On choosing the light burden
A sermon by Jamie Howison for the 1st Sunday in Lent on Matthew 4:1-11
“We have abandoned a light burden, namely self-criticism, and taken up a heavy burden, namely self-justification.” This is a teaching from Abba John the Little, one of the desert fathers of the 4th Century. I first heard it cited in a sermon in the winter of 2017, on the second day of the five-week silent retreat I was observing in the context of the chapel community at King’s College in Halifax. Those five weeks were meant to be a time of deep soul-searching and spiritual restoration, but I confess that at the very early point in my retreat when I first heard those words preached I wasn’t sure how I would make my way through those long weeks; wasn’t sure if I was even ready. The preacher that night happened to be an old friend of mine from my undergraduate days at the University of Winnipeg. I’d headed off to Toronto for theological studies, he’d gone to a seminary in the States, and while I returned to Winnipeg after I graduated, he’d landed in the Diocese of Fredericton in New Brunswick. We’d crossed paths a few times over the years, yet there seemed something remarkably propitious about his being there in the chapel that evening, as his familiar and trusted voice quoted words I realized I most needed to hear.
“We have abandoned a light burden, namely self-criticism, and taken up a heavy burden, namely self-justification.” The light burden, Abba John was suggesting, is self-criticism or maybe self-honesty—a speaking the truth of our lives to God, as it is phrased in our time of confession and absolution—while the heavy burden is self-justification. Call it rationalization, or the ways in which we can so easily rationalize actions, choices, and priorities as being somehow okay, justifiable, maybe even good “given the circumstances.” “Be honest, Jamie. Be honest with yourself, your spiritual director, and your God over these weeks.” That’s what Abba John was saying to me.
Abba John the Little
Abba John the Little was a part of the movement known as the desert fathers and mothers; Christians who lived in a period of time when the Christian faith had become first acceptable in the Roman Empire, and then its official religion. Those who were a part of this desert movement believed that the church was all too quickly accommodating itself to the values, politics, and comforts of the dominant Imperial culture, and so they stepped outside of all of that to seek the presence of Christ in desert places. Abba John made that decision in the year 357 at the age of 18, and lived in the Egyptian desert until his death, some forty-five years later.
The writings and sayings of the desert fathers and mothers have an extraordinary character to them, full of wisdom and insight often born of their own struggles with the self-justification of which Abba John wrote. Oh, and temptation too. They often wrote of battling with the temptations of the adversary—the satan—in terms at least as vivid as what we heard in the gospel story tonight.
Give up this life of prayer. Take an easier path. This isn’t doing anything. Your God isn’t interested in you, can’t protect you. Go ahead, break your vows. Take this food, this wine, these comforts. Take this beautiful body I’m offering to you, indulge your desires. Or… maybe don’t give it all up… but just take this little delight, for just this long night. It will help you feel better…
Abba John clearly knew what it was to be tempted—lured—into self-justification. A heavy burden; sufficiently heavy, in fact, to crush one’s spirit.
In the gospel accounts, Jesus’ forty-day sojourn in the wilderness comes early—right after his baptism and before he has launched into his public ministry—and it is presented as something that he really needs to do. Where Matthew says, “Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness,” Mark says that “the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness,” which really put emphasis on how critical this time was meant to be. This is Jesus’ time to lay full hold on who he truly is, and to be utterly reliant on the Father. No, even more, to firmly relocate his whole self and identity in the Father through the Spirit. At the end of his forty days alone and fasting in that harsh environment, he would have been physically exhausted, even vulnerable. And now comes the voice of the devil, the adversary.
You’re hungry, and you know that you can turn these stones into bread. What harm is a little bread, after all that you’ve gone through?
Prove your faith, throw yourself off of the pinnacle of the temple and let the angels save you. And wouldn’t that impress all of the crowds in the temple square? Such an easy way to win over followers…
Look at the glory of the kingdoms of the world, Jesus. I can give them to you now, and you’ll suffer no struggles, no pain, in winning a kingdom for yourself. So much easier than what your God has in store for you…
No. No. No. Each time Jesus turns to the Hebrew scriptures to turn back the temptations; each time he turns back the offer of those self-justifying and truth-denying “easier ways” by going right back to the deeper truth of his mother tongue of faith and belief. His identity firmly and rightly located in God, he will not fall. “Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.” And soon enough he will be walking the dusty roads of Galilee, calling his disciples, teaching the growing crowds, offering his healing presence to those who need him most. Not the easy way that the devil had suggested he follow. No, instead, the long way of truth.
“We have abandoned a light burden, namely self-criticism, and taken up a heavy burden, namely self-justification.” I’ve thought about Abba John’s teaching a lot this past week. We have recently heard stories of men—and yes, in this case it is men—who appear to have an extraordinary capacity for the self-justification of acts that can only be described as wicked. In the news we have heard of an influential Hollywood producer who has now been convicted of rape, and of a major figure in the fashion and manufacturing world who is alleged to have been involved in what amounts to sex trafficking. Powerful men by the standards of this fame and money driven culture, it would seem, are able to justify all manner of damage, perhaps on no more grounds than being conditioned to think that if they want something they shall have it. It was, of course, the sin of King David, when, upon seeing Bathsheba bathing he decided he would have her. He wanted, he decided he could, so he did. Only when the prophet Nathan later comes to confront him with the depths of his self-justifying sin does David fall to his knees.
And then there is the heartbreaking report released last weekend by the L’Arche community, revealing that a thorough investigation had determined that their founder and visionary leader Jean Vanier had, over the course of 35 years, sexually abused six women, all of whom had come to him for spiritual care and guidance. That doesn’t mean that his legacy through L’Arche of changing the way the world thinks about the place in community of adults with developmental disabilities is not real. No, that legacy does remain, and is being lived out by communities around the world, including right here in Winnipeg. Equally real, though, is the legacy of damage and pain he caused to those women, as well as the deep disorientation in the hearts and minds of those for whom Vanier’s vision has long been one of clarity and inspiration.
“We have abandoned a light burden, namely self-criticism, and taken up a heavy burden, namely self-justification.”
Would that Vanier had chosen the light burden over the heavy. Would that we all.
Into the season of Lent we go.