2020 – A Very Good Year?

On New Year’s Day 2021, the whole world was hoping that we had put pandemics, isolation, political conflict, sorrow and death, disappointment, and depression behind us. But let’s face it, New Year’s Day is an artificial boundary. Nothing really changed. There is nothing magical about the so-called “new year.”

And truthfully, I was a little sad to see the end of 2020, not just because social interactions are a bit scary and uncomfortable for me; not just because COVID 19 gave me the perfect excuse to cocoon guilt-free. 2020 was a year in the wilderness for the whole world, and time spent in the wilderness is good for us. That’s where life becomes a matter of survival, where we are forced to recognize our true priorities, and where we must come to terms with who we really are.

I think we learned a lot from 2020.

We learned that evil is not an abstract. Evil exists and is at work in the world. Literally and metaphorically, it opposes everything that brings joy to our lives; it kneels on our throats and crushes the breath from our lungs. When evil is in charge, it manipulates our reality. It lies to us; it monopolizes our attention; it encourages hatred, violence, and chaos; it hoards its own wealth; it invades our most sacred places and sets its flag there.

We learned that good is not an abstract. Good exists and is at work in the world. Good tells us the truth; good is compassionate and kind; good works through love rather than fear, hatred, greed, or power. Good strives for peace and order, and encourages forgiveness. Good can and will triumph, though the fight may be long and uncertain.

We learned that standing up against evil requires great courage, a full, deep understanding of what is right, and the determination to do what is right despite the consequences. To stand up to evil, we must risk everything – our reputations, our jobs, our families, our friends, our political affiliations. Wealth, power, knowledge – none of these will save us. Only our hard-won integrity and faith will save us because even evil cannot destroy that.

We learned that we are not gods. Humans are not in control. The smallest, invisible work of creation can bring us down. 2020 has taught us humility. We have been bested by a virus. We are not lords of creation; just fellow creatures. If COVID 19 is a lion, we are gazelles stupidly wandering down to the river in the hot sun. Humility is a good lesson.

We learned that race does not make us immune to the virus. Nations mean nothing. Wealth and power, influence, celebrity, talent … all these mean nothing. Death and disease pays no attention to these things. At the same time, we witnessed how wealth and power can buy medicine and protection that is not available to the poor. Though we are all victims of the disease, some of us do not understand our responsibility to stand together and share what we have.

We learned that our strength comes from cooperating and working together. We gained the sure and certain understanding that, by supporting and caring for the weak and the vulnerable, we are caring also for ourselves.

We learned how we feed each other, and how we can support each other. We sewed masks and gowns; we sourced PPE for healthcare workers. We kept in touch with the lonely. We shared what we had. We left gifts on doorsteps, visited through windows, and sang songs in the open air.

We learned that the real bedrock of society is not wealth but service. Essential workers stock our grocery shelves, grow our food, keep our technology working, care for our elderly parents, minister to the sick, and remind us of what is beautiful and true.

We learned that time is a gift. We have all wished for more of it, thinking we did not have enough. In the end, we learned that it is how we use and spend our time that makes a difference.

We learned that families matter, and that home can be a refuge and strength. We learned the value of a 30-second hug … or any hug for that matter.

We learned that friends matter. They are a support system that cannot be replaced.

We learned how art is essential to our quality of life. We need music; we need stories; we need beauty. We need to dance and sing and to play. When we create it or when we consume it, art comforts us and inspires us.

We learned that nature is never spent. A walk in the forest or along a beach; a stroll through the neighbourhood; an hour spent planting or weeding; a paddle on a sunlit summer day, a ski on a snowy trail; a sunset from an apartment balcony; a few minutes on a park bench in the warm autumn sun – all these are restorative. Nature is a necessity; not a luxury.

We learned that knowledge from the past must be maintained. In a crisis, we need to know how to grow tomatoes, how to sew and to sow, how to plant, how to harvest, and, of course, how to make sourdough. We returned to the campfire and the wood stove and the raised garden. We remembered the verandah and porch. We chatted with our neighbours over our back fences. We dried our sheets in the fresh air. We packed picnics, and rediscovered parks in the midst of our cities.

We learned that, as a society, we are not powerless to fight a pandemic. We can deliver food to seniors. We can work from home. We can help our children learn remotely. We can stop travelling. We can visit outdoors. We can wear masks, and we can recognize our friends through their masks. We can fill up our food banks and cooperate to feed the hungry and homeless.

We learned that money is only important when it can be used to fight our enemies and support each other. In Canada, the government is spending wildly to keep people and businesses going. That is what money is good for.

We learned that our ingenuity as a species is a blessing when it helps us to stay connected. We can learn to do things differently. We can learn to use unfamiliar tools. Even at age 93, we can learn to use email and Zoom. We can adapt.

We learned that what is eternal cannot be destroyed.

2020 really was a good year for us. It was a year of growth. Let us remember its lessons well.

