"Wilderness?"

Wilderness was always cast as a place you had to get through to get where you wanted to be. And having God as a traveling companion only held great value for a few of them.

[1] Sunrise in Joshua Tree National Park

Luke 4:1-13

March 9, 2025

Dr. Todd R. Wright

Luke begins his account: “Jesus … was led by the Spirit in[to] the wilderness …”

The word wilderness would have been evocative for his listeners.

The wilderness played a key role in the story of Israel.

For those who left Egypt, it signified a place of deprivation … and provision:  

Beyond the reach of the Nile the lush green turned into a dry and desolate brown.

The land seemed godforsaken so they complained about all they lacked …

and spoke longingly of cucumbers and melons and garlic;

forgetting that they had been slaves forced to make bricks for Pharoah.

But paradoxically, it was in the wilderness that they were formed into a people,

and experienced the faithful presence of God,

in pillars of cloud and fire, in manna and water from the rock; in God’s law for living.

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So what is the wilderness to which Jesus was led by the Spirit?

A place of deprivation or provision?

We are told he ate nothing for forty days and was famished.

It is implied that he was alone, without community, like solitary confinement.

It sounds like deprivation. But before you answer, consider this:

For all his lack, he seems to have been able to dip into the deep well of scripture;

and to feast on the relationship he enjoyed with the rest of the Trinity.

On balance, it seems that he had more than enough of all he really needed … in the wilderness!

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Israel did too, but it did not feel that way. Lack stings; want forms deep scars.

For much of their 40 years in the wilderness, Israel seemed to want to go back to the lushness of the Nile kingdom – as if captivity isn’t so bad as long as you have COSTCO nearby.

Or to speed through the wasteland to the Promised Land, a place flowing with milk and honey – as if they would rather do for themselves than experience the free gifts of God.

But they never wanted to stay in the wilderness, that forge of gritty holiness, where God’s miracles were nearly as common as the sand in their shoes.

Wilderness was always cast as a place you had to get through to get where you wanted to be.

And having God as a traveling companion only held great value for a few of them.

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All this talk of wilderness hits close to home.

I just got back from a trip into the wilderness.

What did I see in Joshua Tree National Park?

Everything you would expect of wilderness: sand and rock formations, dryness and dust.

But amongst the desolation, also raw beauty, and chipmunks, and ravens, and coyotes.  

We had to haul our own water, but we discovered community around a campfire that first night.

Maybe it was the lack that made us aware of our need, our vulnerability, our limits.

Maybe it forced us to dig deep to discover who we really were, what resources we had.

And maybe it was our thirst that made us grateful for what we were provided.

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So what is wilderness for you? Do you focus on your deprivation or God’s provision?

In 75 years there have been seasons when this congregation felt like it was going through the wilderness – lightning strikes, pastoral transitions, COVID, a ransomware attack, deaths. They were painful; they tested our faith and our relationships; they left scars. But God always provided.

Jan Richardson captures that truth in a blessing inspired by Jesus’ time in the wilderness:

“If you would enter into the wilderness,

do not begin without a blessing.

Do not leave without hearing who you are: Beloved,

named by the One who has traveled this path before you.

Do not go without letting it echo in your ears,

and if you find it is hard to let it into your heart,

do not despair.

That is what this journey is for.

I cannot promise this blessing will free you

from danger,

from fear,

from hunger or thirst,

from the scorching of sun or the fall of the night.

But I can tell you that on this path there will be help.

I can tell you that on this way there will be rest.

I can tell you that you will know the strange graces that come to our aid

only on a road such as this,

that fly to meet us bearing comfort and strength,

that come alongside us for no other cause

than to lean themselves toward our ear

and with their curious insistence whisper our name:

Beloved.

Beloved.

Beloved.”[2]

May the Spirit lead us in the wilderness.

May the Spirit help us to focus on God’s provision more than any deprivation.

May the Spirit use the wilderness to draw us closer to God, and each other, as nothing else can. Amen

[1] Sunrise in Joshua Tree National Park

[2] “Beloved Is Where We Begin” from her book Circle of Grace