Jesus is In Our Midst

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 29, 2009

Read: John 12:20-33

Nice Greek girls are supposed to do three things in life,” says Toula’s father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. “Marry a nice Greek boy, make babies, and feed everyone till the day we die.” Not that Toula, a thirty-something single needs reminding. Day after boring day, she toils in the family Greek diner, her lank hair falling around her face, her body hidden in a sackcloth dress.

One day Prince Charming walks into the diner—a handsome, sensitive, artsy guy named Ian. Does Ian sound Greek to you? That’s the problem. Toula falls in love with a guy who is not a nice Greek boy. Not surprisingly, Toula’s Mr. Right becomes her parents’ Mr. Wrong—“a big xeno,” her father moans, “with long hairs on top of his head.” Her father wonders aloud of Toula’s fiancé. “Is he a good boy? I donnn’t know. Is he from good family? Is he respectful? I donnn’t know.” Eventually a date is set, however, for this clash-of-the-cultures wedding.

You can almost hear the Us and Them screeching and colliding as the story develops. Ian’s uppity parents writhe in embarrassment as they arrive at Toula’s get-acquainted party. The limo pulls up to the curb and there, amidst modest suburban homes, is Toula’s house, a miniature version of the Parthenon replete with Corinthian columns and statues and –horror of horrors—a lamb roast on the front lawn.

By movie’s end, our pale WASP family finds in the Greeks a robust and exotic community, though unorthodox (they mime spitting on each other for good luck), and both cultures are able to move beyond their suspicions to form a new family. But you just never know what will happen when the Greeks arrive.

Greeks. That’s who arrive at Passover in our gospel lesson today. Technically, the word refers to Toula’s kin—people of Greek descent, language and culture. But by the time of the Caesars, Greek meant anyone influenced by Greek culture—most of whom lived in towns and cities rather than in the rural countryside. But among pious Jews in Jerusalem, the word, “Greek,” had taken on its broadest meaning. There are only two groups in the world: Jews, a group of people held together by descent, language and culture, and Greeks—the rest of the world.

John tells us that some Greeks—non-Jewish types—who had come to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, paid a visit to Philip. “Hey we want to meet your leader,” they ask. “Please wait right here,” Philip says, “and I’ll get right back to you.” Philip casually turns the corner and then mad-dashes over to Andrew.

“Hey Andrew,” whispers Philip out of breath, “we’ve got a problem—some Greeks want to see Jesus.” “Greeks?” Andrew responds incredulously. “Are they good boys? We donnn’t know. From good family? Respectful? We donnn’t know.” Apparently so undecided about what to do with the Greeks, they take their request to Jesus.

For once it seems a group comes looking for Jesus with no apparent agenda- no request for healing, no attempt at controversy...just this: we would like to see Jesus.

Did Jesus really respond to the request? His reply seems to go in another direction from the questioner's intent. Or is his monologue really a statement/reply about where Jesus can really be seen--in the hour of his glory, as the seed goes into the ground and dies, on the cross, and in the faithful setting aside of self-interest of his disciples?

We all see Jesus in different ways. Healer, Savior, Friend, Teacher, Prophet. John is the gospel of signs, and he reminds us that after all the signs if we really want to see Jesus then there is only one place to look- the cross.

As much as it might hurt us to think about the darkness, the abandonment, and the pain, we must. We have to go look at the cross and we have to stay there. If we stay long enough we might just catch a glimpse of the glory of God. The truth might hit us like thunder: "Ohhh...so that's
what God is like!"

In January, 2007, The Washington Post set up an experiment to learn whether people would pause long enough to recognize real quality in their midst. They arranged with Joshua Bell, a young violinist, to dress in jeans, T-shirt, and baseball cap and play his violin near a busy Washington D.C. Metro (subway) station.

Bell stood by a wall near a trash can, took his violin from its case, tossed a few bills and some coins in the case to encourage donations, and began to play. He played his violin for 45 minutes as subway riders passed by -- more than a thousand of them. While he was playing, a few people tossed a little money in his violin case -- $32 in all. Most of the rest walked by, scarcely acknowledging his presence. $32 doesn't seem too bad for 45 minutes work. That figures out to $42 an hour -- if you don't have to take any breaks.

