Heart to Heart Talks, Part 4: Grieving Alone Together

John 11:1-45      

When so many things seem to be happening so fast we begin to lose our ability to gauge the passage of time. Something that happened a week ago may as well have been two months ago, because it feels like forever ago. How long have we been “social distancing?” It feels like forever.

At the seminary I attended, every student was required to participate in a cross-cultural trip. The destination varied from year to year but the length of the trip was always the same: three weeks. When we asked why three weeks, the answer was this. During the first couple of weeks it just feels like a vacation. You feel like a tourist abroad; you are a foreigner in a strange land, observing the natives in their habitat. But when you get into that third week, you begin to push past that barrier and something shifts. You no longer feel like you’re just passing through. Now this is the place where you live.

I have tried to keep some perspective about the length of time we have been dealing with this pandemic, because it all seems to get blurry when I try to look back. So I looked it up on a reliable source – Google.  The first we became aware of this unknown virus was on December 31. The first known case of the virus in the United States was diagnosed on January 20. On January 30, the World Health Organization declared the virus a “public health emergency of international concern.”

It wasn’t until March 11 that the WHO declared the spread of COVID-19 to be a pandemic. On that day there were about 1200 diagnosed cases in the United States. As of Wednesday, over 68,000 and rising.

How long have we been “social distancing” – a new verb in our vocabulary? In Maryland, schools closed on March 12; since then, piece by piece, our world has been getting smaller and smaller.

So, it’s like we are now into that third week when we feel like we have always lived this way.

You no longer feel as alarmed as you did in the beginning, because you’ve kind of gotten used to it. You no longer feel as confused as you did, because it all feels strangely normal now. You might even feel a little numb to it.

But still, now and then something happens that reminds you we didn’t always live this way. You reach out to shake someone’s hand, or you feel the impulse to give someone a hug. Suddenly, you remember you’re not supposed to do that, but man, do you ever wish you could.

We might all feel a little numb. It’s natural. The numbness is like a dose of anesthetic that helps you get through hard things. But still, a little jolt of reality kicks through the numbness here and there. Maybe it’s hearing a song that moves your soul, or maybe it’s hearing the voice of someone you love. A little jolt breaks through the numbness – and then, maybe you cry.

I have certainly had my moments in these past couple of weeks. The first time was two weeks ago, the last time we were open for worship. I saw that morning how many of our people didn’t feel safe coming out to worship together and it broke my heart.

Over the days that followed, as I saw the boundaries closing in, I felt my heart break again and again. Maybe you felt it too.

In a strange way, even though we can’t be together, we are all grieving together. We might be grieving many things right now, but not least of all, we are grieving the loss of our communal life.

It is true that we are finding new ways to connect, we are working hard to find these ways – and this is something for which I am so grateful. But the trouble is, when it comes down to basics, we are embodied human beings. And we need embodied connection.

As long as we are living in these flesh and blood bodies, I don’t think we will ever get beyond that need. And so we grieve – and it is good to do so.

Many years ago, I led a group of children in acting out this story of the raising of Lazarus. We had fun with it. One child played Lazarus and we wrapped him up from head to foot in toilet paper – which seems terribly profligate in these days of toilet paper shortages, doesn’t it? Another child playing Jesus ordered the tomb to be opened. Another child playing Martha said in her best King James English, “But Lord, he stinketh! He’s been dead four days” And when Lazarus finally shuffled forward like a mummy, we all helped to free him from his tissue graveclothes, laughing as we did.

But the one thing I wanted the children to know most of all that day was that one little verse that we all know as the shortest verse in the scriptures: Jesus wept. When he came together with this crowd of weeping, grieving people, Jesus also began to weep. And I wanted the children to know that when they cry, Jesus cries with them.

When we cry, Jesus cries with us.

And from this we may draw comfort and strength – to know that, in spite of how it feels, we are not grieving alone.

When we rejoice we always feel like we are rejoicing with others. But when we are grieving we feel like we are alone. Celebration is a communal activity but grieving feels so solitary.

