Mark 8:31-38 “Lead Us Not Into Temptation”

Lent invites us through the muck and mire of the human condition. We go through, rather than around, the heart of Death Valley. We come face-to-face with our morality, see the bones of decay around us, and continue forth. This journey is one where we must purposefully reexamine, intently listen, and carefully discern the wilderness around us less we depart from the path entirely. We make shadow monsters out of caricatured creatures. We bask in mirage when oasis is just over the hill. We mistakenly believe harsh desert wind to be the warm, comforting presence of the Holy Spirit. On this road we pause, to question, reexamine, and look again at the path we walk. Will we find ourselves on the narrow road? Or will we find ourselves wandering in hopeless circles? Lead us not into temptation. Lead us not into temptation.

We make shadow monsters out of caricatured creatures. This week I attended two meetings: one with the Community Council and the other a pastor’s meeting. Each meeting discussed how we might address growing needs related to homelessness and housing insecurity. Fergus County’s point-in-time survey identified 18 people that were homeless on January 25th. This number did not include the more than 18 students and their families who have been identified as homeless. Of the people identified, 7 were living in a place not fit for habitation, 7 had used the ER in the last year. The report identified 7 people who were working full or part time, 2 who were receiving social security, one who was on disability, and one who worked odds and ends jobs. And yet, at these meetings I heard these people talked about in a way that was deeply disturbing. People supporting a so-called “Community Solution” to homelessness referred to these homeless folks as the “wrong element.” As criminals, drug users, pedophiles and abusers of the system. Just like November’s meeting at the Yogo, our neighbors in need were made into monsters.  Lead us not into temptation.

We bask in mirage when oasis is just over the hill. As a community, we have looked at the signs of disability, mental illness, and drug abuse and are choosing to collectively turn away. We’ve done our very best as a city to cut ourselves off from the outside world. We don’t have a bus route through town, out of fear of who might decide to stop and rest for a little while. We fear that opening up a warming shelter would, somehow and someway, attract the mysterious “wrong element” to our town. We’ve made ourselves an island, a blissful Mayberry, a slice of “true Montana” the way it used to be, despite the fact that that’s only a mirage. We have homeless neighbors. We have neighbors who are alcoholics. We have neighbors with disabilities and mental illness. It’s here, but we would rather bury our heads in the sand. Lead us not into temptation.

We mistakenly believe harsh desert wind to be the warm, comforting presence of the Holy Spirit. We extol the virtues of small-town living, of our tranquil peace of paradise, but we never admit that this paradise has become hell for others. We speak of safety for our children and preserving our narrow way of living, but never identify whose children and what way of living is worthy of preserving. We openly malign the foreign Californian and silently detest the few black and brown bodies in our midst. We openly tar and feather figures who would dare to say that our paradise might not be that way for some. We make up sensationalized stories, absurd rumors, and outlandish accusations believing this place to be the last bastion of paradise and freedom. We push away, rebel, and fight our holy war against a warming shelter. Not in our town, not in our paradise. But let us not be mistaken, our unholy vengeance is hellfire, our neighborly love more frigid than a Montana Winter. We have abandoned the trail, but its not too late to regain our footing. It’s not too late to find our way. Lead us not into temptation.

Even as Peter identifies Jesus as the Messiah, he desperately attempts to correct Jesus’ misunderstanding of what it means to be the Messiah. “Not this way.” “Not here.” “Anything but this.” As if his frustration with his disciples drives him to issue a public announcement of his mission, Jesus calls “the crowd with his disciples” to gather around and listen—and then he delivers this week’s teaching. “All who want to come after me must say no to themselves, take up their cross, and follow me.” The very act of saving or preserving one’s life causes the seeker to lose it, while the one who gives us their life “for me and because of the good news” will save it. Peter’s view of messiahship amounts to a form of self-centered grasping, whereas Jesus has come for the opposite reason: to live for God and neighbor in love. To give, not grasp.

Jesus does not say, “Seek out a cross and then follow me,” but rather “take up your cross and follow me.” This is no invitation to court, intensify, or prolong suffering. Rather, Jesus acknowledges that we have, will have, and have had suffering in our life, and that following Jesus, like any meaningful mission, will entail some suffering. The invitation is not to seek out but rather take up. To seize our role as active participants in God’s story, as those who partner with Jesus in bring health, restoration, and new life. Jesus’ way may appear to us as upside down. We may feel inclined to reject it. We might recoil as Jesus’ invitation to “Take up your cross” stands in contrast to our desire to demonize and destroy. We might recoil as Jesus’s invitation to “Deny yourself” stands in contrast to our desire to hoard, preserve, and keep control of our lives. We may feel inclined to reject it, but this is the very way that leads to an empty tomb, abundant life, and to Easter.

This is a critical moment in the life of our church and in the life of our town. How will we once more find our feet on the narrow path? Will we commit to advocating for affordable housing? Will we commit to volunteering at Love Inc., the Community Cupboard, or the Salvation Army? Will we stand in support of the Warming Shelter? To enter the wilderness, to take up our cross, and carry through to Easter, we must respond differently than we have. Our “yes” to Jesus means that we cannot dehumanize our neighbors. Our “yes” to Jesus means that we cannot languish on the sidelines. Our “yes” to Jesus requires us to stand on the side of the poor and impoverished. Our “yes” to Jesus requires us to advocate for services this county needs but refuses to entertain. Our “yes” to Jesus requires us set aside our caricatures, surrender our mythical “Mayberry,” and lay down our purely performative love. The way of Jesus leads through the valley of death, through the Way of Sorrow, through the Place of the Skull, to the empty tomb. The way of Jesus leads us past the mirage of Mayberry into the glory of God.

Peace Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. O Divine mystery, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.