But Joshua Bell does better at his day job -- or, as it were, at his night job. A few evenings earlier, he sold out Boston Symphony Hall with most tickets going for $100 or more. In that concert, he played a Stradivarius violin worth $3 million -- the same violin that he played at the subway entrance.

I wonder if we would notice Jesus if he were in our presence today. He is in our presence, of course. Remember what he said? "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matthew 25:40).

May we recognize Jesus in our midst and glorify the name of the Lord. Amen.

Venom Comes From More Than Snakes

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 22, 2009

Read: Numbers 21:4-9 and John 3:14-21

In this morning’s passage from Numbers we hear about snakes; serpents. Poisonous snakes. Yuck. A recent Harris poll on “What We Are Afraid Of?” discovered that 36 percent of all adults in the United States list snakes as their number one fear.

I, for one, am not fond of snakes. In a recent visit to the Inn at Freedom Village, I entered the front doors and there in front of me was a young man sitting at the desk with a very large snake wrapped around his neck. Almost like a necklace or a boa. He explained it was indeed his pet and he is a boa constrictor…who greeted me by lifting up his up his little face and stuck his tongue out at me when I expressed some curiosity. I am still not fond of snakes. Pets or not pets.

Snakes, or serpents, remind us of the story in the Book of Genesis about Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, in paradise, and the temptation of the serpent. We tend to associate snakes with evil intent and I wonder if that may have a little something to do with the large percentage of people who fear snakes.

The story in Numbers is an odd one. The people are once again grumbling and complaining – which isn’t a new thing for the group - but this time what is different is that they speak out against God . Complaining about their leaders, Moses and Aaron, is one thing. Complaining about God is something else altogether.

The Lord sends poisonous serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many Israelites died. When they realized their sinful ways, they went to Moses once again for intercession. Please pray for the Lord to take away the serpents.

The Lord’s response was not to take away the serpents; but rather to have Moses create a bronze image of the poisonous serpent and put it on a pole. Anyone who was bitten was to look at the serpent of bronze and they would live. They would be healed.

Now, think about that. The very thing that you are most afraid of – a poisonous serpent biting you and killing you – is what you need to look up to for healing. We need to look at what we fear the most, in order to receive life. Hmnnn. Another thought: poisonous venon and anti-venom come from the same place.

The first sentence in our gospel reading from John today is: “Jesus said, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

Ellen Edwards Kennedy, a writer and born-again Christian, wrote the following -- whether about herself or about a character in one of her books I do not know:

“When I became a Christian, I began to look at a particular young woman with scorn. I felt little but contempt for her as I thought of her quick temper, her selfishness, her spiteful gossiping, and the way she took her loving family for granted. Any time she was mentioned, I could think of very little good to say. But one day as I was leafing through an old picture album filled with photos of her, Jesus spoke to my spirit and told me, "I have always loved her, despite her sins, and I have forgiven her. I want you to forgive and love her too."

As I gazed at the young face in the pictures, my heart was filled with compassion for the girl. Along the way in searching for life's meaning, she had made many mistakes. God gave me a gentle love for her and the ability to forgive her. That moment of healing, when I decided to forgive and love her, also gave me a new strength and a new freedom to love others as never before…because the woman in the pictures was me.”

Lent is a time of honest self-examination, of correcting course, of forgiving self and others. Lent is a time to take what we are afraid of, those parts of ourselves that we are afraid to look at, or to let others see, and lift them up into the light. Transformation can occur when we look at, or acknowledge, what is causing our fear, our anger, our bitterness, our frustration, our negativity, our hatred. We can be healed, transformed, given new life when we walk in the light.

Thomas Hall tells of a startling interview between a Time correspondent and a sniper during a recent skirmish. The sniper had worked in his profession for years. Before the outbreak he was a javelin thrower-an aspiring Olympic competitor. During the war he got used to killing. He had claimed to have cut down 325 people who had tried to cross what became known as Sniper Alley to get food and water. The sniper said he didn’t begin to hate until his mother was jailed and beaten by the other side. Now he hates. But probably the most telling part of the interview was when he described his visit to see his mother recently. He said, "I have no feelings for what I do. When she hugged me, I felt nothing." That hate over time has turned this young Olympic hopeful into a killing machine. Venomous bites can be lethal.