I believe this is because each one of us grieves in our own personal way. When a family experiences the loss of a loved one, you can see how each member responds differently. Some cry silently alone, others sob loudly on someone’s shoulder. Some are stoic. Some get angry. Some keep themselves very busy so they can avoid feeling whatever kind of feeling is coming.

Grieving is hard, at least in part, because it feels so very alone. But the good news is that you are not alone. Brothers and sisters, you are never alone.

I am sure you have worked hard these past couple of weeks to hold on to connections with other people, hold on to some sense of normal life. Last Sunday I encouraged you to do things like calling people, writing to people. Staying in touch even though we are apart; remembering and caring for others even when you can’t see them. And I know that at least one of you took my words to heart and has made phone calls to dear old friends. That’s really good.

But even if you are doing all these things, there are moments of sadness. It just can’t be helped.

Because there is sadness in life, even if you are trying to do everything right. Because, in this world, there is death, there is sickness. There are all kinds of suffering I would never want you to turn a blind eye to – your own suffering or someone else’s suffering.

Yet the message of this season of lent is that Jesus walked through every bit of that suffering. Jesus did not come here as a tourist, observing the natives in their habitat. Jesus came here as one of us, and every bit of sadness, hurt, fear, anger, and loneliness we feel – he felt it too.

And because he walked every bit of this human walk – and then some – we are never without hope.

Lent is a sacred season – a season of walking that walk that can feel so lonely, even in the best pandemic-free years. But soon the day of resurrection will come.

Heart to Heart Talks, Part 3: Real Connection

John 9:1-41        

I read a story in the news recently about a woman named Marion who has lived all her life with a severe hearing impairment. Then, in her 40’s she began losing her vision too. At first, she was devastated, but then she decided that since she was still alive, she would start dancing.

And then she started teaching other visually impaired people to dance. She leads classes of blind people, like herself, where they learn to do line dances. Most of them are over the age of 60. Like their teacher, Marion, they began losing their vision later in life, so they have memories of seeing. Like Marion, they have learned to find other ways of seeing. Dancing together is one.

For anyone who was born blind, like the young man in this gospel story, other ways of seeing are the norm. I wonder if that is why this young man is able to see things that others cannot see.

To read the story in John’s gospel you have to suspend judgment and just hear it. Because the people in the story are offering starkly different narratives about what’s going on. In the beginning, John does tell us, plainly, what happened, so let’s begin with that: Jesus approached the blind man, made some muddy paste and applied it to his eyes. He instructed the man to go wash it off and when he did he was able to see. So, that’s clear enough, right?

But that’s only the beginning of the story. Because then the neighbors and the Pharisees enter and they tell their versions of the story.

The neighbors say: This man who was blind but now sees? He is not the man you might think he is. He is not the young man we all knew as blind. Because that is not possible. This must be a different man.

The young man, however, continues to insist he really is himself. And he is not backing off his story about the guy who came along, put mud on his eyes and healed him. This young man won’t be gaslighted by anyone; he persists in speaking the true as he experienced it. Which seems to make trouble for everyone else.

Then the Pharisees are asked to weigh in, so they begin to interrogate the young man about how this happened. They are looking for the flaw in the young man’s statement, and they find it.

Aha! The man who healed you performed this act on the sabbath. So he is clearly a sinner. Therefore, this cannot be an act of God. Case closed.

What that means about his ability to see is not clear, but at least it’s a distraction.

Meanwhile, the neighbors go to question the young man’s parents because now they seem to think now that the young man and his family have been playing them for fools all these years, pretending that he is blind. Because if he can see now, then it is not possible that he was ever actually blind.

This is a story about a whole lot of seeing people refusing to see what is right before their eyes. The only one in this story who can see clearly turns out to be the one who was born blind.

It is a story that asks us to look beneath the surface level and really examine what it means to see – to perceive – truth. And for all of us, regardless of what kind of vision we have, it involves going beyond what we think we already know. It involves being able to see what we have never seen before.

In these last few weeks, we have been asked to envision a reality that we have a very hard time imagining, let alone believing could actually happen. Several weeks ago, an official from the CDC addressed the public and told us to be prepared to have our lives seriously disrupted. She said we should expect to have schools closed and work interrupted, and all kinds of normal activities stopped for a period of time.

