Sojourn
Deuteronomy 26:5-11; Luke 4:1-13
February 21, 2010
Living on the US-Canadian border you quickly find out about differences of vocabulary, how we are divided by a common language. A deep thick woodland not inhabited by human beings is called in American English “the sticks.” In Canadian English the same kind of geographical region is labeled “the bush.” Both terms are gentle ones for the often inhospitable and dangerous territories behind our populated areas. Of course, in Saskatchewan even these terms need explaining, but our geography is closer to what the Biblical world called the wilderness, an inhospitable land with little refuge, few resources - not really desert, but not much else is out there for human beings.
That’s why not only Jesus, but countless other seekers of God have decided to escape from human civilization into the uncivilized wilderness. There may be wild animals and wild mosquitoes, but nothing else, and many assume this is where God resides. The stories tell of unspeakable emptiness in the wilderness - empty of God too - until God finds you. And Jesus reminds us, the devil is there too, quoting Scripture.
Today is the day we usually talk about the temptations Jesus had to withstand, but we already know an awful lot about temptation. We are experts and are so good at it that we are even able to be tempted without knowing that we are being tempted. We can do it in our sleep. Temptation will always wait for another day, but our wandering never stops.
What was Jesus doing in those first 40 days in the wilderness before the devil got a hold of him and tried to argue him downwards? Nobody says because it could be embarrassing: Jesus did nothing. He did not eat at all and was literally starving to death. No statutory length for his sojourn in the wilderness was ever set - 40 after all is an important Biblical number indicating a long, but just shy of being an impossibly long duration. The devil knew exactly the right time to go after him. Jesus was wandering with no particular place to go, bored and losing focus, physically exhausted and perhaps not making the best decisions on the 40th day, therefore, as human as one could be. If only Jesus hadn’t wandered, been more purposeful in his training for the ministry, he might have had an easier time combating the devil. But to be human is to wander.
This creed from Deuteronomy is always read on this Sunday, reminding us who we are. Not too many of us Arameans left around, but we sure do wander. To say we are still wandering is virtually an insult: that we do not plan or control our lives properly as we do our investments and bank accounts and professional careers. Yet, we have to admit that we do not really know what lies ahead for us, our families, our careers, our church, and there is no sure way to control it. We can write out rules to show the proper way to proceed and conduct our lives, but life runs by its own rules, not ours. We are pilgrims, wandering towards the sacred site, but it’s what we bump into along the way that measures the value of our pilgrimage and measures our souls.
That Israel had the humility and courage to identify itself with Abraham, the wandering Aramean, is a most remarkable quality of faith of which we are heirs. To understand ourselves as wanderers and sojourners is to admit a significant thing about ourselves.
When you are wandering, you haven’t yet arrived, you have not solved all problems, you have not conquered any worlds. You are also, as Abraham was, an alien, a foreigner, a stranger. He never really was at home. While a number of you have always been part of this congregation from your earliest memories, you are really a very small number. The vast majority of us here have wandered into this place and decided to sojourn. I know some of us have grumbled recently at our mission statement where it says that “we welcome strangers” - because nobody should be labeled a stranger. We are all strangers, wanderers, sojourners, pilgrims when we enter here, and how much you remain a stranger is a testament to your own pilgrimage and to the hospitality of other sojourners in this place.
Not as much in our United Church tradition, this congregation may be referred to as a parish, reflecting both a geographical and a relationship aspect. The word comes from a Greek word, paroike, from which is derived the adjective parochial. Paroike means a place of exile, a place where you will find plenty of strangers, resident aliens, landed immigrants. By its very definition, this congregation is gathering of strangers and exiles. Lots of you have said this is a strange bunch of odd fellows! Well, we are meant to be. Heaven help us when we believe we are the locals, the good old boys and girls who are always at home.
When we declare and admit that our ancestor was a wandering Aramean we are declaring something grossly out of fashion with trends today - we are saying that our heritage matters, that what is old is still of worth. There is always the hazard that we will worship the past and burrow ourselves in ideas and practices that no longer are living; but just as much we can arrogantly assume that only what is new has any meaning, that anything older than we are cannot think properly. Yet, there are extremely few ideas anywhere anytime that are truly new, for we build upon ancient and pre-modern concepts in everything we think and do.
The aversion to old afflicts the church as well. There are churches that have decided not to sing any of those old stodgy hymns, that nothing written more than 15 years ago will be sung in worship. Since Voices United was copyrighted in 1996, we have one more year to use it. I do remember noticing that several hymns were written in 1994 in the attributions at the bottom of the page, but we don’t want to be caught singing anything that old.
For that matter, the Gospels, the entire Bible, is ancient and archaic, speaking out of a culture too remote and unfamiliar with ours to make any sense. So all that Jesus said is too stodgy for our computer-savvy minds, and Moses and Abraham, well, they were just some mythical characters who wandered as refugees, blundering at every step, serving an archaic concept of God that no longer has relevance to this contemporary world.
In this brave new world in which the brain trust only thinks brand new exciting thoughts to upbeat music, I want to insist upon being parochial. The connotation of that term today often hints at a narrow, self-centered perspective, but I understand parochial to be the way of being hospitable and encouraging to the exile and stranger living in the wilderness. Pope Pius XI said that “spiritually, we are all Semites,” so you and I are wandering Arameans/Semites in our faith, and we are strangers in a strange land, living in a wilderness where we either dwell in the tombs of dead thoughts or attempt to think new ideas without any historical body.
The last words are meant for a worship service - “You shall rejoice in all the good which the Lord your God has given to you and to your house, you, and the Levite, and the sojourner who is among you.” We are worshiping and are about to eat together, sojourners and strangers together at the table.
Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan