Jesus in the Desert: Jewish Family Dynamics

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led (Mark says “driven”) by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.

I was in the awesome art studio at Pendle Hill, a Quaker Retreat Center, making a collage of desert, doves, sand, and burned bushes. I copied down the Greek words for “Spirit” and “drove” (literally, pushed him out) in charcoal. This interested Yakov, a young rabbinical student throwing pots. He asked me to tell the story.

“God said, ‘You are my beloved Son,’ and then pushed Jesus out into the desert.”

“Huh,” said Yakov. “Then what happened?”

“Well, he struggled and suffered as the devil tempted him for forty days.”

“’You are my beloved son, now suffer.’ That sounds familiar.” He smirked at his mother, throwing her own pot. They both agreed it sounded like a Jewish family.

You do wonder - Why would Spirit do that? It makes more sense to feel all inspired, officially blessed, and then sprint outside, do some miracles, dispense some wisdom. How could you suddenly get so lost and scared? (I picture Jesus being scared.) It makes more sense to pin the whole suffering and desolation thing on Satan, and keep the two in separate cages.

Maybe he needed to see that God was with him there, even in a place of suffering. I think of my favorite Psalm, 139: “Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.” Maybe he needed to feel what his people might feel, in order to know how to heal them, what to teach them. Otherwise you might simply preach success and prosperity, and when they vanish, so does your God.

I don’t know. Every purpose I come up with sounds like God intends for us to suffer, that it’s somehow good for us. I don’t buy that. When it comes to suffering, I’m less at home with “why” than “is”. Perhaps suffering is simply part of the vast “is” that is God.

I have been asked to preside over the funerals of two babies – one two years old, the other two days old. Talking to the parents was like meeting someone in the desert who lives in a tent, and you personally have an air-conditioned condo and a full refrigerator. You can invite them in for awhile, but not forever. There was little to say, except that it's awful. I could, however, assure them of what I would not say: that it was somehow God’s will or nature’s way, or anything that implied on purpose. I don’t know why we suffer, and why it can happen just when everything looks great, but we do. And God has been with me there. I am still in his family, and he is in mine, even when it doesn't make sense.