Security, Power, & Esteem

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
February 25, 2007; 1st Sunday in Lent, Year C
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Luke 4:1-13) -- Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread." Jesus answered him, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone.'"

Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, "To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours." Jesus answered him, "It is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'"

Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'" Jesus answered him, "It is said, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'" When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
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I have a friend who lives in the wilderness of having a debilitating and life-threatening illness. He says it has changed his perspective about so many things. He used to worry a lot about his work and deadlines at the office. Not so much anymore. The numbers from his old financial offices -- cash flow and projections -- have been replaced with different numbers -- numbers that evaluate the state of his disease. He says these new numbers are a lot like the old numbers to him. He's still worrying about numbers and their threatening power over him.

Also, he says, little things are more important now. Not having pain. A day with extra energy. The taste of Jell-O. Family and friends. Being able to sleep. Wondering what life will be like without him. Not knowing how to plan when you don't know whether you're planning for life or death. He's doing his best, but there is so much that he can't control. And he feels so useless. He used to be important; doing important things. People looked up to him. Now, everyone who visits must look down on him in his bed. But the visits feel good. He feels loved. Even when no one knows what to do to help. That's his wilderness.

My wilderness seems very superficial when I compare my desert with his. But it is my wilderness. It has its beasts and thirsts. We all have our wilderness. And every one of us lives with some of the same insecurities and temptations that Jesus confronted.

We have needs for security. The tempter tells the famished Jesus, "Command this stone to become a loaf of bread."

We all have needs for some degree of power and control over our lives. The tempter offers the gifted Jesus, "To you I will give the glory of all the kingdoms of the world and all this authority." Think what good he could do with such power.

We all have needs for esteem and the affection of others. The tempter coaxes the loving Jesus, "Throw yourself down from here, for the angels will bear you up so you will not dash your foot against a stone." If the angels love me, they will take care of me, won't they?

Thomas Keating says that these are the three great energy centers of the False Self: our exaggerated needs for security, power and control, esteem and affection. These are all legitimate needs. But out of fear we exaggerate them and create compensating behaviors to make sure we get more than enough security, power, and esteem. Keating says that our true security, power, and esteem is already given to us by God. It is not something we must struggle to attain.

My friend Jay McDaniel says much the same thing using three different words, all starting with the letter "A": affluence, achievement, and appearance. Jay says that these are the things that our culture values and teaches us to value, until they become compulsive in us.

I know all of that stuff is in me -- the exaggerated need for security, control, and esteem; the compulsive desire for affluence, achievement, and appearance. These are the rocks and sand and scorpions of my desert wilderness. And I'll bet most of you experience your own forms of that wilderness as well.

I create so much of my own wilderness. I do it with check lists -- the "to do" list. Even if I'm not looking at the list, I'll start my day thinking unreasonable thoughts. I'll bet I can get this and that and this done today. And I begin to project my control needs into the future, tempted to believe I can manipulate my day and form it in my own image. The crazy thing is that if I act successfully out of my compulsive need to control, and I check off all those things I thought I should do that day, I'll congratulate myself at the end with a great feeling of achievement. I'm happy. It was a great day. I got my list done.

Now, that's not so bad in itself, except that all of these achievement-based forms of happiness have their flip side. If there are interruptions, if some things are more complicated than I first thought, if I overestimate my competence and underestimate the time -- I'm miserable. I berate myself at the end of the day with a terrible feeling of failure. It was a rotten day. I didn't get it done.

Welcome to my wilderness.

What's your wilderness? How do you get sucked up into whatever exaggerated needs drive you? What does security look like to you? What needs for power and control drive you? What do you do to satisfy your needs for affection and esteem? What part of the energy of your day can you chalk up to a desire for affluence, achievement, or appearance?

I know what my best days look and feel like. My best days are the ones that I enter with a light touch, recognizing that it is a gift to be alive. Those days when I acknowledge that God is in control, and I can relax. Time is right now, not what I need to do in the next hour. Each person is filled with the light and presence of God. People are not things to do on my list. On my good days, I do my best and let it go without evaluating or judging. I stop for prayer. I let interruptions happen with open curiosity. I don't worry about the future. Especially about money. I hate to wake up thinking, will the church make its budget? Will we ever raise a half-million dollars for the Seven Hills project. I have yet to solve any of those problems at three o'clock in the morning.

I think that the way out of the wilderness is to go into a deeper wilderness, a deeper place that is touched in silence and solitude. Where things like fasting and prayer and giving come alive in the experience of perfect security, affection, and power.

Thomas Merton says, "In the center of our being is a point of nothingness which is untouched by sin and by illusion, a point of pure truth, a point or spark which belongs entirely to God, which is never at our disposal, for which God disposes of our lives, which is inaccessible to the fantasies of our own mind or the brutalities of our own will. This little point of nothingness and of absolute poverty is the pure glory of God in us. It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the indivisible light of heaven. It is in everybody, and if we could see it we would see these billions of points of light coming together in the face and blaze of a sun that would make all the darkness and cruelty of life vanish completely. I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere." (A Book of Hours, p. 152; from Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander)

I have experienced this point of nothingness which is pure truth. I'll bet you have too. It is the place where hungers cease, all is given, all is one. It is our true home and our true self. "It is in everybody."

Sometimes it happens in a fraction of a second, between breaths or between thoughts. Sometimes it happens when something catches our attention, and for a moment we are completely absorbed, captured, unselfconscious. It happens when we give ourselves to a task or a story or another so that we are totally concentrated and time stands still. It happens when life is given, not grasped; received, not manipulated.

Jesus left the desert to become a nobody. He led no army, he reformed no religion, he built no home, he raised no family. He was virtually unknown except in an insignificant corner outpost of the Roman Empire. He healed a few people, told a few stories, and when he became a bother, he was brutally dispatched. This was the life he was given. So different from the life he was tempted to grasp.

And what of security, power and esteem? Death could not contain him; the Empire bent its knee to him; he became known as love incarnate. This was the life he was given. He freely gives this life to us.
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