MCLEODS, New Brunswick, November 16, 2023 – I don’t know about you, but 40 days and 40 nights in the desert sounds like a dream vacation to me.

No cooking, no cleaning, no laundry, no rent, no mortgage, no dependents, no co-dependents, and you’re dang-tootin’ I wouldn’t be dragging a laptop or cell phone with me. Cold turkey on the comms. A rock for a pillow and the blowing sand for a blanket.

And ministering angels for room service.

Jesus’ minimalist lifestyle during his ministry years is an inspiration. God told Abraham that his seed would be as countless as the stars in heaven or the sand on the seashore, but for me God can use the number of dishes I’ve washed over the years. Those are just as countless. Jesus, during his ministry, didn’t bother with mundane housework; anything that needed to be done, the women did it. Cooking, cleaning, shopping, laundry. Jesus didn’t even have to wash his feet; the women did that, too – just showed up out of nowhere and started cleaning and kissing his feet. And perfuming them.

I could use a few of those women right about now.

Before Jesus started preaching, he whittled himself down to just the shirt on his back and the Gospel. That’s the main reason he went into the desert for 40 days and nights – to get whittled down. I’m guessing that after a few nights in the desert, Jesus very quickly learned the difference between wants and needs. And in classic Jesus style he learned that lesson well – so well, in fact, that when the devil pulled up in his stretch limo to make Jesus The Offer™, he was easily able to turn the devil down.

All the power and wealth in the world holds no appeal to someone who’s found freedom in the desert. Even a fresh-baked loaf of bread is no temptation when you live instead by every word that comes from the mouth of God. But you’ve gotta get whittled down for the “no” to come naturally. You’ve gotta do your 40 days and 40 nights in the desert, or the devil will eventually push through your defences. He’ll find a chink in your armour, a gap in your hedge. He’ll bide his time, watching your every move and dissecting your every word until finally making his move.

I don’t think it’s possible to do what Jesus did without first being whittled down. That’s why he made his disciples clean their slate of people and possessions before following him in the ministry. You can’t be burdened with anything but the shirt on your back and the Word of God if you’re to do what Jesus did. When he emerged from the desert, it was like he was living and moving in a parallel universe, which in fact he was, the Kingdom of God being a spiritual realm parallel to the worldly one. But it’s hard to live and move in the spiritual realm when you’re weighed down by cooking and cleaning and laundry and bills.

So 40 days and 40 nights in the desert is more than just a tongue-in-cheek dream vacation for the domestically burdened – it’s a rite of passage. The whittling down that comes from walking away from everything and everyone and throwing yourself fully into God’s hands is the only way to free yourself from worldly distractions and serve God with the power and authority of Jesus. But you don’t head into the desert until God calls you, and you wanna bet he’s going to call you when you least expect it – not when you’re up for the challenge and at the top of your game, not even when you’ve had enough and are at the end of your rope – no, God is not going to call you when it’s convenient for you. He’s going to call you when you least expect it.

Your job, while you’re waiting for the call, is to keep on washing those dishes. I know it’s not very sexy and you were probably hoping for a more inspiring finale than “keep on washing those dishes!”, but that’s what you’ve gotta do when you’re watching and waiting for God: You gotta keep on washing the dishes, and you gotta do it as cheerfully as you can.

Until one day, suddenly and out of the blue –