When she said this, just a few weeks ago, none of us wanted to believe it. Many of us denied that it would happen. Why? Because we had never seen it happen before.

But it did happen, didn’t it? And yet, throughout these weeks, while we have seen one disruption after another, many of us still insisted that it was overblown. That people were overreacting. That the virus was really no worse than the common cold. That the flu virus kills many more people than COVID-19, just look at the statistics. We have insisted that what we are hearing is not real. Why? Because we can’t see it yet.

Our eyes are not trained to see what might happen. We see only what is before us now, and we can only imagine what we have seen before. Like the neighbors of the young blind man who tried to make sense of things by deciding that the young man was never actually blind. Like the Pharisees who are trying to get a grip on their lives by picking out holes in the logic so they can deny the truth that is standing before them.

They focus on the technical problems rather than the miracle standing before them.

When I say this, I do not mean to infer that COVID-19 is a miracle. It’s not. It’s a disease that has upended our lives completely. It has increased our stress levels dramatically. People who struggle with anxiety are finding themselves challenged to stay calm and present. People who struggle with depression are faced with the challenge of keeping themselves lifted up and functioning while their routines are deeply disrupted. People are alone and lonely. People are afraid – of all kinds of loss. The loss of health, of life, of our loved ones, of our security. We are seeing things happen now that we have not really been able to imagine happening to us before.

Covid-19 is not a miracle. It is not an act of God. People of faith, we do not believe God intentionally inflicts us with pandemic. But we do believe that God is present and active in every trial we face.

How can you see God at work here and now?

Yes, we are being asked to see beyond our ordinary ways of seeing.

We are re-imagining how we do everything. How we work, how we learn, how we stay in touch with loved ones, how we care for one another. How we hold and even strengthen the bonds of community. We are grateful for the internet in a whole new way. And, surprisingly, we are rediscovering the beauty of neighborhood.

In my old hometown, musicians are taking their instruments out on their porches and providing live music for the neighbors. Neighborhoods are holding singalongs as they open their windows or get out on their front stoops and sing and dance.

Here and other places, neighbors are checking in on one another, making sure people have what they need and that they are okay. And right here at this church, a few people have been getting together every day to give sack lunches to anyone in the neighborhood who comes to our parking lot to get one. And there is so much more.

Maybe you are calling people you don’t normally call, just to hear their voices and tell them you love them. It’s a good idea. Maybe you are rediscovering the art of letter writing, to reach out to people far away with something they can hold in their hand. It’s a good idea. How many ways can we find to love and care for one another in this time of COVID-19?

In this era of social distancing how can we connect?

The message of the story that I hear today is this: sometimes you need to find completely new ways of seeing in order to avoid total blindness. Like the blind woman Marion who dances, and all those who dance with her. They can’t see one another the way we normally see. But dancing together they see one another differently – without fear, without inhibitions.

The message for us, living in a time of pandemic is this: let us keep our hearts open, our ears open, our minds open, as well as our eyes open. Look to see how God is with us through all of this, guiding us to love our neighbors and ourselves with the same love God has for us.

Photo Credit: Kira Fischer, Family Zoom

Heart to Heart Talks, Part 2: In the Light of Day

John 4:5-42

So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus spoke to her,

JESUS: “Give me a drink.”

WOMAN: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”

JESUS: “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

WOMAN: “Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?”

JESUS: “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.”

WOMAN: “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water.”

JESUS: “Go, call your husband, and come back.”

WOMAN: “I have no husband.”

JESUS: “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!”

WOMAN: “Sir, I see that you are a prophet. Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem.”

JESUS: “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.”

WOMAN: “I know that Messiah is coming. When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us.”

JESUS: “I am he, the one who is speaking to you.”

Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you want?” or, “Why are you speaking with her?” Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city.

WOMAN: “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”

They left the city and were on their way to him. Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, “Rabbi, eat something.”

JESUS: “I have food to eat that you do not know about.”

So the disciples said to one another, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?”

JESUS: “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. Do you not say, ‘Four months more, then comes the harvest’? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor.”

Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman’s testimony,

WOMAN:  “He told me everything I have ever done.”

So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word. They said to the woman, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world.”

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If we are wondering why Jesus is in this particular place, it is worth considering where he has been and where he is going.

He has been traveling in Judea. He has been in Jerusalem for the Passover celebration first, and after he has been traveling throughout the Judean countryside with his disciples. But then he decided to return to Galilee – for which he had to go through Samaria. Verse 4 tells us, “But he had to go through Samaria.”

We know from our reading of the scriptures that the Jews and the Samaritans did not get along well. We know from the well-loved parable of the Good Samaritan, that the Jews who were listening to Jesus tell this story, did not, under any circumstances, consider the Samaritans to be “good.” The notion of regarding a Samaritan as a neighbor was abhorrent.

We know these things. But you might not know that the Jews and the Samaritans were really estranged brothers and sisters. The Samaritans were descended from the tribes of Israel that had been conquered and scattered by the Assyrian invaders, centuries earlier. Israel calls them the lost tribes. I don’t know, though, if the Samaritans considered themselves lost.

In any case, over time hatred had grown between these two ethnic groups, which is very sad. As each hardened their own sense of identity, they grew to despise the others. So much, in fact, that I have read that Jews would walk miles out of their way to avoid going through Samaria. Just as some of us might go out of our way to avoid what we consider to be a “bad” neighborhood.

But Jesus did not. John says to us, “He had to go through Samaria,” and I suppose he did, because there was a conversation in Samaria he needed to have.

If he had told anyone that this was what he would be doing, I wonder what kind of reactions he would have received. I am sure his disciples tried to discourage him from going this way, they could have bypassed Samaria as other Jews did. I am sure they would have been concerned about his decision to wait alone at this Samaritan well while they went in search of provisions. But, then again, maybe they thought there was little risk for him. Because going to the well for water was women’s work. How could a woman, even a Samaritan woman, harm him?

In fact, it is unlikely that anyone will be at the well while he is there. It is high noon in the desert. Most women would go in the early morning and the evening, when the heat of the sun is not bearing down on them. You would be unusually brave or foolish to venture out at midday.

But, against the odds, a woman approaches the well to draw water.

Many have suggested that this particular woman is there at noon because of who she is. She is a divorcee – a five-time divorcee, apparently. This would mean that she has been discarded by five husbands. Five different men have married her and then, for whatever reasons they had, announced, “I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you.” It had to have been her husbands who made this decision, because it was not possible for a woman to divorce a man. And it was that simple for a man to divorce a woman.

One would think that she carried this as a burden of shame. That she would have been notorious in her village. One might assume that she managed her days so that she could avoid the other women of the village because she was ashamed to be around them. Because she knew they talked about her, looked down upon her, maybe distrusted her. One might assume that she was a woman full of shame and bitterness at the hand life had dealt her, and lived life as an outcast.

That all makes sense. But the funny thing is she doesn’t act like a disgraced woman. She doesn’t shuffle around, bent over, head low in shame. She behaves as a woman in possession of herself, a woman who is at home in her skin. 

She doesn’t appear to be afraid of Jesus. She recognizes him immediately as a Jew. And she knows all the prohibitions that would warn her against interacting with this man. Even so, she asks him a pointed question: “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?”

How is it that you, a man, are speaking to me, a strange woman?

How is it that you, a Jew, are speaking to me, a Samaritan?

How is it that you, a religiously observant son of Israel, are speaking to me, one who is considered by your people to be unclean?

What are you doing here in Samaria? What are you doing at my well?

Just asking. Maybe it’s rude, but she’s just wondering.

Jesus doesn’t get the slightest bit off-balance, however, by her blunt question. He doesn’t miss a step. It is almost like he was waiting for it. It is almost as if he were waiting for her – this 5-time married and divorced Samaritan woman.

So he says: Let’s talk about the water that I could give to you. The living water.

And they’re off. And you know what? Rather than scoff at this woman for all her presumed sins, I marvel at her.