Only a few Jewish families live in Billings, Montana, but for some, one was thought too many. A few people began their own hate campaign. They donned those ridiculous KKK hoods and marched out and around the Jewish homes shouting expletives and abuse. Understandably, peace-loving people in the community became frightened. Doors quickly closed and curtains shut out the blatant racism, as if their silence would make the problem go away.

But one faith community in town glanced around long enough to send a message to the beleaguered victims. They hung little menorahs in their sanctuary windows as a sign of love and support. Crosses and menorahs together in the windows.

The circle of rage and hate against these families, and now against their supporters, grew larger. Within a week the faith community itself was pelted with rocks and paint and its doors were smashed by these angry people. The poison of hatred and racism will kill God’s love inside a person and its venom can paralyze a person’s ability to love and be loved. Resentment and bitterness against others is ultimately against God. And with the resentment and bitterness comes the snakes. And with their venom comes death.

So now, a thousand years after the story about hatred and poisonous snakes we see a man standing in the darkness talking. And he says, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life." That’s not the story they were used to hearing.

Jesus doesn’t talk about hatred, racism, or other poisons. I guess by this time, the fact that we’ve all been bitten by poisonous snakes is obvious. So Jesus moves to the antidote. "When I am lifted up on that pole-just like when Moses erected the snake in the wilderness-people will recover and experience fullness of life."

John doesn’t tell us the rest of the story right here. But we know it. When Christ was lifted up on that old cross, God allowed God’s very being to be bitten for us. God took the bites of all the poisonous serpents that slither through our society. All the serpents of hatred, bigotry, racism, sexism, and unforgiveness. He took the hit for us all. So that in the suffering of God there is healing for our hatreds, healing for our self-destructive poisons, healing for our lives.

In the midst of this poison, in the whirl of hatred, healing came to the faith community I just spoke of. CBS picked up the story and our nation, for a brief moment in time, heard about a little congregation and Jewish families who joined together to fight hatred and racism. Donations and money for repairs came from all over America to that little congregation and Jewish neighbors.

In the end, it was love, not hate that won the day. They were able to move from the poison to the remedy: God’s love. For in that split second we saw the form of a figure stretched spread-eagle on a cross, and the message read,

"I love you,"
-God

Clean Up Your Mess

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 15, 2009

Children’s Sermon

Are any of you familiar with the book series written by Stan and Jan Berenstain called the Berenstain Bears?¹ The stories are all wonderful lessons of life for young people as Mama and Papa Berenstain Bear along with Brother Bear and Sister Bear encounter things like a bad dream, trouble at school and going to the dentist.
There is a story "The Berenstain Bears and the Messy Room." It is a lesson about house cleaning. The introduction warns:

"When small bears forget to pick up, store and stash,
Some of their favorite things end up in the trash."

The crisis in the story comes when Mama Bear gets fed up with the mess in Brother and Sister's room and is too much to take. It goes this way:

"Well, the mess just seemed to build up and build up until one day... maybe it was because Mama's back was a little stiff, or maybe it was stepping on Brother's airplane cement, or maybe she was just fed up with that messy room, but whatever it was... Mama Bear lost her temper!

She stormed into the cub's room with a big box. 'The first thing we need to do is get rid of all this junk!' she said. Brother and Sister were watching in horror as Mama began to throw things into the box."

It's like that sometimes with our lives, isn't it? Things pile up until it is just too much to take. We have to clean up the mess. Whether it is a messy room or a messy set of circumstances at school or at home, the time comes when we just want the mess cleaned up.

Why do we want the mess cleaned up?

I think because a mess devalues something of worth. It might be a room we want to enjoy or a household where we want some peace and quiet. But, when it's messy, it can't serve its intended purpose. There are times when a mess can be so serious, nothing but radical housecleaning will correct the situation.

That's what today's gospel lesson is all about. Jesus finds a horrible mess in the temple and becomes very angry. He actually took a whip and drove the merchants out of the temple courtyard where they were conducting business. He overturned the tables where the accountants were making change and he told the merchants to take their merchandise away.

What is it that has created such passion in him?

I think because God was no longer put first in the temple. Jesus is telling us that
God needs to be first in our lives. Not the messes that we make more important than God. God first.

