Feb.22: “The Long Road of Love”

Sermon by Rev. Sandra Nixon

This week we have entered the season of Lent — the forty days (not counting Sundays) that lead us toward Easter.

In the Bible, forty is a number that signals transition. Forty days of rain in the great flood. Forty years the Israelites spend wandering in the wilderness after leaving Egypt. Moses spends 40 days on Mt Sinai, where he received the ten commandments. 

And in the scripture passage today, wee hear how Jesus is led by the spirit into the desert where he spends - you guessed it - 40 days.

On Friday night for our jazz vespers I was talking about how space is essential 

In music - how the space between the notes is as important as the notes themselves. It was an analogy for Lent.

Because at its heart, Lent is about making space.

Space to slow down.
Space to get in touch with the truth of ourselves and our lives.
Space to listen more carefully for God’s voice wanting to speak to us from within that truth.

And so it makes sense that Lent begins in the wilderness — a rocky, spare landscape where there is really nowhere to hide and very little to lean on. 

If you’ve ever spent time In the wild, you know that in that environment, distractions fall away. You’re not relying on your usual comforts.

And suddenly, there’s space - space perhaps to slow down -  the word Lent in part stems from the French word “lente” meaning “slow.”

And in that slowing, in that space, we come face-to-face with who we are. 

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This was necessary for Jesus before he began his ministry. Before Jesus teaches, heals, gathers followers, or confronts injustice, he goes into the wilderness.

The Spirit leads him into a place stripped of distraction — there are no crowds, no miracles.. Just hunger. Silence. Exposure and vulnerability.

And it’s in the wilderness that Jesus faces this question:

Who are you — when nothing props you up? And not just who are you - but whose are you?

So what happens? Well, Matthew tells us that Jesus fasts for forty days and nights and at the end of that, the “tempter” shows up.

“If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” 

“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written,

‘He will command his angels concerning you,’
    and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ”

And finally: 

“All the kingdoms of the world I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” 

Turn stones to bread.
Jump and be saved.
Claim the kingdoms of the world.

These are about survival. Security. Influence.

But more than that, the temptation to prove himself, to prove his identity, and, finally, to forsake his true identity.

So - it’s about identity, this time in the wilderness - as it always is.

Who am I ? Whose am I? What voice do I trust?

Let's not forget - Jesus has already heard a voice - at his baptism, declaring that he is God’s beloved.

Now another voice is whispering:

“Prove it.”

“Perform.”

“Protect yourself.”

“Take control.”

Temptation is rarely about obvious wrongdoing.

More often, it’s about believing we are not enough unless we secure ourselves with achievement and status and power.

We know about this. We’ve heard those voices. 

We live in a culture that constantly says:

• You are what you produce.

• You are what you own.

• You are what others think.

• You are what you can control.

These are the voices that tempt us.

And I hope we can understand this as the story. It’s not about a supernatural villain staging a cosmic duel.

This is, at its heart, a deeply human story. Jesus is discerning what kind of Messiah he will be. Will he be the one everyone was expecting? The one who wields power to dominate and win?

Or will he listen to the voice of love, and trust the slow work of love, and participate in God’s unfolding, relational work in the world?

I believe in a God who does not coerce or control but rather, God invites. A loving voice that urges me and the world towards life, towards wholeness. A God who works relationally — never overpowering, always persuading toward the good.

So the temptation story becomes a story of competing invitations.

One invitation says:
Take the shortcut.
Use power over.
Secure yourself first.

The other invitation, the other voice — quieter, deeper — says:
Trust. Trust the voice of love. Trust who claims you in love. Walk the long road of love.

Jesus chooses the long road.

Not because it is easier. But because it is truer.

Did you notice? Jesus doesn’t argue with the devil.
Instead, he responds with Scripture — words that root him in his people’s covenantal relationship with God.

His resistance to the other voices does t come from willpower. It comes from remembering - from remembering he’s not self-made; he doesn’t need to prove himself; he does’t need to control everything; and that he belongs to God.

And that sense of belonging steadies him, as he holds onto the truth spoken over him at baptism:

“You are my beloved.”

Temptation loses its grip when our identity is secure.

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So what does this mean for us?

Most of us are not tempted to rule kingdoms.

But we are tempted:

• To measure our worth by our productivity.

• To avoid our discomfort.

• To choose image over integrity and authenticity.

• To grasp at certainty and our own survival rather than trust the slow work of change in community.

Temptation isolates us — convincing us that we are alone, that survival is everything.

But Jesus resists that.

He refuses to turn stones into bread not because bread is bad — but because he will not use power for himself alone.

He refuses spectacle because love is not performance.

He refuses domination because God’s reign is not built through coercion or fear.

He chooses a way that will ultimately gather people — not control them.

Belonging, not domination.
Trust, not spectacle.
Community, not isolation.

That is the way of Jesus. God’s way.

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There was a gathering downtown yesterday: “Prayers, People, Inlet” It was invitation by the Tseil-Waututh and Chief Dan George to Vancouve-area faith communties to come together in prayer for the waters of Burrard Inlet. 

We heard the testimony of how the Tseil Waututh peoples' love for the land and water has propelled them for years to resist the Trans Mountain pipeline, and now, the dredging proposal which wouldl allow fuller tankers, larger tankers, and more tankers into Burrard inlet, increasing the risk of environmental damage.

Rather than go it alone in their resistance, they have chosen to reach out and build relationships - loving relationships - with other groups, with settler peoples. They could choose - for very good reasons - not to reach out to faith communities, in particular Christian communities. Instead, they have reached out. I hope in part it’s because of apologies and reconciliation efforts made by churches, including the UCC in recent decades. 

And so the Tseil Waututh, who are spearheading the resistance, have been intentionally building relationships of trust with faith communities, including Christian churches like the UCC (the event was held at St. Andrews-Wesley United Church). 

This takes time. It’s relational.

There was another observation made yesterday: that the elders teach that the most important goal is to build understanding between people and the land. This is because lack of understanding breeds fear, which in turn breeds hate and mistrust. 

So it’s a slow process but one that aligns with the traditional teachings of fostering respect and trust and love, between us and between humans and the earth. 

So I hold my hands up to the Tseil-Waututh who yesterday and in their ongoing invitations to build relationship are literally and profoundly showing us what the “long road of love” looks like.

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So what might Lent look like for us this year?

Perhaps not dramatic sacrifice. Not spiritual heroics.

Perhaps it is simply this:

Listening for the voice that says, “You are beloved.”

And gently questioning the voices that say, “You are not enough.”

Perhaps it is noticing where we are trying to secure ourselves through control, approval, or accumulation.

And choosing — slowly — one meaning of lent comes from French word “lente”, meaning - “slow” - we choose to slow down and take the long road, as Jesus does, the the road of trust instead, listening to the voice of love.

It may go against what some of us were taught, but friends, God is not waiting to test us. God is continually offering invitations toward life, towards life in God’s kin-dom.

The question is: Will we trust the invitation?

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Jesus is now prepared. And he begins his ministry not with spectacle, but with the simple proclamation:

“The kingdom of heaven has come near.”

It is here, and Lent is an opportunity to slow down and create and dwell in the spaces between our doing. Where we enter the wilderness of being without distraction so we can listen deeply, connecting with the voice of belonging and love, and from that connection, we learn the way of Jesus. 

May it be so. Amen.