There is a moment early in Jesus' ministry that has always intrigued me.

Before he heals anyone, before he teaches, before any of it — the Spirit leads him into the wilderness. Forty days. Alone. Fasting. And then the temptations come.

I've never quite understood why it had to start that way. But the more I sit with it, the more I think it speaks to something true about life. From time to time, we all find ourselves in the wilderness. A diagnosis. A loss. A season when the ground shifts beneath us and nothing feels certain. Times when what we thought we knew — about ourselves, about the future, about God — gets tested.

The wilderness is real. And the forces that meet us there are real too.

The word devil comes from the Greek diablien — to split, to divide. In biblical thinking, the devil is not a cartoon figure. It is that force — personal or otherwise — that tries to split us away from God, away from each other, away from our own deepest selves.

And however you understand that theologically, the reality it points to is undeniable. A spirit of greed can settle over a corporation like a culture. Hatred can take over a person, or a whole community, in ways that seem impossible to explain. Addiction, cynicism, indifference — these forces are real. They are powerful. And they rarely announce themselves.

What I notice is this: they tend to come when we are most vulnerable. When we are tired, depleted, afraid. When the wilderness has gone on longer than we expected.

But here is what I also notice about Jesus in the wilderness.

He doesn't fight his way through it on his own strength. He fasts. He prays. He leans on what he knows to be true about God. When the temptations come, he reaches — not for a quick fix, not for the stones that promise to become bread — but for something deeper. Something that holds.

Even at the very end of his life, in the garden the night before he died, we find him in the same posture. On his knees. In prayer. Dependent.

That's not weakness. That's wisdom.

So if you find yourself in the wilderness today — and some of you are — this is my prayer for you.

May you lean on what you know to be true about God, even when you can't feel it. May you reach for the deeper source, even when everything else is promising faster relief. And may you find, as others have found before you, that there is a courage and a strength and a hope available in those moments that does not come from within you.

It comes from beyond you. And it is enough.

Prayer: God of grace, meet us in our wilderness today. Where we are tired, renew us. Where we are afraid, steady us. Where we are tempted to reach for the wrong things, redirect us. Draw us closer to you — and may we find, in you, everything we need. Amen.

Today’s message was written by my friend Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

In the Broadway musical, "STOP THE WORLD, I WANT TO GET OFF," actor Anthony Newley sang a powerful song: "Once in a Lifetime." It contains these poignant words: "This is my moment... I’m gonna do great things." 

Sadly, we must confess that we know the empty feeling of "missing our moment," letting the moment pass. All of us, because of fear or timidity, or insecurity, have let special opportunities, special moments slip by us. Psychologists tell us that if we do not act every time we have this kind of feeling, we are less likely to act later when other such moments present themselves. Each time we fail to act, we become more hardened, more desensitized, more emotionally paralyzed. We trick ourselves by substituting emotion for action, by thinking that just because we felt it, it has been cared for. 

How many letters never have been written? 

How many phone calls have never been made? 

How many compliments have been left unsaid? 

How many "I'm sorrys" remain unspoken? 

How many "Thank yous" have never been said? 

How many "I love yous" are still unexpressed? 

How many commitments are still not made? 

because we missed our moment! 

If there is an emptiness, a void, a vacuum, a hunger in your life, remember: Jesus offers you life. Don't miss this moment! If there's any kindness or love you can show, show it now. Seize the moment! Live today fully and make it a masterpiece! 

Prayer: God of love, we know you are always with us and you love us. How patiently you tutor us! Straighten the backbone of our beliefs, strengthen our resolve, move us to action, so that the roots of faith will reach the center of our hearts. Grant us peace that comes from your love...that whether we walk through fields of flowers or stumble along streets of sadness, we will walk beside you. Be close today to those who are experiencing grief or loneliness. In Jesus' name. Amen. 

Barbara Jurgensen writes about a busy time in her life. She was feeling it — the gap between the life she was living and the life she wanted to live. Her days were so full, so fragmented, that a deeper Christian life felt perpetually out of reach. So one night she did something simple. She asked God to help her live more faithfully. Starting tomorrow.

The next morning, before she was even out of bed, the phone rang. Her next-door neighbor had a terrible toothache. The dentist could see her right away, but her little boy was home sick. Could Barbara help?

She got up, got dressed, walked next door, made the child his breakfast, and stayed with him until his mother returned. That was the morning.

After lunch, a friend showed up at the door — someone who had been struggling with depression, going through a very hard stretch. She had a couple of dresses she wanted to shorten. Could they work on them together? They spent most of the afternoon side by side.

Near supper, her husband came home and mentioned — a little tentatively — that he'd invited two people to dinner. A couple he'd just met. The husband had a prison record and was having trouble finding work. I hope that's okay, he said.

