Preached on Sunday, March 9, 2025, the First Sunday in Lent, at Trinity Cathedral, Little Rock.

“So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O LORD, have given me” (Deuteronomy 26:10).

My friends, welcome to the wilderness. After all, that’s what this season of Lent is about: the season of Lent is a time in the wilderness. And like every liturgical season, the season of Lent actually reminds us of something that’s true about our whole life with God: namely, a life with God always includes some seasons of wilderness.

Jesus Himself spent time in the wilderness. We always hear one of the Gospels’ accounts of Jesus’ time in the desert on this, the first Sunday in Lent, so that we are reminded that even the One we Christians follow spent time in the wilderness. And so, of course, why should we expect anything different for ourselves?

But these Gospel accounts are not the first seasons of wilderness for the people of God––not by a good measure! Those of you who studied the first five books of the Bible here at Trinity last fall––the Books of Moses––would remind us that the people of God have been spending seasons in the wilderness for a long, long time.

God called Abraham to leave behind his family and kindred so that God might bring him to a new land, a promised land—but that would involve going through some wilderness. Hagar was cast off by Sarah into the wilderness, where she encountered a good word from the LORD: that her son, Ishmael, will become the father of a great nation––but again, that happened in the wilderness. Jacob fled from his brother Esau in the wilderness, and it was in the wilderness that he would see that famous ladder stretching heavenward. Moses fled from Egypt by going into the wilderness; it was in the wilderness that God spoke to Moses from a bush, burning yet unconsumed; but only for Moses then to lead Israel back into another wilderness––the wilderness, we might say––where commandments would be given on stone tablets, where pillars of fire and cloud would chart their course by night and by day, where mana would fall from heaven and where water would gush from the rock.

All this to say: the wilderness is not a one and done kind of deal; seasons of wilderness come and they go. Just as the wilderness is a recurring motif in Holy Scripture, so is the wilderness a recurring motif in a life with God. So, in these early days of Lent, we would be wise to stop and think about just what it is to be in the wilderness. Chances are, some of us––many of us, maybe even all of us!––find ourselves there right now.

The Bible reminds us that seasons in the wilderness always have some things in common. For example, in the wilderness, there are things that you take in that you’ll have to let go of: nonessentials will start to weigh you down. In the wilderness, holding onto the past can prevent you from getting where you need to go. In the wilderness, it becomes very clear very quickly how dependent you really are. In the wilderness, things are going to take as long as they’re going to take; you can’t rush the wilderness, the Bible tells us.

And just as the Bible tells us that there are some things that every wilderness has in common, the Bible also gives some “best practices” for these wilderness seasons. For instance, in the wilderness, let go of the nonessentials: holding onto them might just cost you your life. In the wilderness, holding onto the past is especially deadly. In the wilderness, learn to rely on the things that matter: God, above all, and then, those things that will keep you alive, not the things that will distract. In the wilderness, learn to let go of your own sense of urgency: it might take 40 days, it might take 40 years, but it’s going to take as long as it’s going to take. All of these are good “best practices.”

But today, we hear one of the most important “best practices” for journeying through the wilderness. It comes from the book of Deuteronomy, the same book in the Bible that Jesus quoted to ward off Satan in the desert.

Deuteronomy is the fifth book in the Bible—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy—the fifth and final “book of Moses,” the final installment of the five books that tell the story of Israel being created and called, delivered from Egypt and brought into the promised land. But of course, the people of God are not going into the promised land without a few reminders. And that’s what the book of Deuteronomy is all about: this is Moses’ lengthy farewell speech before Israel enters into the promised land, Moses’ second teaching, a deutero nomos, a second law––a reminder. And one of his reminders is this:

When you have come into the land that the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance to possess, and you possess it, and settle in it, you shall take some of the first of all the fruit of the ground, which you harvest from the land that the LORD your God is giving you, and you shall put it in a basket and go to the place that the LORD your God will choose as a dwelling for his name. [And you shall say] before the LORD your God: “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous. When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the LORD, the God of our ancestors; the LORD heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. So now I bring the first of the fruit of the ground that you, O Lord, have given me.”

That is a deeply important “best practice” for those of us wandering in the wilderness. Scripture reminds us to thank God when we leave the wilderness––not only because God brought us safely to Jordan’s side, but because God has been doing things for us ever since we were brought into the wilderness in the first place. The wilderness was for us “the arena of God’s life-giving action,” as Walter Brueggeman puts it. And by the time that season is over, we ought to be grateful, dedicating the first fruits of our post-wilderness lives to the LORD Who brought us there.

It’s one thing to be grateful that God brought us out of the wilderness. It’s another thing entirely to be grateful for the wilderness in the first place. That’s difficult stuff, because the wilderness is difficult. But whoever said that the Christian life is easy?

I think this gratitude begins with practicing habits of gratitude here and now. We don’t have to wait to thank God for bringing us out of the wilderness; no, we also can start thanking God for what God has done and is doing in our lives while we’re here. And this is why, frankly, God loves being with us in the wilderness. Because here, we begin to recognize what it is that God is doing. Here, a relationship between God and us is bolstered. A steady gratitude for God’s activity is an excellent best practice for the wilderness, an excellent discipline for the Lenten season, because it keeps us aware of what God is up to.

So, my friends, it’s my prayer that you carry on through the wilderness; that you pay attention to what God is doing here and now; and that, when we come to Jordan’s bank at Easter, our habits of gratitude forged in this season continue to sustain us all our days. All this, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ, God with us in the desert. Amen.