Same Devil

Matthew 4:1-11

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. He fasted forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was famished. The tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But he answered, “It is written,‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”

Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’ ” Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ”

Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’ ” Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

---

Some of you might have seen my Facebook post last week about how I was listening to Brandi Carlile in preparation for the show Christa and I saw on Friday, up in Chicago. (Brandi Carlile sings “The Story” that we sang in worship last year every Wednesday, during Lent. She’s the woman who sang “America the Beautiful” before the Super Bowl a couple of weeks, too. She’s one of my favorites.) Anyway, with today’s Gospel on my brain, my concert-prep turned into sermon-prep when her duet with Brandy Clark showed up in my playlist by way of a song called, “Same Devil.”

Among other things, in this song about the way evil sneaks into our lives the Brandies sing:

Everybody’s got some kind of hell
Just different levels
Different demons
Same devil

He don't knock
He walks right in
And if you're not watchin'
You'll run right into him

Same wrong, different right
Different tunnel, same bright light
Everybody lookin' for God on every level
Different demons
Same damn devil

It felt like the universe and my Spotify playlist were on the same page as the lectionary and this perennial story of Jesus’ temptation showed up at the beginning of another Lent.

And as we live into and begin this season of Lent together, as we consider a journey to the Cross of Good Friday and as we look forward to the hope of Easter, what does this little game of “Truth or Dare” between Jesus and the Devil have to do with us? What does this duel of wit and willpower, good and evil, Truth and temptation have to do with you or with me?

For my money, the power of this story comes in its persistent relevance – the nearness of this devil and the evil he represents; these temptations that belong to us just as much as they showed up for Jesus; the way we’re all “looking for God on every level,” as the song goes; how we each struggle with different demons, but it’s the same damn devil – the same evil of Sin and temptation – that dogs us all, that walks right in on every one of us, without knocking, at some time or another in our lives.

And the evidence of how prolific it is – this sin, this evil, this temptation – and the impact of our capacity to choose and fall victim to it, is everywhere.

Remember that unfaithful couple who got caught red-handed on the Kiss Cam at the Coldplay concert this summer? Their temptation – and its ramifications – were as public as it gets.

And did you see the controversy over that Canadian Olympic curler who, video evidence seems to show, just couldn’t resist poking that stone ever-so slightly and every-so slyly, over the line and outside of the rules?

And it can be deeper and darker than any of that, of course, too.

We’ve all heard about the man who shot and killed that police officer in Beech Grove, Brian Elliott, last week. What Devil … what Evil … what choices rolled around in his heart of hearts before he made the worst, wrong decision to pull the trigger last Monday evening?

And how about those social media oligarchs who are on trial for manipulating algorithms to influence the hearts and minds and lives of us all – and especially our young people – for the sake of more of our time, more of our allegiance, more of their money. What Devil of greed and power must be whispering in their ear and winning their allegiance in all of that?

And what about those Epstein Files? What ugly, depraved, sinful temptation crept into the mind and body of every grown man who’s name – redacted or not – released or still hidden – is listed in that infamous and evil treasure trove of sin?

Obviously, temptation and its results in the world surround us. All over the place, people are trying in all the wrong ways to prove their worth, to put their God to the test, to gain and abuse power, to test the limits of Sin.

In other words, too many take the dare every time. And sometimes, if we’re honest, the sort of cosmic “Truth or Dare” – this duel between truth and temptation – is even closer than the evening news.

I’m grateful and pray that most of us won’t ever have the chance to play this game on a world-sized stage or with such devastating results, but we’re familiar with the wilderness Jesus finds himself in this morning, are we not?

We can always measure and minimize our sinfulness against something as ugly and depraved as the Epstein Files, but we can also opt to misuse privilege and abuse power in ways that shame children or that take advantage of others unfairly.

We may not have the capacity to commit corporate-level fraud … but there’s always the option of being honest with our taxes; and we decide daily what “enough” is for us and with whom we will share our treasures – our God or our greed.

We may not have influence over something as grand as the Olympic games, but we are faced often with the opportunity to choose, to support, and to vote for fairness, equity, and justice.

We may never get caught cheating on the big screen at Madison Square Garden, but we make choices daily about whether to treat our spouses or significant others with integrity – or not.