She is a worthy conversation partner for Jesus. She doesn’t ever back down. She responds to every strange thing he says – at first not understanding him, but staying with him nonetheless. Perhaps one of the best things that can be said about her is this: She is not afraid of what she doesn’t understand, but is willing and able to continue the conversation through the ambiguity.

One can’t help but compare this conversation with the last one he had – with the Pharisee Nicodemus back in chapter 3. Nicodemus sought Jesus out because he sensed that there was something Jesus had that he, Nicodemus needed. But he struggled to comprehend, he simply couldn’t make the leap with Jesus toward a new understanding of things. He walked away, still in the dark, discouraged.

The Samaritan woman, in contrast, did not come looking for Jesus. She had no idea he would be there at the well. But finding him there she was fully present with him. In the bright light of day, they speak and listen to each other in truth. She has questions: Why do you ask me for water? How would you possibly get this water you are referring to? How can I get this living water that will forever satisfy my thirst? Wait –

Why do you mention my husband? What is that to you?

How do you know me, Jesus? How do you know me?

Jesus has never met this woman before, but he does know her. And she allows herself to be known by him.

When you have a conversation, there are two sides to it. That is what a conversation is, after all. Each one shares with the other.

Jesus comes offering something to us, and we can receive it only if we offer something of ourselves to him. Probably something we don’t really want to look at or dwell on. Most of us would rather, somehow, gloss over the less savory parts of our lives. But then Jesus will come along and say, “Let’s talk about that.”

So I ask you once again: Do you want to have a conversation with Jesus? A real heart to heart? Then open your heart to him. He has already given his heart to you.

Photo: By Carl Heinrich Bloch - http://masterpieceart.net/carl-heinrich-bloch/, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=18138698

Heart to Heart Talks, Part 1: Not Today, Satan

Matthew 4:1-11

Many years ago Kim and I introduced an exciting new game to our young children. We called it the quiet game. It’s simple: when we say “go,” everybody has to be quiet and the first one to break the silence loses. The kids never won that game.

Maybe you have played this game with your own children? Because sometimes a parent wants some peace and quiet. But I learned later that it isn’t just kids who seem to have a burning need for chatter. One day I had a study date with my grownup daughter. We invited her grandmother along with us. We explained to her we were going to a coffee shop to work, and if she had a book to read, maybe she would like to join us. She said she’d love to.

It sort of didn’t work out very well. We sat together in a booth with our coffee and pastries, Willa and I with our laptops, Claire with her book. But Claire couldn’t seem to go five minutes without conversation. Again and again she broke the silence. And every time she realized once again that we were trying to work, she would say, “Now don’t mind me, I’m fine with my book.”

The thing was, Claire lived alone. And she could sit in silence with her book by herself anytime. But when she was with other people, this was a time for talking. And being able to talk with other people was a treasure for her.

Try spending an extended period of time alone and you will know. Human beings are made to be social – even the most introverted among us are social beings. Being with others, communicating with others, feeds our hearts, our minds, our souls.

It is quite possible you think that being asked to sit here quietly and listen to me talk is an awfully big thing to ask. We are learning from our Big Read, Why Nobody Wants to Go to Church Anymore, that it really does feel like an unreasonable expectation for many people. More than a lecture, or sermon, people want a conversation. More than being talked to, we want to be talking with other people.

The truth is, conversation is wholesome. And when spiritual people share conversation with one another, there is a way in which Jesus is present in the conversation too. To me, a huge part of ministry is participating in conversations with other people about things that really matter. When we have heart to heart talks with one another about things that really matter, Jesus is always present in these conversations.

During this season of lent, we will focus on conversations with Jesus that we read about in the gospel. The conversations with Jesus that are recorded in the scriptures contain many of the questions that we, too, wonder about. And they contain many of the answers that we need too.

So it might seem surprising that we begin a series about conversations with this text, where Jesus goes off into the wilderness alone. Immediately after he is baptized by John in the Jordan, he wanders off to be alone in the wilderness. His “wilderness experience.”

A wilderness experience in the scriptures usually involves an actual wilderness. Like the Israelites leaving the bonds of slavery in Egypt and walking into the wilderness where they stayed for the next 40 years, preparing to take the promised land. Like the young David, before he was king, retreating into the wilderness to await his time. Like the prophet Elijah fleeing to the wilderness when things become overheated in Israel.

