The First Sunday in Lent, Year A
February 22, 2026
Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7; Psalm 32; Romans 5:12-19; Matthew 4:1-11
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“Trust in the Wilderness: What Do We Risk?”
The Rev. Kathleen Murray, Rector
Historic Beckford Parish, Mount Jackson & Woodstock
Every year on the first Sunday in Lent we hear this story. After Jesus has been baptized, after he has heard the voice naming him: “This is my Son, the Beloved.” Before he has preached, before he has healed, before he has gathered a crowd, he is led into the wilderness.
We may think of the wilderness as punishment. It is not. For Jesus, it is preparation. Before he begins his public ministry, he faces the powers that shape the world he is about to enter. And those powers are not neutral. They are powers of domination and violence, powers that insist on having their own way regardless of the cost.
The devil offers him all the kingdoms of the world. “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.”[1] It is an offer of control. Authority. Immediate influence. A way to rule without suffering. All he has to do is bow.
Jesus says no. “Away with you, Satan.”[2]
With that refusal, Jesus is clear about who and what he will worship. And that “no” does not stay in the wilderness. Just as he walked down the mountain after being transfigured, he will walk from the wilderness all the way to Jerusalem. The powers he refuses here are the powers that will eventually crucify him. His resistance begins in the desert and ends at the cross.
But the temptations begin earlier.
“If you are the Son of God…”[3]
Temptation starts with identity. As theologian Stanley Hauerwas once observed, the devil tempts Jesus because the devil knows that Jesus is the Son sent to reveal God.
And so, the testing begins with hunger.
“Turn these stones into bread.”[4]
He is hungry. There is nothing sinful about wanting or getting bread. But the deeper question is whether he will use power for himself alone to get bread, whether he will reduce life to appetite, whether he will trust his own ability to provide more than he trusts God who named him Beloved.
Remember Jesus is human. As human, we do not tolerate hunger, emotionally or physically. We tell ourselves that if we can just secure enough — enough money, enough affirmation, enough certainty — we will finally be safe.
Jesus answers, “One does not live by bread alone.”[5] He refuses to let hunger define him.
The second temptation is about spectacle. “Throw yourself down.” Force God to act. Prove who you are in a way no one can deny.
While we do not stand on the pinnacle of the temple, we do sometimes, indeed often, test God. “If this prayer is answered, then I will believe. If this outcome goes my way, then I will trust. If you love me, fix this.” We want guarantees. We want visible proof.
Jesus refuses that too. “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”[6] He will not build his life on dramatic displays. He will trust without manipulating.
Then comes the offer of all the kingdoms. Power without the cross. Authority without obedience. Influence secured by a small act of misplaced worship.
That temptation is not ancient only. It is alive in every age.
The world runs on power – political power, economic power, religious power. The temptation is to align ourselves uncritically with whatever seems strong. To excuse what we would otherwise condemn because it serves our side. To believe that if we are close enough to the levers of control, if we bow to those levers, we can shape the world according to our will.
Sometimes the bow is subtle. It looks like silence when truth would cost us. It looks like harshness justified as righteousness. It looks like judgment.
Judgment feels like righteousness. It sorts the world into winners and enemies. It reassures us that we are on the correct side and that someone else is not.
Judgement often feels like clarity. But it can be a temptation. Because judgment keeps the focus outward. It spares us from repentance. It protects our pride. It protects our comfort.
And we do not like being made uncomfortable. We don’t like the wilderness.
I can’t help but think about a movie that starred Lucille Ball, late in her life and career, called The Stone Pillow. In choosing to make that movie, she made what some might describe as a wilderness choice.
She was already America’s most famous comedienne. She could have stayed with what was safe and adored. Instead, she chose to play an elderly homeless woman living on the streets of Manhattan. Being Lucille Ball, she didn’t use stunt doubles. She sat on the grates of Manhattan in the dead of summer in layers of clothing and coats to make that character real.
It was quite an incredible performance, but it made people uncomfortable. Reviews were harsh, though hindsight has been kinder.
The temptation for someone that successful is to protect their image. But she chose risk and refused to play it safe.
Jesus, in the wilderness, refuses the role expected of him and refuses to play it safe.
Sometimes the wilderness asks whether we want to be admired — or obedient.
Back in January we heard the story of Jesus’ baptism. Today we step back into this story that sits between baptism and ministry. Identity first. Wilderness second. Ministry after.
At baptism we made promises. Or promises were made on our behalf. We promised to renounce evil and to repent when we fall into it. We promised to turn to Jesus Christ and follow him.
Those promises are not abstract. They shape how we speak about people who are not in the room. They shape how we use power when we have it. They shape how we treat people who cannot advance us.
I know of someone who lives in a very wealthy retirement community. She is surrounded by residents of accomplishment and influence and she is among them. But she is the one who receives birthday cards from the staff. She is the one whose packages are handled gently, whose name is spoken warmly.
Why? Because she does not bow to status. She speaks to every staff member as if they are exactly what they are: beloved children of God. She looks people in the eye.
Lent is when we take those promises seriously.
We have just marked Ash Wednesday. We have begun our Lenten journey. So ask yourself: where is your wilderness? Where are your deserts? Where do you feel hungry, uncertain, tempted to grasp?
What strengths of spirit and heart need strengthening in these weeks? What do you need to pay attention to?
In moments like these, there are only two questions that matter:
Where is God in all this? And how are you responding to God?
Not how is someone else responding. Not how the culture around is responding. How are you responding.
Seeking right relationship with God is the beginning of a holy Lent. It is fine to give something up. It is fine to take on a new practice. But the deeper work is worship.
Who do we bow to? What shapes our decisions when no one is watching?
Sometimes the bow is subtle. It does not always look like kneeling before a throne. It looks like silence when truth would cost us. It looks like harshness justified as righteousness. It looks like laughing along when someone is diminished. It looks like protecting our access instead of protecting the vulnerable.
The bow happens whenever we decide that proximity to power matters more than fidelity to God.
And sometimes the bow is quieter still. It happens when we measure people by what they can do for us. When we treat some as essential and others as invisible. When we are careful with those who can advance us and careless with those who cannot.
Every act of quiet faithfulness is an act of worship. In the wilderness, Jesus makes that same choice. He refuses to worship anything but God.
Jesus chose obedience over power, trust over control, worship over domination. And because he refused, the powers of the world eventually put him on a cross.
But the One who refused in the wilderness is the One who walks out of the tomb, resurrected, on Easter Day.
Lent gives us space to remember who we are and whose we are.
You are beloved; before you succeed, before you are right, before you are admired. You do not have to secure your worth with bread, spectacle, power, or judgment.
We are invited to renounce what distorts us, to return when we fall, and to trust the Jesus who remained faithful in the wilderness and beyond it.
And in that trust, to walk toward Easter steady in our worship and clear about whom we serve. Amen.
[1] Matthew 4:9, New Revised Standard Version (“NRSV”)
[2] Matthew 4:10, NRSV
[3] Matthew 4:6, NRSV
[4] Cf. Matthew 4:3, “…command these stones to become loaves of bread.”
[5] Matthew 4:4, NRSV
[6] Matthew 4:7, NRSV