Truth or Dare. The nature of the game has changed for those of us who find ourselves playing it NOT at birthday parties or in our pajamas at a sleep-over, but in our offices and in our schools and in our relationships and in our churches, too.

So maybe the greatest lesson we learn here is the simple fact that Jesus had to play this game, too. We’ve learned of Jesus’ coming to be with us – to be like us – as a baby in a manger. And we’re preparing to witness again that he died like we will, too. But it’s easy to forget that, in the meantime, even while he was preaching and teaching and healing and doing all kinds of miraculous things, Jesus was tempted and tested just like us as well.

The same damn devil that hounds us all … the same evil with which we contend … knocked on Jesus’ door, too.

But, thankfully, Jesus – as one of us – shows us how to play the game more faithfully. Jesus could have answered the temptations of evil by changing stones into bread and he could have jumped head-first off the top of the temple and lived, but where would that leave you and me? Who of us here can respond to temptation with that kind of power?

That’s why the hope for me in this morning’s Gospel is that Jesus dealt with the evil that confronted him without miracles, without relying on his own wisdom and without even his friends, his family and his disciples to help bail him out, that day in the wilderness. Jesus relied on nothing more and nothing less than his faith in the God who loved him, no matter what. The God who – at his baptism, not long before – had declared him beloved; and with whom God was already and always “well pleased.” And there’s hope in that good news for each of us.

Because of that, we get to see that faith is not only about miracles, grand gestures, and demonstrations of power – like the Devil likes to pretend. Jesus’ proved – even in the darkest moments of his temptations – in his solitude, when no one was looking – that faith is about nothing more and nothing less than relying on the Word, the promises, the Truth, and the love of God.

So I don’t know what your greatest temptations may be – the juicy stuff – vices of drink or drug or pornography or gambling, maybe. The small sacrifices some of us give up for Lent – chocolate, coffee, cursing, or social media, perhaps. (Frankly, I don’t believe God cares as much about those thing as the world likes to pretend – unless or until they do damage to our lives, our relationships, or to the world around us, of course.)

Maybe what tempts you is harder to see – the temptation to keep holding that grudge, or to refuse that forgiveness; the temptation to selfishness or pride or perfection; the temptation to let your fears and your grief trump your faith and your hope, too much of the time.

Whatever the case, Jesus shows us today that, because of his victory – not just that day in the wilderness but in his victory over the cross, too – that because he has already won the game between truth and temptation, between good and evil, between life and death, you and I get to play it all differently.

Because of his victory, new dares, new challenges and new lives are ours for the taking. Let us be tempted, then, to trust in our own forgiveness – so that we might share that kind of mercy with others. Let us be tempted to more gratitude and generosity. Let us be tempted to live knowing joy and hope and expectation of better things to come.

And let us be tempted to share, more often and more generously, an abundance of grace with ourselves, each other, and the world – not because we’re plagued by the same damn devil – but because we’re claimed by the same loving God, in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen

Voices in the Wilderness

Luke 3:1-6

In the fifteenth year of the Emperor Tiberius, while Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, while Herod was ruler over Galilee, and his brother Philip was ruler over the region of Iturea and Trachonitis, Lysanius was ruler over Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness.

He went out around the region of the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord and make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, every mountain and high place shall be made low, the crooked will be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and all flesh will see the salvation of God.”

---

Some of you know this, because you’ve been part of them, but when I lead discussions on race relations, racism, and diversity, I often suggest that participants, in order to get familiar with a perspective different from their own, they be more deliberate about reading, listening to, even following on social media, voices from different walks of life.

For me – a straight, white, middle-class man in the United States, it has meant that I do simple things like follow People of Color on social media and read Black authors like Ibram X. Kendi, Colson Whitehead, and Isabel Wilkerson. (I can’t recommend her latest book, Caste, highly enough.)

It’s why I learn so much from female theologians like Rachel Held Evans, Nadia Bolz Weber, and colleagues who are women, too.

It’s why I am as entertained as I am informed by the music of gay and lesbian artists like the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile.

And it’s why I’m so blessed and better for the perspective I gain about poverty and wealth from my friends in Haiti.

And thinking about this with today’s Gospel on the brain made me think about John the Baptist in a new way, too.