It was okay.

By bedtime, Barbara lay there wondering. So much had happened. So many interruptions. Where, in all of that, had there been any time for God?

And then it dawned on her. God had been there all along. In every single interruption.

We tend to think of the spiritual life as something we carve out — a quiet moment, a dedicated practice, a time set apart. And those things matter. They lay a foundation. But the life God calls most of us to is not a cloistered life. It is a life lived in the middle of things. Busy, messy, interrupted.

And it turns out, the interruptions are often the invitation.

The neighbor with the toothache. The neighbor at the door. The awkward dinner guest. These are not obstacles to living faithfully. They are what living faithfully actually looks like.

Prayer: Lord, help us to see. Help us to notice you in the interruptions — in the unexpected phone call, the neighbor in need, the person who shows up at the wrong moment. Give us eyes to recognize the opportunities you place in front of us, and hearts willing to say yes. Amen.

Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross was doing research for her groundbreaking book, On Death and Dying, interviewing patients in a hospital who were nearing the end of their lives. She went from room to room, listening, taking notes.

And after a while, she noticed something she hadn't expected.

Some of the dying patients were remarkably calm. At peace. Settled in a way that surprised her. And when she looked for what these patients had in common, she kept finding the same thing. Their rooms had been cleaned by the same hospital orderly.

Kübler-Ross tracked her down in the corridor one day.

What are you doing with my patients?

The orderly thought she was in trouble. I'm not doing anything with your patients.

No — it's a good thing, Kübler-Ross said. After you visit them, they seem at peace. What are you doing?

The orderly was quiet for a moment. Then she said:

I just talk to them. I've had two babies of my own die on my lap. But God never abandoned me. I tell them that. I tell them they aren't alone. That God is with them. That they don't have to be afraid.

She wasn't a doctor. She wasn't a chaplain. She had no credentials for this work — except the one that mattered most. She had been through the darkness herself. And she had found something there that she could not keep to herself.

There is a kind of comfort that can only be offered by someone who has known the thing they are speaking about. Not advice. Not answers. Just — I have been in that place. And I was not abandoned there. And neither will you be.

The Apostle Paul wrote that God comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort others with the same comfort we ourselves have received. That's not a theory. That's what the orderly was doing, room by room, on her hands and knees, in a hospital corridor.

Ministry doesn't always look the way we expect it to.

Think about what you have come through. The losses, the fears, the seasons when you weren't sure you were going to make it. You may not think of those experiences as gifts. But somewhere, there is a person sitting in a room who needs to hear exactly what you learned in your own darkness.

You are not alone. God has not abandoned you. You don't have to be afraid.

Who in your life needs to hear that today?

Prayer: Gracious God, we are grateful for the people who have spoken hope into our darkest moments. We remember today that our own wounds can become a source of comfort for others — that out of the ashes of our hardest seasons, something redemptive can grow. Give us the courage to show up for the people around us who are struggling. And remind us, when we feel we have nothing to offer, that sometimes all it takes is the willingness to say: I have been there too. And God was faithful. In Jesus' name. Amen.

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I have a friend named Charley Landreth. He's a retired pastor — a longtime friend of our family. About ten years ago, Charley had a stroke and lost his ability to speak. Today he lives in a skilled nursing facility.

And yet he is one of the most joyful people I know. He is deeply loved — not just by family and friends, but by all the staff. He has this inner light that is unmistakable.

How did he get there? I can tell you it didn't just happen. It was cultivated. Over the course of a lifetime, Charley was nourished on something deeper than circumstance. Something that held when everything else was stripped away.

Later in John chapter 6, after Jesus has been teaching some hard things, a number of his followers walk away. They say: this is too difficult. Who can accept it?

And Jesus turns to his closest disciples and asks: Do you want to leave too?

Peter answers for the group. He says: Lord, to whom would we go?

It's not a triumphant declaration. It's almost a shrug. But it might be one of the most honest statements of faith in the entire New Testament.

We've looked around. We've considered the alternatives. And if you don't have the words of deep, lasting life — please, someone, give us something better.

So here’s the invitation. Look around. Test the alternatives. Is it technology? Social media? Politics? The Republican Party? The Democratic Party? Is it a bigger house, a more successful career, more money in the account?

These things aren't nothing. But they will not fill this hunger. They were never made to.

Lord, to whom would we go?

Only you have what we most deeply need.

Prayer: God, we come to you again today. Not because we have it all figured out. But because we have looked around, and we keep coming back to you. Feed us. Nourish something deep in us that circumstances cannot touch. May we cultivate, over the course of our lives, the kind of joy that holds — no matter what, the kind of faith that holds - no matter what. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

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