“He Has Given His Angels Charge Over You”

Fr. Scott Haynes

Lent does not begin in comfort. It begins in the desert.

The ashes are still fresh upon our foreheads. The Alleluia has fallen silent. The Church leads us away from noise and into the wilderness with Christ. On this first Sunday, we stand beside Him in the desert wind, beneath a sky that burns by day and chills by night. Hunger sharpens the senses. Silence grows heavy. The tempter waits.

And it is here, in this stark landscape, that we hear the promise:

“He has given His angels charge over thee… In their hands they shall bear thee up.”

The desert is not merely a place of sand. It is the place where illusions die. It is where we discover how attached we are to comfort, how quickly we justify ourselves, how easily pride disguises itself as strength. In the Gospel, Christ fasts forty days. He enters fully into our human vulnerability. He does not escape hunger. He does not silence temptation by divine force. He allows the adversary to approach.

The enemy even dares to quote Scripture:

“In their hands they shall bear thee up.” 

Yet he twists the promise into presumption. “Throw yourself down,” he urges. Demand protection. Force the Father’s hand.

Christ refuses.

This is the heart of the first Sunday of Lent. The angels are real. The protection is real. But divine help is not given for spectacle or self-assertion. It is given for obedience. The Psalm says the angels guard us “in all thy ways,” that is, in the ways appointed by God, not the reckless leaps of our own ego.

Lent teaches us to walk, not to leap.

Perhaps the stones that lie in our path this Lent are not great and dramatic temptations, but the small, almost unnoticed ones: the sharp word spoken at home when we are tired, the slow discouragement that creeps into prayer when consolation fades, the quiet resentment we nurse without admitting it, or the subtle longing to be regarded as devout. These are the ordinary stones against which we strike our feet.

We resolve to change yet find ourselves stumbling in familiar places. We begin our penances with generosity, but as days pass and strength wanes, our weakness rises to the surface and reveals how much we still depend upon grace.

And here the Psalm becomes luminous.

God does not merely command us to improve. He commands His angels to guard us. When you kneel in prayer and feel nothing, you are not alone. When fasting reveals your irritability, you are not abandoned. When temptation whispers that your efforts are useless, heaven is nearer than you think.

The angels do not remove the battle. They steady the combatant.

Think of Christ in the desert. After the tempter departs, the Gospel tells us that angels came and ministered to Him. The Son of God permitted Himself to be served. The desert did not end in collapse but in quiet strengthening.

So too for us. Lent is not a test of spiritual heroism. It is a season of humble dependence. We walk beneath unseen guardians. We repent under watchful care. We fast, pray, and give alms not as isolated strivers but as pilgrims escorted by heaven.

“Lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.”

The promise does not mean we will never fall. It means no fall is final if we remain under God’s shadow. Even when we stumble, grace lifts us. Even when we feel weak, heaven is attentive. Even when we do not perceive their presence, the angels obey their King.

This first Sunday asks us a quiet question:

Will you trust enough to walk the narrow way without demanding spectacle? Will you accept protection without presumption? Will you let yourself be carried when you are too weary to stand?

The desert stretches before us, but it is not empty. Christ has gone there first. The angels stand ready. The Father watches.

Let us begin Lent not with fear, but with steady trust.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, who entered the desert for our sake, teach us to walk this holy season in humility. Guard us from presumption. Strengthen us in temptation. When we stumble, lift us. When we are weak, send Your holy angels to steady our steps, that we may persevere with You until the joy of Easter dawns. Amen.