I am reluctant to penetrate this silence - to interrupt the "conversations of the soul" inspired by our music, and by our readings, this morning. However, I assure you that, given our Vestry meeting today, my reflections - this interruption - will be brief. (Evelyn Underhill)

Our anthem this morning - "Ubi caritas." - was particularly beautiful. "Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est." "Where charity and love are, there God is." (Maurice Duruflé)

"Where charity and love are, there God is."

This is a remarkable statement. For me, it's also a true statement. God is love. Thus, where love abides - where love is made manifest - God abides also.

Surely, then, God is in this place - this day - and for this we give thanks.

I think though (in fact, I know) that there are places and days in each of our lives - "seasons" in each of our lives - that are (or appear to be) bereft of love. These seasons may be quite dark, and filled with dread. Listen, for a moment, to the voice of one woman describing a season of despair:

Today is the last day of summer. What a time. What a long lonely time. I never knew the days could stretch out so endlessly... The weight of them bears down on me mercilessly. I wake after only two hours' sleep, into another day of dread. Dread with no name or face.... My world is filled with underwater voices, people, lists of things to do. They gurgle and dart in and out of my vision and reach... Every inch of me aches. I can't believe that a person can hurt this bad and still breathe. (Martha Manning, in the book entitled Sacred Sorrows)

Alone, and lonely - aching with fear, and with sadness. This is the wilderness: the desert of broken-hearts, and wounded spirits - where life seems completely without purpose, completely without hope, and completely without God. It is the dwelling place of far too many.

Our gospel for today portrays a time in Jesus' life when, quite literally, he inhabited the wilderness - a dark and dread-filled place, where he enjoyed neither companionship, nor affection. One author describes the Middle Eastern wilderness in these words: "[It] is a vast and harsh place, rocky, desolate and dry. It could be a frightening place for a person alone who'd really have to do battle physically and emotionally just to survive...." (Susanna Metz)

We are told in our text that Jesus' remained in the wilderness for "forty days." (Luke 4:2) As you know, a period of forty days/or forty years appears in several biblical accounts. Moses spent forty days on a mountain without food; Israel wandered in the desert for forty years; Elijah's flight to Mount Horeb lasted forty days. Scholars believe that the number "forty" is used symbolically in these texts: that it does not indicate a specific length of time, but rather a very long period of time.

Luke recounts that in this particular "wilderness" setting, during this particular "very long period of time," Jesus encountered the devil. In his own "season of despair," Jesus is tested and tempted.

Like you, I have read this text many times. It has always seemed to me that Jesus' time in the wilderness was a time of soul-searching, of reflection, of self-examination, and (ultimately) of self-discovery - a time when Jesus came to understand and appropriate more fully who he was, and what he was meant to do with his life.

And it seems to me that Jesus' conversation with his tempter - his confrontation with evil - actually facilitated this task. It served to clarify the issues at stake, and present clear choices. It helped him, at least in part, to find his true identity, his "real," (his authentic) self.

In my reading, the tempter was holding a mirror before Jesus - encouraging him to fashion, and to "put on," an identity for himself, and a way of being in the world. The principal attribute of this identity was power - both temporal, and spiritual. The devil said: "You are the Son of God, and you have power - power and dominion, in heaven and on earth. You are the Son of God, and you must exercise this power over all of creation. "Believe me," says the devil. "Believe me," says the devil. "This is your true identity. This is your real self."

But Jesus does not believe the tempter's lies. Jesus rejects the portrait that the tempter paints for him. He is the Son of God. But he rejects the attributes of power, of self-importance, of self-reliance, and of self-interest that some may believe are his birthright. He may not yet know fully who he is, and what he is meant to do with his life, but he knows who he is not, and what he will not do.

He has heard soundings from within - from the deepest part of himself - that suggest that his true identity is transpierced with compassion, self-sacrifice, service, and love. He has heard soundings that suggest that what he is meant to do with his life concerns the gift of all that he is - and all that he ever will be - to a broken and bleeding world.

I think everyone must work out for her or himself what this text may mean - in their particular time, and place, and circumstance.

For my part, I have come to believe that we must resist any attempt to shape, or to mould, us into some pre-conceived (pre-packaged) identity, particularly some pre-conceived, (pre-packaged) Christian identity. Yes, we are children of God. Yes, we are made whole and set free in Christ. But, we were not all made from the same cookie-cutter. And surely we must resist clothing ourselves in an identity that does not "fit" - that is neither true, nor real, nor authentic, nor honest for us.

In The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare suggests "the devil can cite scripture for his [own] purpose." Our gospel today is most certainly the scriptural basis for this observation. The devil's final temptation of Jesus includes the use of a biblical quotation. The aim is to create a chasm between parent and child, to separate Jesus from the One who whispers to him over and over and over again: "You are my beloved." "You are my beloved." "You are my beloved Son, with whom I am well-pleased." (Mark 1:11)

I needn't belabor this point, but similar use (or misuse) of scripture has characterized some of the most hideous, the most hateful public discourse that our society has had to endure of late. The devil, it seems, is up to the same old tricks. The Book of Leviticus, for example, is pulled out of a hat to bash people (to bash people over, and over, and over again) - to steal their true identity for the children of God, and to convince them that they are unloved, unlovable, unclean, unworthy, and unwelcome in God's household. This is a lie.

For me, Lent is an opportunity to discover (or rediscover) ourselves: who we are, and what we are meant to do with our lives. During Lent, we enter into a spiritual wilderness, characterized by self-denial, service, penitence, prayer, bible study, reflection, and soul-searching. Often, our journey inward leads us to quite dark, and dread-filled places. However, the hope is that this task will ultimately bear fruit: that we will discover (or rediscover) our true identities, our "real," authentic selves. The hope is also that we will rejoice on finding this treasure of immeasurable worth.

And let us not forget that, as we enter our "Lenten wilderness"- unlike Jesus, and so very many others - we are not alone.

"Ubi caritas." "Where charity and love are, there God is." Surely, God dwells with this parish community. God is in this place, this day. As our worship continues, and as we proceed to our Vestry meeting, let us not lose sight of this fact. Let us never lose sight of this fact.