The First Sunday of Lent, 10 March 2019
Austwick, Clapham, Keasden
In the Spanish city of Segovia, northwest of Madrid, is one of the most superb architectural legacies of the Roman empire. Segovia’s aqueduct, with its 167 arches fashioned from the granite stone of the Guadarrama Mountains, is a source of great pride to the local people and attracts the admiration of all who visit to see it. The single blocks of the aqueduct are not bound by any kind of mortar, but instead an ingenious equilibrium of forces that seem to defy gravity. [1] It's like dry-stone walling on an epic scale.
Although the Romans actually built it, there is a well-known legend about how Segovia’s aqueduct was made. It’s the story of a serving girl who used to climb, every day, to the very top of the mountain and return with her pitcher full of water. Fed up of this daily drudgery, she spoke to the Devil, asking him to build something so she needn't trudge up and down the mountain any more. The Devil granted her wish, and foolishly perhaps, he said he’d build it in one night - the silly Devil. There was one condition. He asked for her soul in return, if he managed to finish the aqueduct before the cockerel crowed.
The girl reluctantly agreed and the Devil started to build the aqueduct, but as the night wore on and the Devil’s work got nearer completion the girl grew more and more concerned. Then, just before the Devil could lay the last stone, the cockerel crowed. The Devil lost his wager and the girl kept her soul. In the gap that remained in the aqueduct, today stands the statue of the Virgin of Fuencisla, patroness of the city. [2]
Now we know from the last line in today’s gospel reading that when the Devil loses his gamble on someone’s soul he doesn’t give up - he bides his time until another opportunity comes. And so it may be no surprise to hear the news that today in Segovia a horned figure has reappeared, a statue of Satan commissioned by the city authorities in the hope that it will become a tourist attraction.
Now this Satan is a paunchy, friendly-looking fellow. He’s posing with a cell phone in his hand, snapping a selfie. And this impish-looking statue has caused a group of local Catholics to decry it as "offensive" to their religion. They say that this devil looks too good natured, is too jovial and not repulsive enough to represent Satan accurately.The devil, they argue, should be portrayed in art as "repulsive and despicable, not friendly and seductive.” [3]
You may have some sympathy for these Devil-deriders. But hang on, we might think. Surely the point about the Devil is that he is friendly and seductive. If he were repulsive and despicable, people would avoid him and his teasing temptations. But friendly and seductive is exactly what the Devil is: which is why we’re here at the start of Lent, examining ourselves for those corners of our hearts where he may have taken a hold.
Better the devil you know, so the saying goes. And the Devil we know from the time Jesus spent with him in the wilderness, the Devil we know from our own experience, is the Devil who turns our desires for health, wealth and happiness into obsessions which end up damaging the delicate ecology of our hearts and souls, our bodies, and our world.
The three temptations of Jesus are our temptations also: for food to satisfy our physical yearnings; for prestige and wealth to satisfy our longing for acceptance and recognition; and for any means possible to defy our mortality and stay forever healthy and alive.
Considering these things during Lent brings us into contact with words we tend to usually avoid:
Causing us to ask, about food, am I a glutton - how does my comfortably-stocked kitchen and my frequent snacking appear to my Christian brothers and sisters in Africa and Asia where chronic undernourishment is prevalent? What beautiful adjustment would take place if I found ways to cut down and share more?
Lent causes us to ask, about prestige and wealth, am I being lustful? - is my longing for acceptance just adding to my anxieties? Does my drive for recognition set me apart from people, rather than draw me to them? What wonderful difference would it make if I accepted myself as I am and embraced others as equals?
And Lent causes us to ask, about mortality, am I going against nature in my preoccupation with health and well-being? Does my reluctance to accept my physical limitations drive a wedge between my body and my soul? What joy would explode into every day if I took each living moment as a gift to cherish? What peace would I find if I approached my eventual death truly believing what my Christian faith says about it?
The wily old Devil may wear a grin which says, be happy - eat more, consume, grasp after wealth, keep fit, defy death, smile for the camera. It’s better the devil you know. For you know how his smile turns ugly when you chase these things too far, when you feed your desires too much.
Lent is the Church’s invitation to all of us to turn again, and fix our desires on God.
For in prayer, and in contemplation of the scriptures, in learning and sharing together, Lent reacquaints us with a God who has lovingly made us to be uniquely the person we each are, and who gives us all we need to find ourselves whole, regardless of whatever physical or financial or social or emotional limitations we’re made to feel we have. Lent reacquaints us with a God who has lovingly made us to be together in the unity of our brothers and sisters, to encourage each other, to struggle, learn and grow as members of the body of Christ.
Better the Devil you know. Better still: the God who knows and loves you.
Welcome to Lent. Let’s embrace it.
Notes
[1] Wikipedia: Aqueduct of Segovia
[2] The legend of Segovia’s aqueduct. The Diplomat in Spain, 11 June 2014.
[3] Francesca Street, 'Friendly' Satan statue causes anger in Segovia, Spain. CNN, 17 January 2019
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