It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it? I was struck by all that we packed in. Tuesday brought the hustle and bustle of Mardi Gras—with pancakes and spoonsful of gumbo mingled with good conversation. And then later in the week, St. Paul’s played host to the Diocesan Convention, bringing together Episcopalians from across Arkansas, as we went about the work of the diocese, and we worshiped together, and heard the inspiring Michael Battle.

But Wednesday was the pivot, it brought a turn—the invitation to turn off the world for a few moments, to enter the quiet wilderness with a pause, to be still and know that God is with us as we prepare to make our way to the cross.

It is a worthwhile endeavor for us to reflect on the nature of our own wilderness experience in the context of the scriptural accounts we have just heard. Wilderness experience—it is part of our story from the very beginning, when Adam and Eve, of course, find themselves out of the garden and in the untamed wilderness of life.

The ancient Israelites roamed the wilderness for forty years, and time and again, we hear about how they forgot to follow the instructions given by God through Moses, and how easy it was for them to get lost in the desert of their existence.

And then Jesus, after his baptism, enters the wilderness for forty days, and is similarly tempted, but he manages to remember that the Spirit has led him there and will minister to him in all things, and so he is still and he does know that God is there with him.

No matter how we might interpret this encounter with Satan—this experience of the temptations that most surely dogged Jesus from the time he came to understand his purpose in life—however we might interpret it, we know it contains the truth for all of us. This story strikes at the heart of who we are and how we struggle to live in this world in which there are so many missed opportunities to see how God is with us.

The temptations offered to Jesus may seem foreign to us—turning stones to bread, jumping and getting caught by angels, and worshipping Satan—they may seem foreign, but if we stop to consider them we’d find that they are our temptations, too.

What Satan is really inviting, even begging Jesus to believe, is that God does not really find him worthy of the constancy and commitment that comes with the covenant that God has made with Israel, with Jesus, and through him with all of us as well. I mean, think about it, turning stones into bread is about meeting one’s needs—he was hungry, famished, we are told. Can we trust that the God’s nourishing manna is really all around us in the desert—can we trust that our prayer is heard—Give us this day our daily bread?

And what about jumping off the temple—isn’t this really a challenge to the words Jesus has just heard as he came up out of the water at his baptism—This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased? Let’s just see how beloved you really are—jump and see if God’s angels will catch you? Can we really live in the wilderness and trust that we are beloved children of God—who has claimed us in a covenant of steadfast love and mercy? Can we be led by the Spirit or have we been duped by the guy who has diverted our attention away from the task at hand—Simply be still, and know that I am God.

And then there is the temptation to worship something or someone other than God—who or what really is the object of our faith? Is it knowledge? Is it power? Is it money? Is it family? Those are all really tasty apples, but none will offer us any lasting nourishment which will sustain us in this wilderness of life?

Ultimately, the biblical theme of wilderness experiences is about trusting that God is present to us and providing for us, in ways that offer the sustenance that we desperately need to help us make sense of this life, this world, this existence.

Jesus’ obedience in the wilderness is a great story. It is rich with imagery that makes it an enduring saga. It is an offering of instruction for us all—it comes softly though…difficult or impossible to hear if we are tuned in to all things worldly, but the call from God never ceases.

And even after we have lost all our bearings in the wilderness, if we will just be still, and know, then we will hear the voice, we will see the face of one who is calling us to turn around, to return, to be held in the tender embrace of God was has claimed us and who is steadfastly loving and merciful.

May this Lent be a holy season of peace for us all—a time of quiet reflection on the promises that God has made to all people, inviting us to be still and to trust that no wilderness of despair or loneliness or shame or sin or anything else is too desolate for God.

Blessed be the name of God.