¹ Stan and Jan Berenstain, Random House / First Time Books; New York, 1983

Sometimes You Don't Need a Flashlight

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 8, 2009

Read: Mark 8:31-38

Early in Jesus ministry, he chose 12 people to go with him into the future together. They were going to be leaders, proclaiming good news and preaching in front of throngs of people. And the early days of ministry were wildly successful. Together, they helped Jesus feed the 5000. They were there for the healing of sick people, the winning of debates against critics. They were learning from Jesus how to calm the angry seas by a simple word. It was all very, very cool.

And then one day, Jesus made a sharp right turn. He asked the disciples if they had figured out who he was. After a few guesses, Peter identified Jesus as the Son of God. It was a powerful, holy moment. But in his very next words, Jesus told them that he was on his way to Jerusalem to die. “Die?” Peter says. “Die? You’re not going to die! The party’s just getting started!”

And it was then that Jesus offered them a three-fold standard for leadership. “If you are going to be leaders” Jesus tells them, “then you must deny yourself, take up the cross, and follow.” It all seemed so backwards to them, that they should have to deny themselves (whatever that meant), and take up a cross (they knew exactly what that meant!), and to be followers. And yet, this is precisely what Jesus expected of them — that they would deny themselves — that they would set aside their own selfish wants and wishes, and pursue what was best for the group. And when Jesus spoke of the cross, they learned that being a disciple would mean hardship, and sacrifice, and possibly even death. And finally, the disciples learned that Jesus wanted them to follow him…to imitate him…to love the people that he loved, and to trust the God that he trusted.

The disciples didn’t really get it until after the Resurrection. Finally then, they understood what Jesus was saying — that to be in his company, he required people to set aside their personal agendas, and to be willing to suffer, and to live life like him, because this life is not the end. When Jesus rose from the dead, it all made sense to the disciples. In fact, that three-fold standard — self-denial, taking up a cross, and following Jesus — became the way they lived…and the way they died. Every one of them.

A number of years ago, a friend of mine was during youth ministry and attended a conference at a Christian camp in North Carolina, with some of the top youth leaders in the country. It was a beautiful place, nestled in the Smokey Mountains and surrounded by trees. After dinner one evening, the people who were leading the program suggested that all of us youth leaders - all 200 of us - hike to the mountaintop overlooking the camp. It was a warm summer evening, and since they were in charge of the program and not us, we readily agreed to take that hike.

The journey up was relaxed. A narrow dirt path wound its way, probably two miles to the top of the mountain. But when we arrived, it was all worth it! You could see for miles, the sun had painted the sky a thousand colors, and the view of the camp down below was spectacular. We sang songs and hymns and had a sort of impromptu worship service on the top of the mountain. When the lights came on down in the camp, it appeared as though we were looking down at a constellation of stars. And then it occurred to someone to say out loud “You know, it’s gotten dark, and we’ve got a two mile hike down to base camp.” Hmmm, that same thought occurred to our program leaders at just about the same time! 200 people making their way down the mountain in pitch dark wasn’t what they had planned.

Fortunate for us, one guy discovered a flashlight in his backpack. One flashlight - 400 broken ankles waiting to happen! Another person said she was very familiar with the trail back to camp. These were now our leaders, and we were the timid followers. It was a slow and humbling experience; 200 bold and gifted leaders having to follow one flashlight and one college co-ed in the darkness.

He’s thought about that scene countless times over the years, because it was that night that he realized that he’s not a very good follower. And we live in a culture of others who are not very good at following. That’s somewhat odd, because the first thing we teach our children at a very young age is to follow. “Follow daddy down to the basement.” “Follow Mommy out to the garden.” We teach them games like “Follow the leader” and “Simon Says” and “Captain May I?” And we are pleased when they follow well. (Steven Molin)

The story is told of a man living in London during the Second World War. Every night German planes appeared overhead dropping countless bombs on the city below. Buildings burst into flames, sirens wailed incessantly, entire blocks were reduced to rubble. One day this Londoner was sitting in the wreckage of his home. The walls remained, but the roof was gone.

The man himself was near despair. His home ruined, his city devastated, his country under attack. These thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

The man opened the door and was shocked to see a small regal figure. It was the king! King George VI! He was touring the war-damaged neighborhood and had stopped at that particular house. The startled man welcomed the King of England into what was left of his home.

Jesus is a king like that. He comes, of his own accord, to the ruin that I am, and knocks firmly on the door of my heart. He comes not once, but often, always knocking on that door. This king comes to me in time of crisis, across the devastated landscape.

