As I write this, it is mid to late February. The last couple of weeks have borne witness to numerous national decisions, decisions that have intensified the already emotionally charged atmosphere. Decisions that will have life-altering impacts long into the future which we cannot yet forecast. Decisions with which I have mightily struggled and grieved.
When you read this, we are moving/have moved into Lent, a season often described as time for deeper reflection as the cross looms ahead. I will be honest, the thoughts I share for this first Sunday of Lent invite you into the wilderness where this mighty struggling takes place. They are not completely cohesive. Rather, they are ruminations of a mind, soul and body endeavoring to live faithfully in the wrestling.
As white Christian nationalism, veiled as patriotism and morality, continues to slyly gain footholds here and elsewhere across the globe, I cringe when I read the first verse of Deuteronomy: When you have come into the land that the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess and you possess it, and settle in it (Deut. 26:1a). I recall the justification for the Manifest Destiny mindset, still active today, that led to so much injustice for both our Indigenous and other earthly neighbors. This cannot be what God meant, the God who in Micah said we are, “to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God”, the God who became vulnerable, died on a cross, rose from the grave and ascended for the sake of the whole world. Then, as I continue to read, something else catches my eye. Five times a version of the phrase “the Lord your God is giving you” is repeated. The repetition emphasizes who the giver is and who the recipient is. It is an acknowledgement that we are not self-made, but dependent on a generous Creator. What’s more, it also alludes to interdependency between us and the land. The text then leads us to the act of verbal reminiscence.
As I considered this portion of the passage, a scene from the movie Frozen 2 came to mind, the one where Olaf, the snowperson, teaches the main characters that water has memory. Forming a circle around them, there are frozen statues depicting moments in their shared history. Olaf explains, “The water that makes up you and me has passed through at least four humans and/or animals before us. And remembers everything.” As they continue on their journey, these memories reveal truths necessary not just for their survival, but in order that they flourish, both in their present and in their future. Could this be part of the reason for Yahweh’s command to Israel, and us, to recollect our journey when presenting offerings for thanksgiving!? To remember it not just as a rote ritual, but to elicit the power of truths we may have forgotten. Truths that can easily be perverted over time.
Psalm 91 is a favorite among many people for the comfort it brings them. I am not one of them. Many questions surface for me as anecdotes arise that contradict some of the theology implicit in the psalm. Evil has befallen many people who have made the Lord their refuge. Then there’s my visceral reaction to verse 13: You will tread on the lion and the adder, the young lionand the serpent you will trample under foot. I get that those two creatures were real mortal threats to the psalmist. They are, unfortunately, even described as subhuman enemies in the Oxford Annotated Bible notes. Aren’t they, though, also just trying to survive? Then I move to the last three verses. I will deliver; I will protect…I will answer…I will be with…I will rescue…and honor…I will satisfy…and show. What are we to believe when we are not protected, or answered, or rescued? Although questions still light up my neurons, nowhere in this divine promise does it detail specifics. Even as I wrestle with this psalm, I acknowledge that I may be equating the promise, I will protect those who know my name, as a shield against experiencing any unpleasantness.
Then we move to the second reading from Romans 10. “…[I]f you confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” (Romans 10:9) What does it mean to be saved? I confess Jesus as Lord and believe with every fiber of my being that God raised him from the dead. So, will I be saved from overwhelming feelings of fear, anger and despair? Will I be saved from others’ hostile reactions for acting in faith and taking a stand? As much as I’d like that to be the case, this is not what Paul meant here. Beyond my own “being saved”, what does it mean for my neighbors of both the human and other-than-human variety to be saved? For everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved. (Romans 10:13) Though Paul was most likely only referring to people here, I have no doubt that alongside us humans, the land, water, air, vegetation and creatures each uniquely call on the name of the One who breathed them into existence. What does salvation mean for them, for all of us?
Moving into the gospel story of the testing of Jesus in the wilderness as he fasted for forty days, I consider how many times my own stomach has hollered at me for food. Never, though, have I been physically famished. The longest I’ve ever gone without food was eighteen hours. Even in this brief a period of time, my mental faculties were only moderately functional, my physical stamina was sputtering its last breath, and my soul seemed to have secluded itself in hibernation. According to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus went 960 hours without sustenance. At best, I can only attempt to imagine his situation. It is when he is already spent mentally and physically, perhaps spiritually as well, that the Adversary makes one final assault to prey upon him. I’m reminded of C.S. Lewis’ book The Screwtape Letters when the devil probes and prods Jesus’ identity as framed by basic needs and desires (nourishment, authority, preservation). How subtly they can be twisted into an insidious self-protection masked as self-care!
We too, all of us earthly beings, are in a vulnerable state, individually and collectively. Some of us much more so than others. But, as Jesus promised before and after his death, we are also full of and led by the Holy Spirit. The lectionary cuts off the gospel reading at verse 13. Notice, though, what is written after the devil has disappeared for the time being (Luke 4:13). Jesus began his wilderness journey filled the Spirit and concluded it still filled with that same holy Presence.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Amanda Kossow
Cass Lake, Minnesota
My name is Amanda and I currently serve as pastor at Trinity Lutheran Church in Cass Lake, MN. There is a t-shirt from Grand Island, MI which describes me to a “T.” It states, “Into the woods I go to lose my mind and find my soul.” I am an avid animal and nature lover who hikes, kayaks, and snowshoes as often as possible. Growing up in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I feel a strong kinship with creation, particularly trees. During my time in seminary and in both my first and now second calls, I’ve also been gaining a deeper appreciation for and learning from my bond with human neighbors whose culture differs from mine.