But for you and me, a wilderness experience might just mean that we are sort of spiritually lost. To be in the wilderness might just mean that you are lacking purpose or direction in your life, that you are not clear about how and where God is calling you.

But whether it is an actual physical wilderness or a metaphorical wilderness, one thing is the same: it’s lonely. A wilderness journey is something you do alone.

Jesus, we are told, went out into the real wilderness, alone, and stayed there for 40 days and 40 nights, fasting. Jesus went without food for 40 long days and nights. Which is hard – obviously.

But something that may not be immediately obvious is this: he also went without companionship. He went without conversation or laughter, without shared smiles or human touch. He fasted from food for his body and from the kind of food that feeds our spirits – fellowship.

After 40 days and nights, the scripture says, he was famished. And then the tempter comes to him. Call it the devil, or Satan.  

But whatever you call it, there is no denying that evil is real. Evil exists and tempts us in all kinds of ways, because it rarely ever presents itself as evil. Evil does not tempt us with horns and pitchforks and fire. Evil has many effective disguises, and it is clear that evil, the devil, or Satan, was using a disguise out in the wilderness with Jesus. It was a disguise of empathy.

A tricky disguise. A good disguise.

Satan came to tempt Jesus – beginning with the temptation to feed himself. And I think the temptation here was not only to turn stones into bread, but to turn the devil into a friend. Who else was there?

Who else was there for him in his time of need? Who else understood what he was going through, the ways he had suffered?

The devil used a disguise of empathy.

Think about it. Have you ever, in trying times, felt the pull of self-pity? No one understands me – no one. Then comes the devil, saying “It’s so true. No one knows how you’ve suffered. They don’t even care. But I care, my friend.

“Here – have a piece of chocolate.”

Just kidding about the chocolate. But, you know what I mean? Doesn’t the old pity party lure you into trouble sometimes? What better excuse is there to indulge in harmful behavior than the old cliché, “Nobody likes me, everybody hates me.

“I guess I’ll go eat worms.”

But the good news is, we don’t need to go there. Listen to the conversation between Jesus and the devil. And we will see, as we see again and again in these dialogues, that there is much for us to learn.

During his wilderness sojourn, Jesus has let go of everything in the world but held fast to his connection with God. He has wandered away the world so that he could become intensely focused on his bond with God. And when the devil says, “Poor you, Jesus! Here – fix yourself something to eat,” Jesus knows this is not the voice of a caring friend.

Watch how he answers. Jesus doesn’t engage with the devil’s agenda. He doesn’t get sucked into a discussion about whether and how he could turn stones into bread. He responds with the word of God. End of that conversation.

But, of course, the devil is not without resources of his own. He replies with some scripture, himself. Maybe it is possible to lure Jesus in with some tempting verses from scripture. God’s angels will protect you, it is written. But Jesus, again, will not engage with the devil’s agenda, he will not be tempted. Nope, he replies. We don’t test the Lord.

A third time the devil tries – this time he almost seems to abandon disguise with a naked offer of raw power. And one last time Jesus turns to the devil and says, “Not today, Satan. Not today.

“Get away, Satan. I am not yours today. There will come a time when you have me. A time when I will submit myself to you and the torments of hell. Believe me, I know it will happen, but it’s not happening today. So be gone.”

I think it was clear who was really in control.

Thanks be to God, we will not need to face such a time ourselves. But the devil, or whatever you like to call it, is still there – hanging around, wearing all kinds of disguises, luring us in.

Next time you find yourself thinking something like, “nobody gets me!” Next time you are feeling so alone and uncared for and misunderstood, think about who you are having a conversation with. If it’s all about how persecuted you are, it will not be Jesus you’re talking to.

Do you want to have a conversation with Jesus? A real heart to heart? Then tell him everything – how lonely you feel. How misunderstood, how uncared for you feel. He will not encourage you to wallow in self-pity. He will not lead you into your most destructive behavior patterns. He will remind you that you are not alone. That you are loved. That you have a true friend forever, in him.