How did Jesus feel, going into the wilderness? 

Perhaps we imagine a holy, patient Messiah walking away from civilisation, happy to spend time apart from people, praying. The account we’ve just heard from Matthew’s Gospel seems to support that. Jesus ‘was led’ by the Spirit in order to be tempted. Mark’s Gospel is less coy. There, Jesus isn’t led by the Spirit but forced by the Spirit. The word in Greek is used more often in the gospels to describe exorcism. It has a force and compulsion that may sound surprising. Jesus – as it were – spat out by the Spirit, to face his demons alone in the desert.  

I have some sympathy with the idea of a reluctant Messiah. Would I want to spend week after week, hungry and cold, with no company other than my own thoughts? Perhaps not all of us, but maybe most of us, don’t rush into that kind of space. We might well need the Holy Spirit to give us a firm prod, to make us spend the time to ask of ourselves, and of God: ‘what’s really going on? What do you want me to do?’ 

Sometimes it can be lazy to be busy. To rush from one task to another with a diary brimming with appointments. Taking the time to make space, to find solitude, can be something we choose to avoid. Of course, it depends a lot on temperament. While some of us enjoy our own company, many people don’t. We need other people round us to know who we are. Being alone can be a void that is far from comfortable or easy. Our Gospel today seems to say, give it long enough, and the demons will come.  Create enough space and our worst doubts and temptations will come to the surface.  

As the word suggests, entering the wilderness can be…  bewildering. The place where we are led astray and become disorientated. Little wonder that the Spirit needs to catapult this saviour to face the demons that assault our certainties. 

We can all find lots of reasons to avoid Lent. It’s the season in the Church’s year when we are called most intensively to make space; take time; reflect; and open our hearts and minds to a God who might ask us difficult things. A season that couldn’t have a more basic and challenging start.  

Last Wednesday I was privileged to be part of services where hundreds of people in the Minster were told the most basic and inconvenient truth about themselves: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return”. Not only told but marked with the ash that represents our physical reality.  

The desert season of Lent reminds us of the truth of our being. But it doesn’t end there. In the desert, in the experience of sand and stars, God is also present. Love and grace continue to be with us. In the place where people are absent, God alone tells us our worth and value. Perhaps the thing that keeps most of us out of the desert is fear. Fear that we are only ash; only a failure; only a fleeting glimpse of who God wants us to be. We need an agent of God, perhaps the Holy Spirit, to push us into these uncomfortable places. To learn with patient faith that God is also there, even in our temptations. To name the whispers that speak to our weakness and, naming them, see them for what they are: shadows of our doubt and shades of our fear. 

One way in which many people might encounter this kind of space is in pilgrimage. While every pilgrimage has a purpose and a destination, there are times spent in remote locations, far from crowds or signs of civilisation. Days when we feel less confident that we can complete the journey. In places the world around us can seem a wilderness, and we might sometimes question whether we’re on the right path. 

Without doubt, there can be a bleakness in the season of Lent. So we might need to ask God to give us a nudge. To dare to be in the places where stillness allows us to hear the Spirit’s call. It is through Lent that we dare to arrive at Easter, knowing that we’ve faced our demons and kept on the right path. These 40 days are a microcosm of our pilgrimage through life. Beginning in dust and ashes, but placing our hope in the God for whom even death is not the final word. 

Amen.