Series Introduction: The Journey Begins

This is the first Sunday of the Lenten season. Lent encompasses the six weeks leading up to Easter, mirroring Jesus’ resolute journey toward his inevitable death in Jerusalem. For Christians, Lent is a season of self-denial—a time to pivot our gaze toward the darker shades of the human experience. While some might assume Christians are simply a dour lot, this season of denial is actually intended to sharpen our appetites. It makes the celebration at the end—Easter—an even more joyous occasion because we have sat in the shadows first.

Over the next six weeks, I am allowing the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL) to select the scriptures for my preaching. Used widely by various Protestant denominations and derived from the Roman Catholic Lectionary, the RCL sets out a three-year cycle of readings designed to expose the faithful to the full breadth of the Bible. There is something profound in knowing that, today, believers all over the world are hearing messages based on these exact same texts. For these six weeks, I am submitting to the collective wisdom of the Church through the ages. Let’s dive into the season of Lent together.

Introduction: The Index Case

The global experience of COVID-19 fundamentally altered how we think about viruses. While many aspects of the pandemic remain controversial—and I have no intention of re-litigating those here—our collective memory of a rapidly spreading pathogen provides fertile ground for an analogy.

A virus starts at a single point—a lone “index case”—and then explodes. I remember how at first, it seemed like a remote problem: something happening “over there.” Then it overwhelmed hospitals in Italy. That was unnerving. Then the first cases appeared in Canada and the U.S. And I still remember thinking, “Kirkland Lake is pretty isolated; surely that will protect us.” For a while, it did. But eventually, the virus found its way even to our small corner of the world.

The nature of exponential spread is difficult to wrap our minds around. If one person infects two, the numbers climb slowly at first: 2, 4, 8, 16. But after just twenty generations of doubling, over a million people are infected. As the saying goes, “A million here, a million there, and pretty soon you’re talking about a lot of people.” In the end, almost everyone I know contracted a strain of COVID at some point. I had it at least twice, and I don’t think I’m an outlier. Even if you escaped it, you certainly know many who didn’t.

I mention this not to stir up old memories, but to muse on how something so microscopic can, in short order, circumnavigate the globe until it touches everyone.

In a strange way, a virus’s path through a population mirrors the effect of sin in our world. The sin of one person has consequences that cascade outward, bringing a trail of destruction. That sounds like a “downer”—and it would be, if that were the end of the story. But I want us to look at the parallel: how the righteousness of one person also cascades into the world, proving itself stronger than the power of sin. This is a story that starts as bad news, but it refuses to stay that way.

I. Saying “No” to God

A. The Biblical Slide into Depravity

Literary theorists tell us that every well-developed story needs a “motivating incident”—the event that ignites the story’s central conflict. It’s the moment terrorists board the cruise ship where the off-duty Navy SEAL is trying to save his marriage after so many years away fighting terrorists. It’s the moment the protagonist loses her job and faces an uncertain future.

While the Bible is a collection of many books written by many authors, it possesses a striking unity. It is the grand narrative of God’s creation being wrecked by sin and God working through history to set it right. The “motivating incident” of the human story occurs when sin first enters the world.

The story begins after God establishes the boundaries for life in the Garden:

The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. And the Lord God commanded the man, “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die” (Genesis 2:15–17 NIV). 

Shortly after, Eve enters the story. She wasn’t present for the original command, but Adam passed along the gist of it. But the serpent (Satan) understands that Eve wasn’t there, so might be more open to trickery, so he sees his opportunity and takes it:

Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” 

The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’ ” 

“You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” 

When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. (Genesis 3:1–7, NIV)

The boundary was clear: Don’t eat. Both Adam and Eve disobeyed. Like a virus starting with a single host, this one “slip-up” unleashed a torrent of devastation. Their son Cain murdered his brother Abel out of jealousy. A few generations later, his descendant Lamech brags to his wives about his own brutality:

“Adah and Zillah, listen to me; 

wives of Lamech, hear my words. 

I have killed a man for wounding me, 

a young man for injuring me. 

If Cain is avenged seven times, 

then Lamech seventy-seven times.”