We say that a king must be wealthy, having for his own gold and jewels, castles and palaces, fine horses and elegant clothing. But this King Jesus I know to be the prince who has become a pauper. His birthplace is a stable. His palace is a hillside. If I am to catch a glimpse of him today, then I must look in the right place: among the poor, the disinherited, the powerless. It is there that the king will be found. He is there today as he was two thousand years ago.

Perhaps my greatest temptation is not that I will insult him, reject him, blaspheme him to his face, but that I will simply overlook him. For no longer is his uniform a robe, sandals, long hair. Now he appears as a weary woman raising her kids alone on a back street not far from here. He appears as an old man dying slowly and alone at the city hospital. He even appears as someone who commutes daily to work, suffocated by success, numb to inner emptiness. In each of these disguises King Jesus appears to me. He's a prince who's become a pauper. Pray that I may recognize him and kiss his hand.

A king must be powerful, we say. He must sit secure upon his throne and wield his scepter well, and remain confident in who he is. But Jesus is a king of a different kind. He lays aside the stunning mantle of his omnipotence, and drains the cup of human experience, human limitation, even down to the dregs of our suffering, sorrow, and death. There's no calamity I have known or can ever experience which remains unknown to him. All my dark rooms are places he has walked before.

Strange to say, it is by letting go of all power that all power comes to him. The king dies a disgraceful death. He is an outcast, a failure, abandoned and forsaken. No royal sepulcher awaits where his body can rest in peace. Instead, there is begging for the corpse by a friend, a borrowed tomb, hasty burial. But it is through this death and this one alone that the world is reborn. Through his new and unconquerable life the gates of eternity are thrown open.

Is this Jesus a king? Yes, a king like no other. His relinquishment of control tells me that I do more good when I give than when I grasp, when I allow myself to be a deep river of peace rather than a blowtorch of misbegotten anger. His relinquishment of control tells me that the only game that matters is won already, and when the results are tallied, the winning team will be The Holy Fools and not The Wise of This World. One after another rulers die and are replaced. The crown is handed down from each one to the next. Royal houses are proficient at filling graves. Today a king, tomorrow a corpse!

But Jesus reverses this saying. Once a corpse, now he is a king forever! And his resurrection holds for me the hope that the absurdities of my life will not have the final say, but that his unconquerable life may be mine forever, and that the city where he rules unquestioned may become my permanent address. (The Rev. Charles Hoffacker)

Sometimes, I remember that there is a Leader out in front of me. He doesn’t have a flashlight, he IS the Light. Amen.

A Prescription for Spiritual Renewal

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 1, 2009

Read: Mark 1:9-15; Genesis 9:8-17; 1 Peter 3:18-22

This is the first Sunday of Lent and the readings are simply packed full of meaning and are very nicely tied together. Lent is the church season, the 40-days, in which we intentionally focus on self-examination. Today we’ll focus on the wilderness experience as the basis for that self-eximation.

A friend once received a postcard. He said, “On one side was a picture of a teddy bear standing in a garden beside its wheelbarrow, trowel in paw. This bear had produced a bumper crop of carrots and lettuce that filled the wheelbarrow. Then, as he turned the card over, he found himself looking no longer at a garden but instead at a barren wilderness. The note read, do you think we could talk sometime? I’m going through a time with a lot of doubts, and it makes me very uneasy.

From garden of delight to awful wilderness with the flick of a card. It doesn’t take much to turn the most luxurious garden life into a very lonely wilderness, does it? We’re all of us just a turn, just an event away from the wilderness of testing and temptation.

Mark's brief description of Jesus' time in the wilderness is an excellent reminder at the beginning of the Lenten season. Any Christian walk will be diminished if it does not include personal time, time alone with God in a place apart. In today's reading, however, Jesus provides a model for life and ministry that is founded on time alone and apart from the distractions of everyday life. Of course, the irony of this story is that Jesus is not really alone. While in the wilderness, he is tempted by Satan, encounters wild beasts, and is ministered to by the angels.

