Sermons
Return to the Garden
The Rev. Eric K. Hinds
Rector, St. Matthew's Episcopal Church
Sermon preached by The Reverend Eric Kimball hinds at The Episcopal Church of Saint Matthew on 10 February 2008, The First Sunday in Lent. Lessons: Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7; Psalm 32; Romans: 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11.
One of the things that I loved about spending part of one summer living in the English countryside was the continuous exposure to gardens of all sorts. From the smallest gardens tucked into the corner yard of a summer cottage, providing a spot for the eye to rest and linger, to the expansive, formally groomed gardens of Warwick Castle, which were luxurious to excess--an explosion of colors and patterns, inviting one to explore and become lost in a sea of intoxicating beauty. The combination of moderate climate with regular rain makes England a logical place for gardens to flourish, and one can not help but observe that even though gardens are planned and manicured--there is something primal about their beauty, an aspect of gardens that resonates within us at a very deep level.
The setting of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden first of all affirms the goodness and beauty of creation. And the story connects to our desire to have all of our needs provided for and satisfied. To be safe, secure and happy is a very human need--and yet the decision of Adam and Eve to eat of the fruit of the tree in the center of the garden, points to our inclination, our nagging tendency, even in the midst of abundance and luxury, to not be fully satisfied--of how humans can long and yearn for even more--placing the satisfaction of self above almost all else.
If we are to believe that Jesus was fully human, and faced the same issues, the same problems and pitfalls, the same temptations, of you and me--then perhaps we should examine carefully this morning’s gospel lesson, to see how Jesus orders his life and sets out and establishes a pattern for his ministry. If a garden can connect to our feelings of yearning and longing, splendor connected to power, then perhaps it is significant that Jesus is led out to the wilderness of the desert. Stripped of adornment and comfort the harshness of the desert is a place to expose and confront ones desires--even demons. It is not an accident that our season of Lent, by stripping away some measure of adornment, by giving up something, or by adding a new discipline, ventures to move us to a place where we can without distraction, devote time to a process of self examination and wrestle with whatever demons we find.
“Command these stones to become bread” at first it sounds like a simple challenge, a test to give supernatural proof of divinity. A request far removed from our trials or temptations, unless we go back and listen more carefully. “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” It is easy to miss the heart of the challenge which is to prove oneself. The challenge “If you are—who you claim to be” plays upon one’s insecurities and our need to exert our own self above others--perhaps at the expense of others. It is a subtle temptation that we face again and again in a thousand variations—to exert ourselves over others. This is a temptation to which Jesus affirms his self worth as being ultimately rooted and defined by his relationship to God.
If you wanted to conjure up an image of greatness, think about standing atop the pinnacle of the temple; or an image of power think about the prospect of looking down from a mountaintop at all the kingdoms of the world. In rejecting these temptations Jesus sets a standard for our own reflection. Jesus establishes by example from the outset of his public life--how he will set about establishing relationships, the manner in which he will build community, and gather a following of disciples. It is not an easy thing to venture into the desert; to enter into and allow time for self examination and reflection. Perhaps our greatest temptation is to simply charge forward in life without ever stopping to count the cost of our decisions, or to consider the weight of our actions.
Perhaps you have seen the movie Becket, featuring Peter O’Toole as Henry II, and Richard Burton as Thomas Becket, the King’s friend and confidant. From the outset, it is clear that Henry enjoys the privilege and status of kingship, and while Thomas Becket has found nothing to care for with equal passion, he enjoys the company and companionship of the king. If you remember your history, Becket is eventually made The Lord Chancellor of England with the support of King Henry. The King is pleased to have a talented friend in such a high office, and as the political stakes between church and state escalate Henry hatches upon the notion to advance his friend Thomas to an even higher position of authority. In addition to Lord Chancellor he is simultaneously appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, thereby creating a position where great power, political and ecclesiastical, is wielded by a single individual. For Henry, all seems well as a personal friend of the King, well acquainted with bending authority to meet the temporal needs and expectations of the head of state, is safely in position to be called upon as needed.
All is fine until a priest is murdered and Becket demands that the case be tried in Church courts—a decision of principle that places Thomas squarely in conflict with his King. And here is where we are given a dramatic scene. The moment when the calculating and the ever politically aware Becket awakens to the possibility of the larger purposes of God. Becket for the first time gains a sense that God has a claim upon him and a purpose for his life. A purpose that is beyond his own benefit and ambition.
Alone and on his knees, the Becket of the film offers this prayer “My Lord Jesus—I find it difficult to talk to you. What can I say….I who have turned away from you so often with indifference. I have been a stranger to prayer---undeserving of your friendship, and your love. I have been without honor and I feel unworthy. I am a weak and shallow creature, cleaver only in the second rate and worldly art of seeking my comfort and pleasure---I gave my love such as it was elsewhere—putting service to my earthly king before my duty to you, but now they have made me the shepherd of your flock and guardian of your Church.
Please Lord, teach me how to serve you, with all my heart to know at last what it really is to Love—to Adore…so that I may worthily administer your kingdom upon Earth, and find my true honor in observing your Divine will….Please Lord, Make me worthy.”
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