My earliest memories are pretty foggy.
But I think I can still resurrect some images from about the time I
was four. I know I wasn't in school, my mother was working as a
nurse, my dad was working for my mother's father in another city,
having just come back from being in the army. I spent the days with
my grandparents – who doted on me. I knew I was special. And this
was reinforced when my mother had a day off. She would take me
shopping, and part of that was to go to the local Woolworth's where
she would buy me an ice cream soda. Sometimes she'd buy some little
toy. I was the center of the universe! I was special.
As time went on I would now and then
get hints that in the eyes of the world I wasn't so special. Being
fairly unathletic I would generally get picked last when they were
choosing teams for baseball. I didn't belong to the in crowd in high
school; I was kind of a nerd in those days and that probably hasn't
changed. But there were many times when the world reminded me that I
wasn't special. One of the biggest shocks of retiring from my job as
a physician was the sudden loss of being special, because like it or
not, doctors are considered special.
I think all of us feel special and we
like that feeling. We gravitate towards situations where we can be
special. And it starts when we are small children.
I think Jesus felt special. He had,
after all, just before this passage today, undergone baptism by John,
and he heard a voice from heaven saying “this is my beloved Son, in
whom I am well pleased!” That's got to make you feel special. But
today we hear of the three temptations in the desert. And what is
the common theme running through these temptations? I think the
devil is trying to tempt Jesus to believe he is not special, that he
is not really the Beloved Son.
Jesus is hungry, as you would be after
fasting for 40 days and nights. The devil tells him to turn stones
into bread. “If you are the beloved one, why are you standing here
hungry?” he seems to be saying. And Jesus does not give in to the
temptation. He can be hungry, he can be starving, but he still knows
he is the beloved of the Father. He doesn't need proof.
And the same is true when Satan offers
him all the kingdoms of the world. He seems to be saying, “If you
are so special, why do you have no power at all? Shouldn't special
people have more than you have?” And Jesus, of course, redirects
the conversation – Only God is deserving of worship; to worship
someone or something else, like power, is futile and a waste of
energy.
And when Satan suggests he throw
himself off the tower to prove that he is special and that God will
send his angels to bear him up, Jesus again refuses to yield to this
argument. He does not need to put God to the test; he doesn't need
any concrete proof that he is God's beloved.
I know a young woman who is dying of
cancer. She and her family have stormed heaven for a miracle. It
doesn't look like they will get the miracle they want. Certainly she
must feel tempted that she is not special, that she is not Beloved of
the Father. But that is the assurance we all receive at Baptism. We
too step out of the water and our souls hear those words, “You too
are my beloved, in whom I am well pleased!” We can wander far, we
can live lives of sin, we can fail to live up to our potential, we
can lie, cheat, steal and murder – and we can run away from the
Father and live with pigs. But nothing can take away the fact that
we are beloved, that the Father continues to love us, that it is as
though we are his only one, his only child.
In Lent we remember that we are
flawed, that we are sinful creatures. And we undertake penances to
discipline ourselves, to turn our back on our sins and repent, and to
demonstrate with more than words that we want to return to our
Father, that we are sorry for drifting away from his love. And the
Father delights in what tokens we offer him. And when we make these
little efforts, he reaches down and loves us and helps us to draw
closer to him.
My brothers and sisters, Lent is a
time to remember that we are beloved, despite the fact that the world
keeps telling us otherwise. The world steps on us, the world tells
us that we are just one of some seven billion people, that we are
subject to accident and disease and ultimately death, that our plans
seldom turn out the way we want them to – Oh, yes, the world is
always telling us that we are nobody, that we are alone, that we are
victims of fate, that once we are gone we will scarcely be missed.
But that is the devil talking, who is
constantly tempting us, who is telling us that we are nobody, that we
are at the mercy of fate, that God isn't really interested in me, or
what I do. The devil is telling us that God only loves the people
who are perfect, the people who do harsh penances, the people who
live lives as monks or nuns. The devil says that if we want God's
love we need to do more, pray more, sacrifice more. The devil tells
us that we might as well give up, we will never be Beloved.
But we are, and we need to remind
ourselves and each other of this every day.. Husbands should remind
their wives that they are beloved, and vice versa; and parents should
tell their children, and employers should tell their employees. What
a world we would live in if we were constantly reminding each other
that we are beloved, and that we are pleasing to God – without
doing anything; just be being.