Lamech believes his power entitles him to overreact to any perceived insult—a mindset that has become emblematic of human interaction ever since. This downward spiral reaches a tipping point by the time of Noah: “The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time” (Genesis 6:5, NIV).

A single sin—what might have seemed like a minor technical rule—led the world to slide into a chaos where everyone became enslaved to the power of sin.

B. Our Own Slide

Theologians have long debated exactly how Adam’s sin transmits to us. Augustine suggested a natural inclination toward sin passed down to us biologically from one generation to the next. Others argue that all of our role models go back to Adam. So we’ve all learned to navigate the world sinfully. But the method of transmission is less important than the result.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ll let you in on a secret: our world is broken. I know, it’s shocking! People act selfishly, pursuing their own interests even when they know it will cost others dearly.

Sometimes it feels as though the world is wired to drive us toward sin. We view life as a place of limited resources and limitless desires. We compete for resources, jobs, status, and love. Our sin has severed our connection to God, leaving us in a “world of scarcity.” In a world of scarcity, we feel we must look after ourselves, fearing that no one else will. So, despite God’s instructions, we take matters into our own hands. What else can we do?

We like to tell ourselves we are “basically good.” We point to the “monsters”—the abusers, murderers, and megalomaniacal dictators—as the ones responsible for the world’s mess. But that isn’t the whole truth. These “monsters” often gain power because we permit them to; Hitler, after all, was popularly elected.

Moreover, the “little” things—the careless word to a child, the decision to overlook someone in pain, the small act of greed—have a far greater impact than we care to admit. Adam and Eve likely felt that eating a piece of fruit wasn’t a big deal. Judging by the consequences, however, it was catastrophic. Our perception of a sin’s “seriousness” rarely aligns with its real-world impact. The world isn’t just broken because of “them”; it’s broken because of people like you and me. We said “No” to God, and the results were beyond our imagining. That is the bad news.

II. One Man Says “Yes” to God

Praise God, the bad news does not get the final word. Throughout the Old Testament, we see humanity try and fail to follow God. There are flickers of hope—The Israelites traveling through the Red Sea to freedom, David standing up the Giant Goliath in the name of the living God, or Josiah rededicating the people to worshiping The Lord after his predecessors had abandoned their God—but mostly, it is a record of failure. People succumb to fear and selfish desire. They take the easy way out.

Yet, even when the situation seemed hopeless, the prophets stirred Israel to hope that where they were powerless, God would come in power:

Strengthen the feeble hands, 

steady the knees that give way; 

say to those with fearful hearts, 

“Be strong, do not fear; 

your God will come, 

he will come with vengeance; 

with divine retribution 

he will come to save you” (Isaiah 35:3–4 NIV).

How could God save them if not even one person could live righteously? That was the unsolvable riddle—until a new figure stepped onto the stage. Just as the story took a dark turn when one man said “No,” it pivots back when one man says “Yes.” Jesus of Nazareth faced a choice, just as Adam did, and just as we do every day. But while we have always chosen our own path, he chose God’s.

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.” 

Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’” 

Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written: 

“ ‘He will command his angels concerning you, 

and they will lift you up in their hands, 

so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’” 

Jesus answered him, “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” 

Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.” 

Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’” 

Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him (Matthew 4:1–11 NIV).

This isn’t a story about a tree in a garden, and the subject isn’t a naive inhabitant of paradise. But the underlying question is identical: When God’s way is hard and a shortcut is offered to get what we want, which way do you go? God called Jesus to a season of fasting; Satan suggested he use his power to make bread. Jesus said, “No” to Satan and, “Yes” to God.

God had called Jesus to embody the kingdom in a humble, hidden way where those who wanted to see could understand, but those who were content in their own way could deliberately not understand. Satan suggests Jesus jump off the temple, forcing God to miraculously deliver him, ending all debate as to his true identity. (Wouldn’t messiah-ing be easier if everyone knew you were the Messiah?) Jesus said, “No” to Satan and, “Yes” to God.

God had called Jesus to inaugurate God’s kingdom by giving himself on a cross. But Satan offers Jesus a kingdom without the cross. “Why go to all that trouble to become King. Just do this one little thing for me, and you can have the kingdom without all the fuss.” Jesus said, “No” to Satan and, “Yes” to God.

