Read Matthew 4:1-11 | Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7
commentary | Rev. Danielle Shroyer
In the ancient world, snakes were a symbol of transformation. Their venom held the possibility of both poison and medicine. Our human story begins in the crux of this same paradox of possibility, as the first humans embark into the fertile field God had prepared for them.
“God knows that when you eat it, your eyes will be opened,” the serpent says. And while the serpent didn’t lie—indeed, their eyes did open—as it often goes with crafty tricksters, that isn’t the whole story. Because while the humans wouldn’t physically die as they imagined, God also told the truth. A death would happen.
It was the death of their innocence.
Before we can embark on a life of wisdom—one that requires us to choose, over and over again, between using our words and actions as poison or medicine—we must allow our naive innocence to die. This call to grow up and leave our Divine Parent’s house comes for all of us. It is painful, and yet it is necessary.
Many years later, this same choice comes to Jesus as he wanders the wilderness. Will he use his gifts as a parlor trick or a sacred balm? Will he use his glory for fame or for peace? Will he use his power for domination or for justice? Jesus shows us the way by choosing medicine, every time.
And as he does so, he teaches us what we all need to know as we fumble toward wisdom east of Eden. When he refuses to turn bread into stone, it’s because he knows his gifts and abilities are in service to something far greater than hunger. When he refuses to test God, it’s because he already trusts God. And when he refuses the kind of loyalty that leads to worldly authority, it’s because he knows power is meant for connection and not domination.
Jesus knows all of this because he has been listening. Day after day, he dwells with his Divine Parent. He embodies the teachings he has received in the Temple, on his mother’s lap, in his father’s shop. Jesus shows us what it looks like to walk in wisdom, to become adept at parsing out the many voices that call for our allegiance.
If we are to be like Jesus, we also must begin by first listening to the voice of God at our center. This voice tells us, above all and after it all, we are God’s Beloved. When we know this, we filter out so much of the silt and grit that traps us. We release ourselves into the arms of love. We make space for the work of transformation to be born in us.
As you begin this Lenten journey, consider what voices might be pulling you toward more poison than medicine. Carve out time for silence, that the still, small voice of God may come into fuller focus. Listen for God, who is always there, right at the center of your heart, inviting you into a life of belovedness, even as you travel east of Eden.
Reflect: What voices are pulling you toward poison, and what voices are pulling you toward medicine? As you listen for God’s still, small voice, what will enable you to hear?
*reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art
No comments:
Post a Comment