Our Story As Resistance
Lent 1 Year C
Photo by Sai De Silva on Unsplash
Remember who you are. These were often the last four words my husband and I said to our kids (now in their early 20s) before they left for school (especially and up through college).¹ Together with many in our church community at that time, our kids attended San Francisco public schools. This was one of our community’s ways of standing in solidarity and growing in friendship with those who were vulnerable in our city. I would like to think that those four words – remember who you are – somehow helped our kids navigate the harsh terrain of counter-narratives that sought to tell them who they belong to. In the words of their baptismal liturgy:
You are not your own.
You were bought at a price.
Therefore, God has made a claim on your life:
You are no longer defined by the world and all its distortions,
But are marked as God’s forever.
You belong to His Church. As much as we wanted this to be our kids’ defining Story, I wonder if our daily remember who you are was actually more for us than for them. As parents, we needed to rehearse again and again our cosmic Story of belonging. So we could fully entrust our kids to the Father each day, as they stepped across the threshold of our home to the world we are graciously invited to inhabit as God’s people. A world that can feel like wilderness. Perhaps now more than ever. A wilderness of voices that messes with our heads and makes us doubt our Story and who we belong to.
On this first Sunday of Lent, our Deuteronomy and Luke texts invite us to remember our origin Story as God’s redeemed and beloved people. We find God’s people and Jesus standing at a threshold – the space between ending and beginning. Moving from wilderness to the new thing God is giving them.
Deuteronomy tells us that we are descendents of a vulnerable, migrant people. As the people of God prepare to enter the promised land, they are told to practice a liturgy of gratitude. To offer to God their first harvest in the new land. This liturgy involves looking backwards, rehearsing who they are and where they have been.
We begin with Jacob, the “wandering Aramean,” whose disgruntled sons sold their brother, Joseph, to be trafficked into Egypt. Years later, by the grace of God, Joseph rises to a position of power in Egypt. Jacob’s family is then displaced by famine, forcing them to migrate to Egypt. They are reunited with Joseph. In this new land, the people of God multiply and flourish. They provide labor for the Egyptians. They live as “resident aliens” in their Hebrew enclaves. Then a new Pharaoh shows up. He feels threatened by the “invasion” of these foreigners. The Pharaoh reacts with ruthless, oppressive power. He orders the Hebrew midwifes to participate in state-sanctioned genocide of Hebrew baby boys. Yet, courageous women – midwives, Moses’ mother and sister and Pharaoh’s own daughter – upend his plans. These women use what little power they have to choose fearing God over fearing authoritarian power. Their trust in Yahweh saves Moses, whom God chooses to liberate His people. But into wilderness. After 40 years of wandering, they are now about to cross over the threshold into the “land flowing with milk and honey” that the Lord is giving them.
It is at this cusp of a new beginning that the people of God are invited to practice the liturgy of the first harvest. To rehearse this origin Story, to remember where they’ve been and how they got here. As they celebrate the bounty of God’s good gifts and share it not only with their own kinspeople, but also with the landless Levites, aliens, widows and orphans. Those who are unable to provide for themselves. They too are included in our sacred Story. This liturgy celebrates God’s provisions. He can be trusted to provide more than enough to share.
Jesus too is standing at a threshold as He prepares to begin His earthly ministry. In Luke’s narration, we are told that Jesus enters the wilderness marked with His baptism. He has received the Holy Spirit and been pronounced as “my Son, the Beloved” by the Father. Jesus goes from the Jordan River, the same river the Israelites crossed to enter the promised land, directly into the wilderness. Notably, in Luke’s gospel, Jesus’ encounter in the wilderness is preceded by a genealogy that places Jesus’ roots directly in the Story of our ancestors.
Alone in the Judean desert, Jesus reenacts Israel’s Exodus Story. Jesus’ encounter with the devil is not so much about the devil challenging Jesus’ divinity or power. Rather, the crux of this encounter is the deception that power by strength and might is the shortcut to victory. This is the “alternative story” offered by the devil. Jesus resists by reciting our Story of vulnerability and dependence (straight out of Deuteronomy), choosing instead to fully trust the Father’s provisions.
Everyday we are offered distorted counter-narratives: scarcity, meritocracy, coercive power. These “alternative stories” tell us that greatness comes through strength and power. We are best when we are strong and can take care of ourselves and our families, without ever having to depend on anyone else. This competing story undergirds how our nation relates to other nations. Our foreign trade policies. Our response to conflict. How we work at our jobs. How we protect what we’ve earned. How we raise our kids.
I also can’t help but hear our common Exodus Story as today’s immigrant story. I am a first generation immigrant. My parents fled famine and war in China to the British colony of Hong Kong, where I was born. Years later, my family would migrate again, as part of the Hong Kong diaspora that left before Hong Kong returned to China. Displacement and migration is part of my story and our common Story. Today, over 117 million people² have fled their homelands because of famine, enslavement, abuse, poverty, war and climate change. In their new lands, they are often vilified as invaders, illegals, criminals, and undeserving. They work hard in jobs that no one else wants. Picking our produce. Building our homes. Working in slaughterhouses. Washing our dishes. Caring for our children and aging parents. They are exploited because they are weak and vulnerable. Even for those who are able to obtain legal immigration status in the U.S. and become “resident aliens” (green card holders) or even citizens, some are still labeled as “perpetual foreigners.”³ What if we hear the stories of today’s migrants as a reminder of our sacred Story and an invitation to repent of our dependence on power?
On Ash Wednesday, we have the sign of the cross imposed on our foreheads with ashes. We are told: remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. We begin the season of Lent with our vulnerability – our mortality – physically imprinted on our bodies. How do we, the dusty people of God, resist the delusions of the competing story that tells us to rely on our power and strength? How do we let our sacred Story be our resistance? Our Story of dependence in the new Kingdom economy.
Remember who you are.
Footnotes
1 Remember Who You Are is the title of a short book on baptism by William Willimon, retired Methodist bishop and former Dean of the Chapel at Duke University. For a few years, this was the assigned book for the confirmation class at the church we were part of at this time. It’s probably also the best book on parenting I ever read.
2 As estimated by UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees), by the end of 2023.
3 This is a racialized term used to describe certain immigrants, particularly Asians, who are stereotyped as “perpetual foreigners” and not belonging, regardless of how many generations they have lived in the U.S.