First Sunday in Lent, rcl yr a, 2023
GENESIS 2:15-17; 3:1-7; PSALM 32; ROMANS 5:12-19; MATTHEW 4:1-11
as you know our weakness,
so we may know your power to save
About two and a half weeks ago, after the regularly scheduled chapel service at Asbury University in Kentucky, a small number of students stayed to pray for one another. The chapel speaker had preached a simple enough sermon: “Become the love of God by experiencing the love of God,” ending with a prayer asking God: “revive us by your love.”
What happened next is what’s being called the Asbury Revival—there have been people praying, and singing, and worshipping at the chapel all hours since, around the clock. The 1500 seat chapel is full with the faculty and staff of the university, and increasingly, with pilgrims; but it is mostly made up of students, people in their twenties.
The cultural reaction has been predictable. Cultural critics respond according to their own existing cultural predispositions. In the age of monetized social media, YouTube commentators are commenting and garnering ad revenue. Twitter is being obnoxious about it.
And agreed, I’m cynical too. Should we be surprised that there would be a revival at a Methodist university, where “revival” is part of the denominational DNA? Probably not. Should we be surprised that the revival is full of twenty-somethings, if the revival is at a university full of twenty-something students? Probably not. Should we be concerned, that in this sort of unstructured social environment where people are quite vulnerable, that others with unkind intentions might take malign advantage? Probably, yes.
There are a few other things, too, about the revival. The images from the camera are fuzzy, and the music is not very good, even if you like praise and worship music. But nevertheless, I’m with Lutheran preacher and author Nadia Bolz-Weber, who said of her own cynicism about seeing all this take place on YouTube: “there is something in my soul which longs for what I am seeing on these live streams. Or what I feel I am seeing. So rather than make big stroke proclamations about what the Asbury Revival is or is not, I’m trying to just pay attention to what longing inside of me is being drawn up in buckets each time I tune in.
I long to sing with others
I long to be open-hearted
I long to trust something for once
I long to be un-self-conscious in my devotion to God
I long to witness something real.”
I’m with her; while there is much we could be cynical about, there is something about this revival that is deeply genuine too, even for the most cynical. And in being attentive to the good there, I too can find the expression for longings that I have for God and community.
When Jesus enters the wilderness, the wilderness in which he is tempted by the devil, there is something to learn about what Jesus does not do. When he is tempted by the devil to turn stones to bread, he does not do it; when he is placed on the pinnacle of the temple, and told to command angels, he does not do it; when he is offered all the kingdoms of the world, he does not take the devil up on the offer.
When I preached last week on the Transfiguration, I suggested that we should see, even in the everyday life of Jesus, the light of God’s glory. The same is true here. To hear of Jesus tempted in the wilderness—tempted just as we are—we should keep in mind that this a human person being tempted, to be sure; but that it is also the Son of God being tempted.
And so we should imagine that Jesus most certainly could have exercised his Godly power; Jesus most certainly could have turned stones into bread; Jesus most certainly could have commanded the angels to bear him up; Jesus most certainly could have taken the kingdoms of the world by force, and wrested them from the hand of the devil right then.
Jesus does not do so. Because what Jesus sought to win was not sustenance, security, or power, by divine might; but rather to reclaim humanity, and to deliver humanity according to human weakness. It is a victory won not by the divine power to which he had a right, instead in his humanity Jesus takes the place of all of us, winning for us the victory, triumphing over the devil for us according to our own weakness.
When I watch the Asbury Revival, I see a lot of weakness there. It is not a professional production, by any means; there are no lights, there is no smoke show; there are no priests in beautiful vestments leading worship; just students in street clothes. And it is a triumph—and not a triumph of the adults in the room saying “please move along, we really need to put out the lights and the cleaners really do have to come in at some point. Do grow up a bit?” Nor is it the triumph of those who stand on the edges, offering to make a professional production out of it, surely the university has some money for that?
Rather, it is the triumph of the Spirit of vulnerability (a vulnerability we would pray is not taken advantage of), God at work not through strength, but through weakness.
Now don’t misunderstand me. We most certainly offer to God our best—we should do all we can to have a strong streaming experience (even as we recognise that it is better to be here if we can); altar guild will continue to keep an eye for beauty as they prepare our nave for worship; I will care for my vestments and work hard on sermons; Angus and the choir will continue to pursue their best as they lead our worship through music.
But I’m still not convinced that excellence is a theological concept; though I am sure beauty sure is. And there is a difference between offering our best to God, and trying to be the best or better than the mythical other church nearby we mistakenly feel we are in competition with.
The reason we do our best in the pursuit of beauty, but don’t try to be the best or to become too exercised with power, is because we are the church of Jesus Christ—the one who did not descend from the cross, even when he is tempted to do so: “If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross!” He does not do so, but rather sees the consequences of taking up our humanity to the bitter end.
The power of God, in the cross, is power found in weakness, and in this weakness the victory is won for the sake of humankind, not for the sake of God. The Collect captures this so well: “give us grace to discipline ourselves in submission to your Spirit, that as you know our weakness, so we may know your power to save.” God in Christ takes up our humanity, in our weakness, to show us his way, which is the way of weakness, because we are weak.
He takes our place, tempted in the wilderness, and then crucified in the flesh, for our sake; redeeming all of humanity, and yes, you and me included, defeating the devil and all manner of evil—in the wilderness, and on the cross, and in his church even now, by the power of the Spirit!— not by grabbing at power, not in being better than others, but rather, defeating the devil in weakness.
The Revd Dr Preston Parsons