There is a hum in humanity — a low note that runs through our lives. From the garden of Genesis to the wilderness of Gospel of Matthew, that hum carries the strain of mistrust, hunger and longing. But in the desert, Jesus holds a truer note — and the music of the world begins to change. A reflection for the first Sunday of Lent (Year A).
There is a hum in humanity.
A low note that runs through our lives.
It is there in the very beginning of the word itself,
the hum as we grow up as humans,
part of humanity,
challenged to be humane,
struggling to keep our feet on the ground – the humus,
finding humility so difficult.
There is a hum in humanity.
A low note that rumbles through our lives.
It is not just the hum of dust and breath –
but the hum of strain.
It is the hum of a myth
that resounds through all our lives,
a myth that can’t be dismissed
because it rings so true,
so true that it becomes the earworm
that casts our psyche
and scripts our story.
This is the story from Genesis.
It is not a fairy tale about a perfect world once upon a time,
but the beginning of difficulty.
The first mistrust.
The first fracture.
The first hiding.
The first blaming.
And the rest, as they say, is history,
herstory and ourstory.
Ever since, life has carried that note.
Work that exhausts.
Relationships that bruise.
Bodies that fail.
Power that corrupts.
Fear that whispers.
There is a hum in our ears and hearts
that tells us life should be easier than this –
easier than it has ever been.
A hum that suggests it was never meant to be this hard.
And yet –
it has been this hard from the beginning.
And then we hear the Gospel from Matthew.
The same hum.
The same strain.
The same voice that once whispered in a garden now speaks in a wilderness.
“Turn these stones to bread.”
Make it easier.
Fix the hunger.
Work a little magic.
“Throw yourself down.”
Let God catch you.
Prove yourself.
Court admiration.
“All this can be yours.”
Take control.
Overrule the chaos.
Dominate rather than trust.
These are not exotic temptations.
They are ours.
The temptation to solve difficulty by spectacle.
To escape vulnerability by popularity.
To end uncertainty by control.
Jesus stands where we stand.
He feels the same pull.
He hears the same hum.
But he stays.
He stays with the hunger.
He stays with the trust.
He stays with the limits of being human.
And he answers —
not with magic,
not with drama,
not with force —
but with Scripture,
with remembered truth,
with the steady note of dependence.
And that steady note
sees the back of the devil.
After the discord of the devil,
a new note sounds,
a different music,
harmonies and the ring of truth.
This is the sound of angels,
the sound of heaven attending earth.
This is the sound that swells our hearts
as we walk our 40 days of Lent,
through our temptation,
through difficulty,
through wilderness.
It’s not the sound of despair and desolation,
nor the sound of punishment and shame,
it is the note Jesus brings to the garden,
the hopeful note of humankind.
This is the joy Paul conveys to us in his letter to the Romans.
By the obedience of one
the music of our lives has changed.
Not by the brilliance of one.
Not by the power of one.
By the obedience of one –
in the wilderness,
in the difficulties, pressures and temptations of life,
humanity is re-tuned.
The hum of strain is not denied.
Jesus is still hungry.
Jesus is always hungry.
As long as anyone is hungry,
Jesus is hungry.
But discord becomes fidelity.
That’s the good news.
The gospel is not that life suddenly becomes easy.
The good news is that within the difficulty –
the wars, the privations, the despair –
a new sound has entered the world.
The hum is still there.
The world is still hard.
But now –
it is not the only sound.
These forty days are a gift to us –
time to learn again how to listen
for the music of accompaniment.
Grits and Grains 