There was once a brother in a monastery who had a rather turbulent temperament: he often became angry. So, he said to himself, “I will go and live on my own. If I have nothing to do with anyone else, I will live in peace and my passions will be soothed.” Off he went to live in solitude in a cave. One day when he had filled his jug with water, he put it on the ground and it tipped over. So he picked it up and filled it again - and again it tipped over. He filled it a third time, put it down, and over it went again. He was furious: he grabbed the jug and smashed it.

And then came to his senses and realized he had been tricked by the devil. He said, “Since I have been defeated, even in solitude, I’d better go back to the monastery. Conflict is to be met everywhere, but so is patience and so is the help of God.” So he got up and went back to where he came from.”

- Anonymous saying of the desert fathers from “Where God Happens" by Rowan Williams, 2005

Well, my preaching friend, can you relate? Can you relate to being convinced that if something out there, someone out there, some job, some church, some relationship, maybe even some slice of cake would just present itself to you, then, then, then all of it really would be well? Reading a story from centuries ago describe that feeling, at least assures us of the shared internal experience. So I’ll bet Jesus felt it too during that retreat in the desert.

Forty days. A number to connect his wilderness experience with those who have gone before - and - to be sure we understand, he was out there far longer than most of us could bear.

Forty minutes, forty hours, forty days, forty years, etc. the noonday demon, akedia, which the desert fathers and mothers knew so well isn’t concerned with the literal amount of time. That tempter tempts us whenever we start looking outside ourselves for the answers, or the solutions, to our challenges and problems.

“We are easily persuaded,” Williams writes, “that the problem of growing up in the life of the spirit can be located outside ourselves.”

Jesus’ temptations are not our temptations. But, this problem of our easy persuasion tempts us all the time. For me, it is one entry into preaching this all too familiar, and, slightly outlandish gospel text. Satan is the “tempter” and the “accuser.” He tempts Jesus to look outside of himself, to get busy doing something for the benefit of others and his own power. He accuses Jesus of not being who he claims to be with his conditional clauses meant to test his faith in himself and trust in God.

Earlier this week I attended a larger, city church for a conference. The staff had decorated the space for Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday festivities. It looked great and I thought, “Oh, if only I had a staff.”

Later that night at, back at my church at our Shrove Tuesday festivities, a parishioner told me about the jazz Eucharist they attended at a different church the week before. “It was great! It was packed!” he told me. “Oh,” I thought, “if only I had jazz band.”

And yes, my friend, of course in between my “if only” thoughts there were myriad of moments when I was filled with gratitude and love for my call and my congregation and our pancakes! Every day I have “if only” thoughts. Moments of envy, of comparative thinking tempting to rob me of deeper joy. And I’ll bet a stack of pancakes that you do too.

There are desert periods and moments for all of us, not just clergy. We avoid the restless worry that usually accompanies solitude. Our consuming culture tells us “if only” all day long. If only I had this, if only I did that, if only they did this, if only they did that. We want to rid ourselves, displace our anxieties, worries and concerns onto something or someone else. “None of us,” again writes Williams, “wants to start where we are.”

After he was baptized, Jesus started. He started where? No where. A desert, to be alone with himself and alone with God. He went into the proverbial room, shut the door and prayed. Akedia tempted him to put that ego he had emptied himself of, right back on (Phil 2:5-11). Jesus trusted in his belovedness, his God-given identity. And he rested and allowed himself to be cared for by the angels.

What about giving up our comparative, “if only” stinking-thinking for Lent? How about resting where we are currently planted, countering every, “if only” thought with seeking something or someone to behold with gratitude? Maybe letting go of tending to people all the time and allowing the angels in our midst periodically to care for us?

This is a season to draw closer to God. A season to simplify and surround ourselves with support for living wholeheartedly. Our anxieties and restlessness are clues. Times for us to dig in with our curiosity, to go deeper with our self-examination. There is value in wrestling with those internal accusations, they tend to point us towards the places we are afraid to go. Which is why the noonday demon tries to trick us and look elsewhere. But God is always right here. Right here, right now.