
have been consumed with the first-half-of-life tasks of work and progeny. The vast
majority of people—even retired people—never take the further journey.
Post-career
friends—be the exception—and resolve during this Lenten season to take steps to
deepen your spiritual life. I want to extend an invitation to meet individually
with anyone who wants to take that deeper journey.
Now
for the rest of you, like me, still busy with kids and careers and school—maybe
those of you serving as caregivers—you’re not off the hook. Yes, you have
responsibility. I get that. Making a living and raising kids or caring for a
sick loved one is no walk in the park and requires tremendous energy. But
you’re not—we’re not exempt from the further journey. Even if we can only dip a
toe into the river of a deeper life—we’ve got to do it. It’s the God-sized hole
that makes us want more out of life than the daily grind. Small steps towards
the further journey will go a long way to fill that void.
So
back to the marshmallow/syrup on whole wheat episode and my very proud
5-year-old son. I simply had to smile. It was certainly inventive. The kid was
hungry. I let him eat it. Now don’t call child protective services just yet. I
let him eat the non-nutritious sandwich, but as he indulged in the sugar-fest,
I gave him a little lesson about nutrition. “The marshmallow/syrup sandwich may
taste yummy, but when you’re really hungry, you need substance.”
Are
you hungry? Wait, that’s a stupid question. Of course you’re hungry. Why do we
settle for marshmallow/syrup sandwiches when Christ is holding a seat for us at
the banquet table of God?
So
let’s wipe the chocolate from our faces, and recommit to journey toward the
great feast. We’ll probably have to cross the desert to get there. The journey
is far, but you can’t imagine the spread that awaits you. The invitation has
been delivered. Now it’s time to R.S.V.P.
Let us pray:
O God, you have made us for yourself, and our hearts are restless till they
find their rest in you.
We pray for your spirit to give us strength here in the desert, for our spirits
are willing but our flesh is weak.
Help us yearn for the deeper life to which you call us.
Lead us by our hunger to your amazing banquet table.
And grant each one of us the willingness to take the further journey.
Meet each of us where we are, and walk with us so that
when we stumble, you are there to catch us.
We love you, O Lord, but we know we can love you more.
Help us in the name of Jesus Christ, our strength and our shield.
Amen.