I gave this laugh box to Rev. Jim because I always over hear him telling folks how difficult it can be to preach into a camera and microphone with an empty sanctuary. He always adds, “there’s nobody there to laugh at my jokes.” So this corny dad joke is for you
Rev. Jim:
One day when Jesus was relaxing in Heaven, He happened to notice a familiar-looking old man. Wondering if the old man was His father Joseph, Jesus asked him, "Did you, by any chance, ever have a son?"
"Yes," said the old man, "but he wasn't my biological son. He was born by a miracle, by the intervention of a magical being from the heavens."
"Very interesting," said Jesus. "Did this boy ever have to fight temptation?"
"Oh, yes, many times," answered the old man. "But he eventually won. Unfortunately, he heroically died at one point, but he came back to life shortly afterwards."
Jesus couldn't believe it. Could this actually be His father?
"One last question," He said. "Were you a carpenter?"
"Why yes," replied the old man. "Yes I was."
Jesus rubbed His eyes and said, "Dad?"
The old man rubbed his eyes and said, “Pinocchio?" (Laugh Box)
In this season of Lent, let us remember that we have buried the hallelujahs, and not our joy and laughter.
Which brings us to our Gospel lesson this morning. You could say that this is the sequel sermon to the message I gave on the Sunday of the Baptism of our Lord in a sermon entitled, Remember Your Baptism. If you don’t remember the message, you probably remember the metaphor I used to describe the Father’s revelation of unconditional and merciful Belovedness bestowed upon us though the baptism of Christ. The metaphor went something like, my dogs eat poop, and that’s gross, but it doesn’t change how much I love them.
So after Jesus was baptized by John and confirmed the Beloved by his Father, IMMEDIATELY the Spirit drove him out into the wilderness where he remained for forty days, tempted by Satan. "In fact, Mark uses the verb ekballein meaning to drive out, a phrase used frequently in Mark to express the expulsion of demons" (Sacra Pagina, p.65-66). This language paints such a sense of immediacy and urgency in the mission of Christ following his public baptism.
"The wilderness recalls the place where Israel was tested for forty years. The forty days we see here in Mark more likely alludes to the fast of Moses in the wilderness of Sinai. Through the juxtaposition of Jesus’ baptism and his journey into the wilderness, Mark captures the dual aspect of the wilderness as the place of God’s revelation as well as a place of testing" (p.66).
As we say in Godly Play whenever we introduce an Old Testament story from the desert, "The (desert) wilderness is a dangerous place. People die in the (desert) wilderness. One never goes into the (desert) wilderness alone."
So what happens to Jesus in the wilderness? Mark’s version is super abbreviated when compared to the elaborate dialogue between Jesus and Satan found in Matthew and Luke. What we do learn through Mark is that Jesus was tempted by Satan, yet he did not sin.
So what does the wilderness mean to us today? I think that the wilderness is a place where our spirituality is refined and tested. But we do not travel alone. Jesus is Immanuel, the God who is with us. Just as the baptism of Jesus includes us in his life, death, and resurrection, so does his victory over Satan in the wilderness. And although we might at times feel lost and bewildered in our own wilderness, Jesus has delivered us, and we never journey alone.
Let us not forget the first question of examination stated in our baptismal covenant:
"Do you renounce Satan?" It seems that immediately following our shared baptism in the death and resurrection of Jesus, we are called to resist Satan.
And then again we are asked in our baptismal covenant, "Will you persevere in resisting evil?" Our response, With God’s help. You see, we were never meant to enter into our own context of wilderness without the presence of the Holy Spirit. We were never meant to resist evil except by the power of Jesus who overcame Satan with Truth in the wildernesses.
I have this tattoo of the Ash Wednesday cross on my arm to help me remember my baptism and my own wilderness experience. We all have a wilderness story to embrace and to tell. As we recognize our victory in the wilderness over the powers of darkness, we proclaim the work of the gospel in our lives. As we share our wilderness stories with others, we invite them into our vulnerability and fragility. The place of the deep inner-self where I believe the Spirit of Christ radiates most brightly.
This is a portion my wilderness story...
In 2010 I was living in Virginia Beach, pastoring a thriving evangelical church I’d planted three years prior. At the time I was also working as an adjunct professor at Regent University teaching up to three classes a semester. I was at the top of my career and I was only 36 years old.
However, I was also taking care of my mentally ill wife. And I was tired. I found myself burned out, at the end of my rope, and seriously tempted to walk away from ministry to pursue another vocation.
My wife and I decided that we would move back down to Georgia to be closer to our family, who were offering their full support. So I resigned from my teaching position at Regent and helped with the transition of my church’s new pastor, who was a dear friend of mine, and just like that, poof, I was gone. Did someone mention anything about the significance of ashes to you recently?
