Here's the deal: at the beginning of Epiphany, right after Christmas, we heard this verse from Mark chapter one: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." It made sense for us to hear this at the beginning of Epiphany, for the story of Jesus' baptism by John in the river Jordan is one of the central "epiphanies" that we celebrate during that season. And last week, at the end of Epiphany, it was fitting that we should hear the story of Jesus' transfiguration, in which the Father's voice proclaims from heaven: "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!" Why, then, do we hear this morning, at the beginning of Lent, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased" again? I mean, we get it, already!

Or do we? After all, how many times in our lives have we heard the proclamation that Jesus is God's Son, the Beloved? And how many times in our lives have we heard the exhortation to listen to him? In fact, I preached about listening just a few weeks ago. Or weren't you listening? Come to think of it, chances are, you weren't, because I preached that sermon during that blizzard we had. O.K., bad example. Point is, you've heard it all before, right?

Well, in any event, I thought that I had heard it all before, but then it hit me: in last week's Gospel, the voice speaks about Jesus to his companions: "This is my Son," whereas in this morning's Gospel, the voice speaks directly to Jesus about his identity: "You are my Son." It made me wonder whether the epiphany at Jesus' baptism wasn't to the bystanders at all, but to Jesus. Did Jesus not know this fact about himself before he was baptized, that he was God's Son? In the other Gospels, we're given different views, but in Mark, the earliest and the shortest of the Gospels, it appears that this epiphany isn't for the bystanders' sake (who aren't even mentioned), or even for our sake as "virtual bystanders," if you will, but that this proclamation from heaven is meant as a personal revelation to Jesus, a fact about his own identity that he did not realize before, or at least that he did not apprehend in the stunning and dramatic way he does at his baptism.

"And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.'"

Imagine that. Imagine his not knowing that he was God's beloved child. Imagine living all your life as God's beloved child and not truly realizing that fact until your baptism, perhaps not even understanding what that meant until you had gone through the wilderness and been tempted by Satan. Well, it seems that according to Mark, at least, that was exactly Jesus' experience.

How would you react if suddenly you were told by a heavenly voice that you were the Beloved? In Jesus' case, at least, we're given a clue toward the answer to this question in what happens next: "And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness." This same Spirit, which a moment ago was a fluffy white descending dove, is suddenly transformed into an angry pecking pigeon -- driving him out into the wilderness. What sort of a gift is that? Or, to put it another way, instead of being driven into the wilderness by the realization that he is God's Beloved, why isn't he led into a party? Why a fast and not a feast?

I guess what I'm getting at here is that there's an incongruity between being the Beloved on the one hand, and being driven into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan on the other. Wouldn't it be better if being God's Son meant exemption from temptation and hardship? But no, I think part of the underlying message here is that even the Son, the Beloved, is subject to all the trials and tribulations of everyday life. At the beginning of Lent, we are presented with a Beloved Son who is driven by the Spirit of the Father into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan. And implicitly, we are asked, invited, perhaps even driven by the Spirit to follow him there.

What will we find as we follow Jesus into the wilderness of Lent? Probably the same things that Jesus found. Mark tells us four things: Jesus was in the wilderness for forty days. Jesus was tempted by Satan. Jesus was with the wild beasts. And Jesus was waited on by the angels. Like Jesus, we will be in the wilderness of Lent for forty days, and we can count on being tempted while there-although of course Lent isn't the only time we will be tempted. We can also count on being "with the wild beasts," in a manner of speaking. I wonder, though, what those beasts would be? I'd imagine that's different for each of us, but it's something at least to pay attention to during Lent; perhaps the wild beasts are those things inside of us, like anger, or resentment, or envy, that roar at us and threaten to devour our souls. Or maybe they are other people. In any event, the beasties will be there in Lent, on top of the temptations.

Finally, though, can we count on that fourth thing: angels? If angels waited on Jesus, will they wait on us? I don't necessarily mean beings with halos and harps, for "angel," in its broadest sense, means simply a messenger from God. In this sense, we are surrounded by God's messengers: in our friends, families, and neighbors, in the books we read and the shows we watch, in art, music, and nature. Anything can be a messenger; anything can bear God's messages.

For even more important than the messenger is the message. Jesus received messages that sustained him through his forty days in the wilderness. What would these messages have been? Perhaps nothing more than the repetition that "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." In other words, "I am with you. You'll be fine. Keep it up. I love you." Will we hear these same messages from God's messengers during Lent? God is with you. You'll be fine. Keep it up. God loves you.

Imagine not knowing that you were God's beloved child. Imagine living all your life as God's beloved child and not truly realizing that fact, perhaps not even understanding what that meant until you had gone through the wilderness and been tempted by Satan. Well, guess what? You are God's beloved child. And you have lived all your life without truly realizing this fact, even during your wilderness temptations -- we all have. I don't think we ever fully realize how much God loves us. Maybe we've had little epiphanies, small realizations of how beloved we are as God's children. Of course, this does not mean that as God's beloved we are exempted from temptation and hardship, any more than Jesus was. Like Jesus, first we must fast before we may feast. But this Lent, as we journey into the wilderness for forty days with Jesus, we are given an opportunity, even amidst temptations and amongst wild beasts, to be ministered to by angels, to hear the message proclaimed: you are my child, my beloved. With you I am well pleased.