This is the sermon that I wrote to be preached on Lent 1, Year B, 2018. Because of a death in the family, I will be away from the Christ Church pulpit, and so it will go unpreached.
You’ve probably seen the picture by now. It has been posted all over social media. Every news outlet on the planet has shown it. It was taken by Joel Auerbach of the Associated Press and it is of the mother of a Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School student, sobbing, embracing another woman who is also in tears, with the familiar black mark of an ashen cross on her forehead.
It is perhaps the most poignant portrait of anguish that I have ever seen. Having been reminded earlier in the day of her own mortality and need for God, hours later, this faithful woman found herself standing in the wilderness, lost, and in search of hope. It has been less than a month since western Kentucky had to endure its own wilderness moment when a fifteen-year-old student at Marshall County High School opened fire in the commons area before school began on January 23rd. There were no ashen crosses that day, but the images are unsettlingly familiar by now. Students running for their lives away from their school, a place that is supposed to be one of the last remaining safe havens. And parents, their eyes somehow both keenly focused as they search for their children among the mass of humanity and yet also blankly staring into space, in shock, and unable to take in what they are seeing.
Of all the photographs I’ve seen after a school shooting, and by God, I’ve seen way too many, the image of this Parkland, Florida mother with the sign of the cross on her forehead just will not go away. Like most priests, I ashed my fair share of people on Wednesday. Those who came to the altar rail were in various stages of life. Some came at 7am, eager to rush off to work. Others came at noon, as their schedule allowed. Some were older, a couple were so small as to be held in the arms of a parent or grandparent. As those familiar words, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” echoed through the Nave, each of us was invited in that moment to meet God in the wilderness. For most of us, that wilderness is a creation of our own imagination. It is the wilderness of no chocolate or red wine. It is the wilderness of extra Bible readings or longer prayer times. It is the wilderness of Lenten fasts and disciplines, wherein we meet God on our own terms. The mother in that photograph began her day thinking she would be entering a wilderness of her own design, when, without warning, she found herself driven well beyond her comfort zone, out – way, way out – into a wilderness of fear, unknowing, and agony.
I’ve often wondered why it is that after his baptism, Jesus finds himself flung by the Holy Spirit out into the wilderness. It raises all sorts of difficult theological questions that God would hand God the Son over to the Devil for 40 days of temptation. All sorts of bad theology has come out of Jesus’ wilderness experience. It usually rears its ugly head in the aftermath of a tragedy and sounds something like, “Everything happens for a reason.” “God has a plan.” “God won’t give you more than you can handle.” All of which is absolute garbage. Sure, nothing can happen totally without reason, but sometimes that reason has nothing to do with the people affected by the thing that is happening. Sometimes that reason is greedy politicians or a angry young man or decades of doing nothing in the face of actual threats to our children. Yes, God does have a plan, but I can assure you that God’s plan does not include the gunning down of 17 innocent people in a high school in Florida. And if you look into the face of that mother, you can be damn sure that she’s smack dab in the middle of more than anyone should be asked to handle.
As she stands in the middle of the wilderness, flung there not by the Spirit of God, but rather by the devil and the powers of hell, the last thing this woman, or any of the families affected by any of the more than 270 school shootings that have happened since Columbine needs is a platitude about God’s plan. What they really need in that moment is for God to be there, walking alongside them in the grief, shock, and pain. This is, I think, why Jesus is flung into the wilderness immediately following his baptism, so that he can be there when each of us finds ourselves in the wilderness because of illness, natural disaster, violence, abuse, harassment, degradation, or whatever else the devil and the powers of evil might throw our way.
On Thursday morning, less than 24 hours after the Parkland shooting, I was in the car early, listening to Golic and Wingo on ESPN Radio as they interviewed Stugotz, a sports radio personality who lives within walking distance of Margory Stoneman Douglas High School. They asked him what the feeling was in the community. His answer reminded me that because of Jesus’ time in the wilderness, God is able to understand what these families are feeling. It also reminded me that as the body of Christ, we are invited to stand there as well, to bring the love of God to those who are lost, wandering in the wilderness. “Some of the acts of kindness I saw yesterday,” he said, “you know… it takes something like this to get us to act like that… Where we are ok with someone cutting us off. We are ok with a car parked in the middle of the road because it is a parent looking for their kid. We’re ok getting out of the car, on our own, to help a kid looking for his parents, which I saw countless people doing yesterday with kids that weren’t even their own. You’d like to think that’s how we’d always treat people… The way people acted yesterday, I wish that was the way people would act forever.”
According to Mark, Jesus didn’t have any choice in whether he would enter the wilderness or not. He was thrown there by the Spirit and spent forty days living in that godforsaken place so that the next time someone found themselves in the wilderness, it couldn’t be godforsaken. Jesus was there, wrapping his arms of love around those two mothers, gripped in fear and sadness. Jesus was there, helping terrified children find their families. Jesus was there, holding the wounded and the dying in their hour of need. Jesus was there. Jesus is here, even as we feel lost and alone in a wilderness of anger, fear, and grief. And Jesus invites us to be the body of Christ by entering into the wilderness where others find themselves to offer God’s compassion and love.
 Lauren Pearle “School Shootings Since Columbine: By the Numbers” ABCNews, 2/12/2016, accessed 2/15/2018 (http://abcnews.go.com/US/school-shootings-columbine-numbers/story?id=36833245)