A Homily for the First Sunday of Lent
Readings: Genesis 9:8-15 1 Peter 3:18-22 Mark 1:12-15
Christ comes to us from the desert. In St. Mark’s first chapter, Christ is baptized by John in the River Jordan, but before he begins his ministry, he retreats into the wilderness.
If every sentence, every word of the Gospels is written for our instruction as disciples, why does St. Mark record this desert interlude? Because St. Mark wants us to know—in the words of our vernacular—that “Christ has got this.” He comes among us, in both his divinity and his humanity, as one who has already met evil and emerged victorious.
As always in the Gospels, Christ comes to us as both continuity and change. As continuity, he is the embodiment of Israel, the exemplar of his people. Christ enters the wilderness, and St. Mark wants us to recall the story of Genesis.
The Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and placed there the man whom he had formed (Gen 2:8).
In this garden, Adam lives in amity with the natural world.
The man gave names to all the tame animals, all the birds of the air, and all the wild animals (Gen 2:20).
Adam lives as well in harmony with the world of the spirit. “The Lord God” walks “about in the garden at the breezy time of the day” (Gen 3:8).
But in the wake of his sin, God banished Adam from the garden,
stationing the cherubim and the fiery revolving sword east of the garden of Eden, to guard the way to the tree of life (Gen 3:24).
St. Mark insists that continuity now gives way to change. “The Spirit drove Jesus out into the desert” where he is “tempted by Satan” (Mk 1:12-13). Christ goes to the desert, the forlorn dust of Eden. There he meets the ancient enemy and puts him to flight. And there in a garden, one not yet visible to eyes without faith, Christ already re-establishes an ancient amity, between us and nature, between us and God.
He was among wild beasts,
and the angels ministered to him (Mk 1:13).
Christ then comes to us from the desert, where he has met our ancient enemy and put him to flight. In this Gospel, Christ enters our midst as a victor. He will depart from us as a victim.
This is St. Mark’s good news for those who are weary of their weaknesses, for those tempted to despondency at their inability to turn away from sin. This Jesus is the Christ of Israel. He has returned to our place of defeat, from whence he emerges triumphant.
Christ suffered for sins once,
the righteous for the sake of the unrighteous,
that he might lead you to God.
Put to death in the flesh,
he was brought to life in the Spirit (1 Pt 3:18).
In Lent, in the dry land of our weakness, where we have been defeated, the desert blooms again.
But—we might insist—Christ was both man and God; he could do what we cannot. But his divinity did not overwhelm his humanity. In the depth of his human nature, Christ said, yes, and the very strength of his divinity has been poured out among us as the Holy Spirit.
Mark is the evangelist. I am the preacher. Let me tell you a secret, or rather, let me proclaim what I hear in secret. As one who hears confessions, I can tell you that the desert is indeed blooming.
People naively think confessions are interesting. They are not. Sin is not new; it is not interesting. Sin is sad. Yet I often say that if a young man, still seeking his calling, could overhear one hour of confessions, he would beg to be a priest. Why? Because the confessor is given the great grace to hear the holiness of the saints.
People confess their sins, but in hearing their faithfulness, humility, perseverance and desire for holiness, I hear God’s grace, God’s mercy and faithfulness. I witness the incipit yet true victory over the forces of darkness in their lives. The saints come confessing their sins. I hear their holiness.
Understandably, those who confess are focused upon the dryness of sin, but the confessor is given the grace to witness the greening. In the confessional, the desert is already blooming.