I went down to Georgia before my wife to secure a job with the plan that she would join me once we had arranged our actual moving day. Two weeks after my departure, I received notice in the mail that she was filing for divorce. And just like that, poof, she was gone.
I was devastated. In just over a few months, I had lost my best friend, and my wife, my teaching career, and my first church plant. The years spent of endlessly searching for doctors and therapist and medicine seemed in vain. My hope for a future had eroded, and I found myself falling into an abyss of pain, loneliness, and failure that seemed to have no bottom.
I was truly lost for the first time in the wilderness. Yet, little did I know then that I was not alone, and that my story was far from over.
My folks invited me to live with them in Saint Simons while I struggled to find my footing again. There were many late nights staying up with my mom and my dad, listening to sad country music, and drinking a lot of beer, mostly with my dad. However, it wasn’t long before a contact led me to Father Alan Akridge at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Brunswick.
Alan and I hit if off immediately as if we were long lost college buddies reuniting for the first time, and I would spend my afternoons with him at St. Mark’s in a ministry that fed Zaxby’s chicken to teens who attended Glenn Academy. It was there that Alan one day introduced me to a tall slender man dressed all in black with his high Anglican collar and skinny glasses. He was the dean of their convocation, Father Ted Clarkson. Well as luck would have it (wink), it just so happened that Ted recently received a generous grant from Bishop Benhase to begin a new ministry in a tiny coastal town called Darien, Georgia, established in 1736.
And, as luck would have it, it just happened to be the only non-clergy paid position at the time in diocese of Georgia. I was hired, and just like that, poof, I joined the staff at St. Andrews and entered into the world of the Episcopal Church.
That first year in Darien was a bit of a blur having suffered such loss and being held in limbo by a lengthy divorce settlement that was fueled by my ex-wife’s illness. Eventually I bought a house in Darien down the street from the church. These were dark days in the wilderness, and to be honest, I have no idea how I made it through without self destructing. All I could do was take each day as it came, one step at a time.
I had gone from the top of my career to the bottom where I had begun so many years ago as an eager eyed youth minister. My faith was a flickering candle, and I felt that it could go out at any moment. So I immersed myself in the rhythms of Episcopal life, participating in the daily office, attending Sunday worship services, joining an EFM group, and giving back what little I had to give to the youth in our little community.
The folks at St. Andrews embraced me with open arms of acceptance, and never once did I feel unwelcomed or judged. They loved me while still giving me the space I needed to rediscover who I was again. It’s a miracle that today I’m still in ministry after my divorce, and I contribute much of that miracle to the body of Christ in that tiny costal town who loved me and believed in me, even though I was a stranger, even though they knew I was lost in the wilderness. I was not alone.
Over time I met a beautiful strong woman named Amanda who became my best friend and my biggest supporter. She saw gifts in me that I could not, and slowly I began to emerge from the spell of confusion that my wilderness experience had cast upon me. I entered into the discernment process in hopes to become an Episcopal priest. I had the full support of my family, my church community, and an amazing woman who believed in me. When I woke up in the mornings, I started to feel hope again.
You see God had a plan for my life, and even though I was lost in the wilderness, Jesus had never left my side. Today I am an ordained priest in the Episcopal Church, planting a new Episcopal/Lutheran community in Grovetown, and serving as an assisting priest here to the wonderful folks of St. Augustine’s. I was married, right here, by the one and only Rev. Jim Said! I’m married to my best friend, I have two beautiful intelligent strong children and two beautiful miniature dachshunds, all whom I love and who love me immensely.
How did I make it out of the wilderness? I did it with God’s help: taking one small step at a time, facing my pain and loss, all while being embraced by Jesus and the Christian community. This is why I am tattooed, this is why I remember my wilderness, because it is Jesus and Jesus alone who delivers me.
You’ve heard the expression that I laugh to keep from crying. This is particularly true if you are in the wilderness, and why I deliberately opened this sermon with a corny dad joke. Although we are called into a penitential season of self examination this Holy Lent, remember that we’ve buried the H word, and not the joy and laughter and love that comes from belonging to Jesus.
As we all wander together through the darkness and uncertainty of COVID-19 through another season of Lent, let us remember our wilderness. We do not travel alone. Jesus is Immanuel, the God who is with us. Just as the baptism of Jesus includes us in his life, death, and resurrection, so does his victory over Satan in the wilderness. And although we might at times feel hopelessly bewildered, know this, Jesus has delivered us, and we will never be lost again.
In closing, may I bless you with this most appropriate prayer, St. Patrick’s Breastplate:
Christ beside me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ within me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.
Amen.
Works Cited:
St Patrick’s breastplate
Godly Play Foundation
Harrington, Daniel. Sacra Pagina, The Gospel of Mark (p.65-66)
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