From this story, it is possible to draw some interesting parallels to modern experience. The constant activity of daily life often distract us from both positive and negative inner experience. Sometimes it is only when we get away and spend some quiet time apart from all the distractions that we can confront the demons within ourselves. It is instructive that Mark's account of the temptation does not attempt to describe the nature of Jesus' encounter with Satan. It is enough to recognize the struggle without trying to provide a narrative and dialogue. The honest struggle with the adversary is what counts for Jesus and for believers today. Yes, the time apart can be difficult. It can force us to confront demons that we avoid in everyday life, but it is also the time in which we can receive the ministry of angels. In the wilderness, we can learn that God will bless us and equip us for God's service in the world. And, we don't have to go to the Judean desert to find this wilderness. The opportunity to be alone and apart is all around us, and we should take advantage of it not only during this time of Lent but throughout our walk with Christ.

Wilderness. In this context, the word does not imply time spent communing with what we call "nature." Wilderness is a place of danger, of ever-present threat, of the Great Unknown. Those who are in the wilderness know, at the deepest level possible, that they are not in control anymore (and possibly even realize that they never were!).

Wilderness times challenge us, not just by showing us that we don’t have all the survival skills we would like, but by calling into question our very identity.

The wilderness doesn't ask us, What can you do about this situation? It asks us, Who ARE you in this situation? Which is why we avoid the wilderness. Which is why Jesus DOESN'T avoid the wilderness! Which is why the Spirit won't LET him avoid the wilderness. Which is why the Spirit won't let US avoid it, either.

It is in the wilderness of danger, where God seems to have abandoned us, that Jesus survives, and he - and we - discover who we really are in this situation. The desert is a wild and dangerous place. It’s very hot in the daytime, and it’s very cold at night. Sometimes the wind blows, and it blows so much that it completely changes the way things look. There is a true story told by Stephen Covey about a man who experiences a time in his life when everything seemed flat, boring, dull.

He went to this physician who found nothing wrong with him physically. The doctor then suggested that he take a day for some spiritual renewal. He was to go to a place that had been special to him as a child. He could take food, but nothing else. The doctor then handed him four prescriptions - one to be read at 9 AM, one to be read at noon, one at 3 PM, and the final one at 6 PM. The patient agreed and the next day, drove himself to the beach.

At nine AM he opened the first prescription, which read. "Listen carefully." For three hours do nothing but listen??? Our friend was annoyed, but decided to obey. At first he heard the wind, the birds, the surf--predictable beach sounds. But then he found himself listening to his inner voice, reminding him of some of the lessons the beach had taught him as n child--patience, respect, the interdependence of the different parts of nature. Soon, our friend was feeling more peaceful than he had in a long time.

At noon he opened the second prescription, and it said, "Try reaching back." His mind began to wander, and he discovered himself being overwhelmed by all the moments of joy and blessing and giftedness he had been given in the past.

At three he opened the third prescription. This one was harder. It read, "Examine your motives." Defensively, this man listed all the motivating factors of his life - success, recognition, security - and found satisfactory explanations for them all. But finally it occurred to him, in a shattering moment, that those motives were not enough, that the lack of a deeper motive probably accounted for the staleness and boredom of his life.

"In a flash of certainty," he wrote, "I saw that if one's motives are wrong, nothing can be right. It makes no difference if you are a scientist, a housewife, a mail carrier, or an attorney. It is only when you are serving others, that you do the job well and feel good. This is a law as irrefutable as gravity."

At six PM he read the final prescription. It said, "Write your worries on the sand." He took a shell, scratched a few words, and then walked away, never turning back. He knew, with a great sense of relief, that the tide would come in, and his anxieties would be washed away."

My friends, The Wilderness - the aloneness - the solitude that the wilderness affords - the hardship - is an opportunity - a blessing - from the Spirit of God. It is a place where we can be tested - a place where we can grow into the maturity that we require so that we can indeed face the world, in both good times and in bad, and do there those things that God would have us do.

Out there on the backside of the desert, a new garden is created. A new Israel merges. A new Adam arises. A new possibility is born.

Hear the Good News of the gospel: "As I walked with my beloved Son as he encountered Satan in the wilderness; as I raised him up from even the darkest hour, I will walk with you through the wilderness as well. I have a land of promise for you. I have a mission for you to accomplish. I will raise you up and bring you through every wilderness."

While every garden is but the flipside of a wilderness, the good news of the gospel according to Mark reminds us that every wilderness can become a garden of life and growth and trust because one day long ago the Spirit sent Jesus out into the wilderness, and he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. Amen.