Temptation in the wilderness

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, and so, we begin again the 40 day journey through Lent toward Easter.  And, inevitably, we will be reading the story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness.  
I got to thinking about this story the other day, and realized something I had never thought of before.  How do we have this story?  Jesus went into the wilderness alone, according to Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  He was led into the wilderness by the Spirit.  There is no mention of a band of followers, or even of one lonely scribe traipsing around after him and writing it all down.  So where did this story come from?
Of course, Jesus could have told it to his disciples, but somehow that doesn’t seem right.  Telling this story would amount to bragging quite a bit, claiming to be the Son of God, claiming to be especially targeted by Satan, and claiming to have successfully resisted every temptation.  Not only that, but openly discussing the idea that flights of angels would certainly rescue him if he were to throw himself off the pinnacle of the temple does not fit with the style of the Jesus we encounter in the gospels.
“So, I was out in the desert, right?” he says, shifting a bit, so they could all see his face.  “And who do you think I found there?”
Silence.
“Well, Satan,  of course!  Good old Satan.  And guess what he was there to do?”
More silence.
“Well tempt me, of course!”

Well, you get the idea.  “Duelling Banjos” might be playing in the background of that scene.

To add to the mystery, the gospel of Mark doesn’t have any of the flim-flam or glamour we find in Matthew and Luke.  Mark only gives it two verses:  “And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.” 

It really sounds as if Matthew expanded the story to make a point or two, and that Luke copied his account.  Why?

First of all, what is the point of Jesus going off into the wilderness? In mythology and in literature, the protagonist/hero is called to complete a great task or quest.  He leaves the ordinary world and enters a different kind of reality, a desert, a wasteland, a jungle, or a wilderness, a place where he or she is set off balance and discovers the truths of existence.  In the wilderness, the hero is tested.  This testing prepares him or her to successfully complete the quest and to return to the ordinary world with important new information about the reality of life.  Think Heart of Darkness; think Lord of the Rings; think Luke Skywalker.

The gospels do not tell us how Jesus was called to his divine quest, but they do tell us that he left his ordinary life and went to be baptized by John the Baptist.  What if this was the moment when he realized that he had something important to tell the world; a new, revolutionary way to think about the Law and the Prophets; a new way to think about life and death?  What if he felt compelled by God to leave everything he had known up until that point, and “go on the road” as an itinerant, mendicant rabbi?

Anyone who tries to change the world must realize the risks.  In Jesus’ world, preaching his new ideas would place him in conflict with the Temple, with the priests, and with the Roman occupiers.  His decision would place him in great danger.  Like John the Baptist, he would be a voice crying the in the wilderness, and, like John, he would risk capture, imprisonment, and death.

This was not a decision to be taken lightly, without meditation to prepare mind, body, and soul for the ordeal.  And so, Jesus followed John into the desert.  He isolated himself to wrestle with the implications of his mission.

The story says that he was tempted three times.  The first temptation is to change stones into bread.  It’s a temptation to return to the comforts of home, three square meals a day, and a roof over one’s head.  It’s a temptation to place the needs of his body above the call of God.  And he rejects that temptation in exactly those terms:  “It is written that man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”  He chooses his mission over creature comforts.  He chooses the spiritual food to be found in the word of God over physical food that nourishes only the body.

The second temptation is to make a big show of testing his idea that God is within us by throwing himself off the top of the temple in Jerusalem.  The devil says, “If you are God, then God will save you, right?”  Jesus sees that he cannot waste more of his time on Earth trying to test his theories.  He can’t make some big, crazy gesture to see if God is really showing him important truths.  He has to believe in his quest.  He will test it with his own life, but not in the way that the devil suggests.  He will begin to live by his new idea, and to teach others about it.  That will reveal the truth of it.  So he sends the devil packing again:  “It is written, do not put the Lord your God to the test.”  He chooses belief and commitment; not doubt and testing.

The third temptation is the temptation of Faust, and of every brilliant man or woman who has desired power and wealth instead of spiritual enlightenment.  As Jesus is later quoted as saying,  it is impossible to serve God and to simultaneously serve evil.  Even if, by serving evil, we can become rich and powerful, we must reject it and choose God.  This is the moment when Jesus makes the conscious choice to use his intellectual brilliance, his capacity for understanding and compassion, and his spiritual strength to follow his quest to the bitter end.  This quest will not bring him gold, or prestige, or influence.  It will bring him poverty, rejection, and death.  But his soul is more important to him than anything, and so he tells the devil to leave him because he will not worship him.  He will worship God and serve God.

Though none of us is Jesus, we are all the heroes of our own lives, and we all have a great purpose.  At some point, we will understand that purpose, and it will scare us.  At that point, some of us will leave our ordinary lives and go into the wilderness of our own souls.  Like Jesus, we will be tempted to opt out and stay in our comfortable lives.  Like Jesus, we will be tempted to spend our time testing and re-testing, asking for advice, and worrying instead of listening to God’s voice in our ears and jumping in with both feet.  Like Jesus, we will be tempted to choose worldly wealth, power, or prestige over our own spiritual health and development.  The key is to recognize these temptations.  They won’t have horns, a tail, or a pitchfork.  They won’t have cloven hoofs, and they won’t smell of brimstone.  But they are devils.  And their goal is prevent us from fulfilling our sacred quest to find ourselves and to find God.