Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16
Romans 10:8b-13
Luke 4:1-13
As always on the First
Sunday in Lent we are given by the Church the mystery of Jesus’ temptation in
the wilderness to contemplate and on which to meditate. It is a story we
all know, but which, in my experience, never seems to feature highly in
people’s self-understanding or spirituality. Instead we are often left
with Jesus cast in the role of a classical hero conquering the forces of
evil. He is cast as victor able to withstand the temptations thrust upon
him from without, from Satan – the complete opposite, the anti-thesis of
God. However, psychologically speaking, what Jesus actually encounters in
the desert is himself. His own inner and very human inclinations to sin,
his own inordinate desires for power, control, and comfort. And while for
some it may feel odd to see him in this light, it is certainly in this light
that some strains of the early Christian tradition understood him; take for
example the letter to the Hebrews: “For we do not have a high priest who is
unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect
has been tested [or tempted] as we are, yet without sin.” (Hebrews 4:15)
Jesus understood that the only way to overcome the temptations that human flesh
is heir to is to own them, face them and speak the truth to them and about
them.
We are during Lent
thinking about various spiritual disciplines or practices. Today we are
thinking about, reflecting on self-examination and confession. It is a
good place to begin, because unless we are engaged in this practice, nothing
else will really fall into place. Unless we have of ourselves a realistic
image and understanding of our weaknesses and of our inclinations to sin,
nothing else will really fall into place. We will perform works of
charity, but they will quickly become badges we use to bolster our fragile
self-worth or social standing. We will love and “care” for those around
us, but often as a way to control them so that the view we have of ourselves
and of them will not be disturbed, so that they will fit into our picture of
things. Our industriousness will breed at best an unhealthy
self-reliance, at worst prideful infatuation with the work of our hands,
idolatry. That same industriousness and its by-product, wealth, will tap
into our inbred fear of scarcity and our preponderance to hoard; the more we
have the more afraid we become of losing it. It will inflame our envy and
greed. Even our prayer and worship, our church involvement, can quickly
deteriorate into sources of pride and an inflated sense of superiority.
Remember the Pharisee in Jesus pararble. Standing in the midst of Temple,
and with upraised hands no doubt, he declared, “God, I thank you that I am not
like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax
collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” (Luke
18:11b-12) He did all the right things, but not the really hard and most
important work of self-examination, which is the beginning of the journey
towards conversion and transformation.
On account of all this,
the Church has always understood this journey of self-examination as the
beginning of any real commitment to the spiritual life and to spiritual
development. The Eastern Churches use the Greek word katharsis to
decribe it, and the Western Tradition terms it the via purgativa – the
way of purgation. Whatever term we use, at its heart is a stripping away
of the trash and rubbish of our lives, the lies we tell ourselves about
ourselves, as well as the little ways we avoid the truths around us. It
demands we see our lives in the light of God, in the divine light of
truth. In his book, Finding the Way Again, Brian McLaren describes
the beginning of this process like opening the boarded-up windows of an
abandoned and neglected house so as to let in light, “because without light you
won’t be able to see what’s dirty and what needs to be cleaned and
repaired.” When we are serious about this work, we enter alone into the
wilderness of ourselves to face ourselves. For those unaccustomed to it,
it can be a frightening even terrifying process. Indeed, more frightening
than facing some external Satan-figure, because there we must come face to the
face with the far more immediate and personal demons that rage within us.
While this can be done in company with others – a soul friend or spiritual
director – the work, the hard work is our own. It is for this reason that
Jesus goes into the wilderness alone. Certainly, he is equipped for the
encounter by the Tradition – his ability to summon up Scripture in confronting
temptation is proof enough of that. Nevertheless, the work is his, and
for him as for us there is no other who can step in and do that work for
us. It is up to us to move into the blinding light of truth and see
ourselves for what we are, our lives for what they are, our actions for what
they produce.
The via purgativa,
the purgative way, is exactly that, a way. It is, like so much of
the spiritual life not a once of all event, but a way on which we walk, a way
in which we live. Again, Brian McLaren writes: “[Purgation] has nothing
to do with penance in the sense of paying for one’s sins. [It] has
everything to do with practice…: practicing humility and service rather than
pride and power, practicing generosity and simplicity rather than greed,
practicing self-control and a willingness to suffer pain for a good cause
rather than lust for pleasure or comfort.” It begins with the willingness
– the real willingness to see the truth about ourselves and our lives.
For this reason the practice of self-examination and even regular confession is
so important if are serious about embarking on the via purgativa.
And yet how do we begin on
this journey? Jesus began by entering into the wilderness, as did so many
before him – Abraham, Moses, the children of Israel, John the Baptist.
They all began by entering into the desert, into a place away from the
distractions of praise – the voices we have come to crave as they applaud our
constructed personae; away from luxuries – those wants we have turned into
needs; away from unnecesary activity we have come to accommodate and accept as
ordinary, even vital to our existence. They each entered into a barren,
arid desert, and thus symbolically into the dark places of themselves and
allowed God’s probing light, but also God’s merciful grace to shine into those
dark places. If we are to be serious about entering into the via
purgativa then we must do no less. Set time aside to be with
ourselves, by ourselves, and to allow the truth of ourselves to come into the
light. One very good and practical way to do is to use during Lent as a
center of reflection the Litany of Penitence from the Ash Wednesday
liturgy. It can serve as a very good, incisive examination of
conscience. It’s on pages 267-269 of the Book of Common Prayer.
Another, is to take regular time each day to sit or walk in silent reflection;
perhaps at the end of each day, and play back the days events: What were the
priorities of my day? Did the decisions reflect what I claim to believe,
or were they conditioned by expedience or by standing in the eyes of
others? Did I collude in with my own self-deception, or did I unmask the
lies I tell myself about myself?
Being used to darkness, it
may uncomfortable and unpleasant to stand in the light, but we can trust that
when we do, it the saving light of God’s own self in which we stand. And
while painful, probing and uncomfortable we have nothing to fear and everything
to gain, among them self-knowledge and compassion for the weaknesses of the
others. We can enter into the darkness of ourselves and say with
the psalmist “the LORD is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?
The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?”
(Psalm 27:1)
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