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Committed                        Luke 4: 1-13                   February 21, 2010

Elizabeth Gilbert's latest book, Committed: A skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage, will most likely not be a runaway bestseller like Eat, Pray, Love - which, if you're counting, has been on the New York Times bestseller list for 158 weeks - but, in her words, it "completes the story" she started in her previous memoir.

It was after a divorce that Gilbert wandered across Italy, where she ate; then India; where she prayed and, finally, Indonesia, where she learned to love again.

She never thought she would get married a second time. In fact, her divorce was such a painful experience that she seriously contemplated taking her own life.

It is not until Gilbert realizes that she has no other acceptable choice that she opens up the possibility of another wedding.

The situation, briefly, is this: The man whom she loves does not have an American passport, and, one day in the Dallas Airport, the couple discovers that the Department of Homeland Security will no longer allow him to enter the United States unless he is legally married to a citizen.

In her book, Gilbert struggles with a commitment that she really does not believe in. She does exhaustive research and discusses the subject with literally everyone she meets. And then she spends most of her nearly 300 pages describing how profoundly anxious she is about the prospect of re-entering the legally binding arrangement that is marriage.

When we think about the dozens - perhaps hundreds - of commitments we make in a lifetime - to careers, to friendships, to mortgages and car payments - marriage is one that stands out.

"As long as we both shall live," a couple promises. Little wonder that such a commitment frightens some people. We humans would rather have intimacy and autonomy at the same time; we'd rather have security and freedom at the same time, reassurance and novelty at the same time, coziness and thrills at the same time. In short, we want everything. Even though we know we can't have it.

The upside of marriage comes with a price. It requires that we be committed.

Our Gospel lesson for today is also about being committed. It's the story of Jesus' temptation - a story we read every year on the first Sunday of Lent. And since you've probably heard a dozen or more sermons about what Jesus and the Devil said to one another, I won't go there this morning. Instead, before we gather around this sacred table I'd like us to reflect, for a few minutes, on what I believe is the central point of the temptation story.

The point is this: During his temptation in the wilderness, Jesus chooses God. And because Jesus chooses God, he also chooses his own call, his own mission, his own pathway of service and compassion. His choice requires him to be committed.

Every time the devil offered him more - more bread, more power, more protection - Jesus turned him down. Jesus says no to the bread, he says no to the kingdoms, and no to the angelic bodyguards. He is full up, he says, on worshipping God and serving only him. So by the end of the story, as one scholar puts it, "the devil still has all his bribes in his bag and Jesus is free to go."*

When Jesus emerged from the wilderness, he was clear that he needed to turn his back on whatever rewards might be offered by the normal rules governing civilization. His transformation was complete. His commitment was total. And, as we know, it led to his execution by the Roman authorities.

In this season of Lent, you and I are invited to find our own wilderness, spend time there and test our commitment.

Certainly, God doesn't expect any of us to pass the "Son of God" commitment test. Chances are, we don't even need to pass the John the Baptist test or the St. Paul test. Each of these men paid for his commitment with his life.

Sooner or later, though, every one of us will get to take our own trip to the desert to discover who we really are and what our lives are really about.

Actually, I'm guessing that many of us have already been to the wilderness. Maybe it was like Elizabeth Gilbert's wilderness - the one she entered when she realized that she was going to be married again. Maybe it was time spent in a hospital waiting room or in a doctor's office waiting for that appointment to discuss the results of a recent biopsy.

Or, as one preacher put it, "It may even have been a kind of desert in the middle of your own chest, where you begged for a word from God and heard nothing but the wheezing bellows of your own breath."**

Time spent in the wilderness is often life-changing.

During the long, famishing stretch that Jesus spent in the desert, he not only learned to manage his appetites; he also learned to trust the Spirit that led him into the wilderness to lead him out again. He embraced his commitment to God's plan for his life with a clarity he could not have found anywhere else.***

Just as the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness - and led him out again - the Spirit is calling us to take a voluntary trip to the wilderness this Lent. Perhaps it is as simple as cutting down on how much you eat or drink or putting a dollar in a box for every dessert you skip. Perhaps it's the discipline of reading your bible every day. The principle is the same: anyone who wants to follow Jesus all the way to the cross, forty days from now, needs the kind of clarity that is found only in the wilderness.

Fundamentally, lent is all about two questions:

Will we choose God, and, in choosing God, will we listen to and accept the commitment that God is calling us to make?

And secondly, will we learn to trust the Spirit that led us to the wilderness to lead us out again, ready to worship the Lord our God and serve no other all the days of our lives?

I pray that our answer to both of these questions is "yes."

                                                                             AMEN

* Barbara Brown Taylor, in a sermon titled "Wilderness Test."
**  Ibid.
*** Ibid.

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