The Rev’d Ivica Gregurec

Year A, Lent 1 (2026)

Readings: Genesis 2:15-17,3:1-7, Psalm 32, Romans 5:12-19, Matthew 4:1-11

It was wonderful to start our Lenten journey with our Roman Catholic
whanau, in Our Lady of the Sea, on Ash Wednesday. It was a moment of
blessing and sincere ecumenical sharing.

As many of you will know, from my past, I was ordained a Catholic priest
and served in Catholic church in Croatia and Solomon Islands. After I
joined Anglican church, I didn’t preach in a Catholic church since 2011, so
this was a wonderful opportunity to do so again! In my sermon I said that
Lent starts with questions, not certainties.
Questions about temptation and trust.
Questions about freedom and limits.

Questions about who we are, and who God is, when things feel fragile.
Our readings today take us back to the beginning and forward into the
wilderness – from a garden lush with possibility, to a desert stripped bare.
In Genesis, we meet human beings newly awake to the world. They are
placed in the garden, not as owners but as caretakers – to till and to keep.
From the start, relationship is at the heart of creation: relationship with the
earth, with one another, and with God. And at the centre of that
relationship is freedom – real freedom – which includes the possibility of
choice.

The temptation in the garden is not simply about breaking a rule. It is about
mistrust. The serpent’s question is subtle and familiar: “Did God really
say…?” It plants doubt about God’s goodness. It suggests that God is
holding something back. And when that doubt takes root, the fruit suddenly
looks different – desirable, necessary, urgent.

The story is not about humanity being uniquely wicked; it is about humanity
being recognisably human. We know this moment. We know how quickly
fear and desire can distort our vision. We know how easy it is to reach for
certainty, control, or self-protection when trust feels risky.

Psalm 32 offers a gentle response to this human condition. It speaks of the
relief that comes when we stop hiding – from God, from one another, from
ourselves. Confession here is not about humiliation; it is about honesty. It
is about allowing ourselves to be known and still loved. The psalmist
discovers that God’s mercy is not a reward for perfection but a gift that
meets us in truth. It is easy to love someone who is perfect and fully
according to our expectation…if that person exists. We know how

challenging is to be challenged and loved in our regular daily relationships.
Saint Paul, writing to the Romans, places this story in a much wider frame.
He contrasts Adam and Christ – not to shame humanity, but to proclaim
hope. If brokenness can ripple outward through history, so can grace. If one
act of distrust can echo through generations, how much more can one life
lived in love restore what has been wounded.

This is not a story of God counting failures. It is a story of God insisting that
grace has the final word.

And so we come to the wilderness.
Jesus, newly baptised, newly affirmed as beloved, is led – not driven, not
punished – into the desert. This matters. The wilderness is not a mistake or
a detour. It is a place of clarity. A place where illusions fall away. A place
where identity is tested, not to destroy it, but to strengthen it.

Each temptation Jesus faces is a temptation to misuse power:
to turn stones into bread for private survival,
to demand proof of God’s protection,
to seize authority without love or cost.

Each time, Jesus refuses – not by sheer willpower, but by deep trust. Jesus
does not need to grasp, because Jesus knows who he is. Beloved. Held.

Enough.

Lent invites us into this same truth, gently and patiently.
Lent is not about proving how disciplined we are, or how much we can give
up. It is about creating space – space to notice what truly feeds us, what
quietly drains us, and what we are tempted to trust instead of God.
This season offers us permission to be honest. Honest about our fears.
Honest about our longings. Honest about the habits and stories that shape
us.

And it offers us encouragement:
that God meets us in the wilderness,
that temptation does not disqualify us,
that failure is never the end of the story.

Whether our Lent is marked by energy or exhaustion, clarity or confusion,
God’s grace remains steady. We do not walk this road alone. Christ has
walked it before us – and walks it with us still.

So, as we begin these forty days, may we be kind to ourselves and to one
another. May we practice trust more than striving. And may we discover,
again and again, that the God who calls us beloved is faithful – in gardens
and in deserts alike.

Amen.