Where Adam and Eve said, “No” to God, where they acted as if they knew better, Jesus says, “Yes” to God, submitting to God’s authority and that changed things.

In our world of scarcity, there is never enough food, but in a world of Abundance, some kids’ uneaten lunch can feed thousands. In a world of abundance experienced fishermen like Peter and Andrew can spend a fruitless night of toil and catch no fish. But in the world of abundance, one cast of the net and they are full to the breaking point.  In the  world of abundance Jesus cleanses the leper, opens the eyes of the blind, and restores the outcast. One man’s “No” shattered the world; one man’s “Yes” transforms it. The virus of sin is swallowed up by a “contagion of righteousness” that brings life to every dark corner.

III. The “Virus” That Saves the World

Jesus said “Yes” when everyone else said “No.” That’s wonderful for him—he got out of this world unscathed. But does that change our situation?

In a pandemic, one person’s infection can lead to a million more. Paul tells us something shocking: the righteousness of Jesus ripples outward just as the “virus” of sin did, “infecting” many with salvation.

When Adam sinned, sin entered the world. Adam’s sin brought death, so death spread to everyone, for everyone sinned. Yes, people sinned even before the law was given. But it was not counted as sin because there was not yet any law to break. Still, everyone died—from the time of Adam to the time of Moses—even those who did not disobey an explicit commandment of God, as Adam did. Now Adam is a symbol, a representation of Christ, who was yet to come. But there is a great difference between Adam’s sin and God’s gracious gift. For the sin of this one man, Adam, brought death to many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of forgiveness to many through this other man, Jesus Christ. And the result of God’s gracious gift is very different from the result of that one man’s sin. For Adam’s sin led to condemnation, but God’s free gift leads to our being made right with God, even though we are guilty of many sins. For the sin of this one man, Adam, caused death to rule over many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man, Jesus Christ. 

Yes, Adam’s one sin brings condemnation for everyone, but Christ’s one act of righteousness brings a right relationship with God and new life for everyone. Because one person disobeyed God, many became sinners. But because one other person obeyed God, many will be made righteous. (Romans 5:12–19, NLT).

Israel wondered how God could ever solve the problem of ingrained sin. No one expected that one man’s obedience would set off a “pandemic of salvation.” Sin is powerful, but grace is more powerful.

However, unlike a biological virus, we must choose to allow this one to infect us. While righteousness is a free gift, we must accept it. This isn’t a “get-out-of-hell-free” card that allows us to ignore our responsibilities. It isn’t a blank check to indulge in sin without spiritual consequence.

The effects of sin are still devastating. Some of the people most opposed to Jesus are those who were treated poorly by Christians—people who reasoned that those who “know better” should act better. Our choices—our daily “Yes” or “No”—have real-world, life-and-death consequences. We must take seriously the call to “live a life worthy of our calling” (Ephesians 4:1).

Think of a parent. As a father, I hope my words and deeds build up my daughters, setting them on a positive trajectory in life. But I know I sometimes fall short. When I lose my patience or communicate the wrong priorities, it has a negative impact. My choices bring either life or death to my home. This is true for all of us, and not just in our family relationships, but in every human relationship. When we say “No” to God and give in to selfishness or fear, we propagate the old virus of devastation. But when we say “Yes,” we become mirrors reflecting the goodness of Jesus back to our world. We unleash life.

Conclusion

The point is this: even after we come to faith, our choices matter. We can indulge the “old self,” looking out for “Number One” because we still fear we live in a world of scarcity. Or, we can choose the new life. This life is animated by the Holy Spirit. In this life, we embody Jesus’ understanding of God’s abundance. We can live in faith that God provides, and so be generous. (Give us today our daily bread.) We can live in faith that God forgives, and so we can forgive. (Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.) We can live in faith of God’s power, and so we can refuse the shortcuts. (Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.)

We’ve lived a life-time infected by the same virus that has wrought so much destruction and pain in our world. Or we can spread a new virus, that spreads love and hope, that transforms the driest desert into an orchard of abundance, that brings life to people who live in the shadow of death. Each choice you make is a choice about what virus you want to spread in the world—the virus of death, or the virus of life—But we know the call of God, and the call of our deepest hearts is to spread the virus of life.