The challenge Jesus faces in the wilderness is that he is alone. The wilderness is rough — a place of separation — where you are left to dwell with yourself. We know that Jesus is hunger which contributes to his desperation. Being alone is where the trials and temptations happen.
Immediately after the Gospel account, Jesus returns to Galilee and is brought closer to the disciples and community, to his teaching and to be praised.
What brings us close to others and to God? Being close or near to someone is more than proximity. Strangers can stand side by side in line at the store and live galaxies apart. While lovers can be in different countries from one another and still be one in heart and mind. Others living under the same roof can feel worlds apart with walls of fear, hurt, or misunderstandings.
In the Gospel text, Jesus is far away from God. Far from a temple or sacraments or signs and healings, Jesus is in the wilderness. He is tested by the devil. And yet, God still draws near. When Jesus confesses the convictions of his heart, his words are not only enough to keep temptation at bay. They also reveal the nearness with God in a way that transcends his location.
The epistle (second reading) for today has its own reflection on nearness. Quoting Moses from Deuteronomy, “The Word is very near you.”
God draws near to us and we—by grace—learn to draw near to one another. The Apostle Paul describes the message of the cross. Graced by the gift of Jesus with the assurance in faith that God will bring us near.
More than a spectator in the audience or watching from a screen, God comes alongside us, close enough to touch. God kneels to wash our feet and takes on the cross. When faith takes the Word of salvation into our hearts, our whole lives find Christ at the center. The words of our mouths express our deepest convictions, allowing us to become more for each other than either acquaintances or strangers. A stranger is free to turn away, an acquaintance says hello, and passes, yet with God’s Word in our hearts, we begin to see one another with the eyes of Christ with compassion, truth, empathy and love. God’s promise in this week’s psalm: “Those who love me, I will deliver. I will protect those who know my name.” The living Word resides in our hearts.
God who chooses to draw near to us empowers us to draw near to those who once seemed impossibly far. From Paul’s words in Romans, there is “no Jew or Greek,” That which separates gives way to a new kind of nearness: a tighter knot of shared faith and hope; God who chooses to draw near to us empowers us to draw near to those who once seemed impossibly far.
The Deuteronomy reading appointed with these texts puts this nearness into practice. The text talks about those being far off brought near. The text reads: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors; the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.” The text is the story of a God who brings near those who are far off.
Levites and aliens were those who had no ancestral heritage of land and therefore depended on landholding Israelites for their daily bread. All their work was essential to Israelite society, yet a celebration of the fruit of the land tended to exclude those who did not inherit the land. The imperative is given that these important, but vulnerable, community members must be sought out and included in the festivities.
The first fruit giving embedded the reminder and need in our spiritual ancestors to care for those seemingly far off in the annual celebration of the first fruits, And giving the first fruits was a vital practice and ritual need to bring those who are far off to be brought near economically and socially to the center of community life in the temple.
In a commentary on this text, Timothy McNinch, a professor of the Hebrew Bible, writes: “Lent has traditionally been a season of special focus on almsgiving — a time to redouble a commitment to care for the most vulnerable in our communities—especially those without the privilege of generational wealth and those considered aliens and outsiders by the privileged insiders.”
I read Professor McNinch’s commentary at the same time I received an email from World Relief, one of the refugee resettlement non-profit agencies in Sacramento that read: “The U.S. Department of State has officially terminated the Reception & Placement program, bringing an end to a 45-year, bi-partisan effort designed to help newly arrived refugees settle into their communities during their first 90 days with essential support. Here in Sacramento, this abrupt change has left 111 newly arrived refugee families or 434 individuals without access to housing, food, and essential support.”
These messages compelled me a call for a personal Lenten almsgiving practice to support these individuals who are far away from their homeland to which they cannot return to learn how to put Christ at the center of God in love for these far-off neighbors. I hope you might also hear the call to step up as the church and individuals to bring those seemingly far off, brought near in love, care, and the call to community.
The advice of a puppy trainer of a puppy who doesn’t listen well is to: “leash the dog to a closet door where he can still see you. And then just ignore the puppy. When he settles down, release him and rub his ears.” According to the dog trainer: “Your puppy wants nothing more than to be near you. He will do anything to make that happen.” Nearness is a puppy’s heart’s delight; an ecstatic end in itself. The same can be said of God and of all who choose to gather in God’s name.
