First Sunday of LENT (Written on February 20, 2009)

For the Lectionary (what's a lectionary?) of March 1, 2009: Mark 1:9-15

 

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.

I'VE NEVER BEEN HERE BEFORE by Larry Patten

It’s the first Sunday of Lent.

I read the lectionary. The Gospel lesson. Mark’s words.

And I laughed. I’m a bad boy. I shouldn’t be laughing on the first Sunday of the most serious churchy season of the year. “Be strong, Larry,” I mutter aloud. Hold the chuckles. Resist the mirth. Lose the smile.

Lent is preparation for Easter, after all. Yes, at the end of a six-pack of Sundays, there’s the glory and story of the resurrection. But first, there will be Lent’s traditional time of sacrifice, penitence, and reflection.

I giggled.

Badness reigned.

It’s the first Sunday of Lent and I read some of the opening verses of the first chapter of Mark. I’m doing okay until Mark 1:12 (NRSV). It’s immediately following Jesus’ baptism. Good ole John still stood in the Jordan, dripping wet with a befuddled what-have-I-done look on his gaunt face. In less than a handful of verses after Mark 1:12 (starting at your thumb, you wouldn’t make it to your pinkie on the finger count), Jesus found the first Pope, along with his brother Andrew, and the start of the Christian church commenced.

You could say Mark 1:12 was the pause betwixt flowing H20 and future hierarchy, sublime baptism and stodgy institutionalization. And so, herein reads Mark 1:12 . . .

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.

After my snicker-fit, which I truly tried to restrain, I couldn’t help but think: and what did the Spirit drive? A politically correct Prius? A restored ‘55 Thunderbird? Would the Spirit have access to the Chevy Volt, the so-called soon-to-be salvation of General Motors? Or would the Spirit prefer an upscale Mercedes? However, given that it’s the wilderness where the Spirit drives Jesus, maybe a Jeep or Subaru would be the vehicular choice?

I suspect you are not laughing.

But it was funny to me. Maybe not laugh-out-loud funny. But I confess there was grinning and tittering in the corner chair where I regularly ponder the lectionary’s offerings.

How dare I! Damn (or bless) it, this is Lent. People are considering casting aside chocolate even as you read this. The forehead smear from Wednesday’s ashes lingers on some believers. We are now, like a Lenten arrow launched toward a distant target, headed for the anguish of Friday’s dubious Good. Serious!

There’s more than a singular verse behind my laughter. As soon as I started reading the First Sunday of Lent’s Gospel lesson, I thought: I’ve been here before. Because I do follow the lectionary, I knew that I’d just read the account of Jesus’ baptism and call to Peter five and seven weeks ago during Epiphany. And yet, on Lent-1, here we are again! Back to the beginning. Starting Mark. Repeating the first steps of Jesus’ ministry.

How could I not laugh (and sigh) when the Spirit closed the doors, turned on the key, reminded Jesus to secure his belt, checked the AAA road map, and headed away from the Jordan for parts unknown?

I’ve read this so much.

I’ve celebrated Lent so much. I’ve given up things. One Lent it was tortilla chips (how ridiculous, but those crispy morsels are one of my weaknesses). On another Lent, I prayed for and wrote heartfelt letters to forty different people. I’ve read Kazantzakis’ The Last Temptation of Christ for Lent and had my faith challenged and changed for the better. I’ve fasted. I’ve communed. I’ve said “Yes” and I’ve said “No” to various vows between the ashes and the cross.

I’ve done it all.

Lent again.

Again?

But don’t I need Lent again? As my laughter subsided from the Spirit’s imagined make and model, I think . . . I am always headed toward the wilderness. Toward the predictable uncertainty of my future. Toward the unsettling wildness of God’s ways. Always toward the Holy’s certain and wild love for you and me.

I hear the Spirit ask, “Buckle up.” Lent begins, again, for the first time. I’ve never been here before.

in Peace,

Larry