See, for a long time, I believed all those names listed in this chunk of Luke’s Gospel, were nothing more than date stamps; historical markers; ways to establish the place in time that all of this took place; “all of this” being the beginning of what we know of John the Baptist’s ministry. And it is that to some degree. It’s interesting and telling – especially for people who know their history – to know that all of this happened when Tiberius and Pontius Pilate and Herod and Philip and Lysanius and Annas and Caiaphas were doing their thing, all of which happened sometime in the late 20’s or early 30’s of the first century, according to smarter people than me. I was never great with dates and timelines.

But it’s even more interesting to me to understand that Luke’s Gospel is up to something much more meaningful than recording history by time-stamping his Gospel with the names of political and religious leaders; emperors, governors, high priests, and whatnot. Luke was also pointing out that God’s word and God’s ways were not always proclaimed to – or by the likes of – the people in high places.

Instead, the word of God came to and came through the likes of this camel-fur-wearing, honey-and-locust-eating, crying-out-in-the-wilderness, down-by-the-river-baptizing, repentance-and-forgiveness-preaching Jesus freak, named – not Tiberius or Lysanius, not Pontius Pilate or Herod, but John. Just John, the son of Zechariah. And he wasn’t from anywhere that mattered or that you could find on a map, like Judea or Galilee or Iturea or Trachonitis or Abilene, either. He was out in the wilderness … down by the river somewhere … if you could find him.

It might go something like this today: in the first year of the presidency of Joseph R. Biden, when Eric Holcomb was governor of Indiana, and Joe Hogsett was mayor of Indianapolis, during the papacy of Pope Francis and the bishopry of Bill Gafkjen and Elizabeth Eaton, the word of God came to Steve … or Stacy … or Jamaal … or Jesula – over the river and through the woods; on the other side of the tracks; or under the bridge; or maybe “down at the B.A.R. with the B.U.M.’s,” as Christa’s favorite aunt used to say.

Because what John was saying was the same thing the prophet Isaiah proclaimed: that God would show up first, for those who needed God most. That Jesus would be a welcome guest for those who were suffering and struggling and sick and in need. And that Jesus would be a fly in the ointment, a thorn in the side, a pain in the behind for those in power; for those in high places; for those with titles before – and with letters after – their names.

Which is to say, those in low places will be lifted up; those in high places will be knocked down; those doing wrong will be righted; those who are rich will be made poor; those who are poor will have enough; and any other way you can think to promise that the status quo would, could, and should be upset for the benefit of those who rarely benefit from the status quo, such as it is.

And all of that is why we do so much of what we do as God’s people in the Church – especially during these holiday days. It’s why we give gifts to foster kids. It’s why we pack Thanksgiving dinners for our food pantry families. It’s why we send a little something extra to our Agape Alliance friends and give so generously to the Grace Quest students to buy all of those animals from the ELCA Good Gifts program. And every bit of that is good and gracious and holy. Don’t get me wrong. But let’s not break our arms patting ourselves on the back about it.

Because I think the reason John named – and the reason Jesus challenged – the likes of emperors, governors, rulers and religious leaders of all shapes and sizes, is because the kind of confession and repentance John called for, the kind of challenge and change Jesus championed, was meant to be deeper and wider and structural and systemic in such a way that it would last longer than the holiday season and have impacts so far-reaching, so culture-shifting, so world-rocking that heaven and nature might sing at the results and ramifications of it all.

“Every valley shall be filled,” remember. “The mountains and the high places shall be made low.” “The crooked made straight and the rough ways made smooth,” after all. And, you realize, none of this “prepare the way of the Lord” stuff is about landscaping or road work or the new round-about over at Gem Road and 300 South. John is talking about the repairing and restoring and reinventing the broken social, cultural, political, religious systems of the world as we know it.

He’s talking about God’s desire to create a level playing field of justice and mercy… of healing and hope… of peace and prosperity that would, could, should be available to all of God’s children – especially for those relegated to the valleys; especially for those who get screwed by the crookedness of corruption and injustice; especially for those who can’t ever seem to get over the rough road of their station in life.

Like, what if, among other things, we could smooth out the rough, rocky roads in the Holy Land by having great compassion for our Jewish brothers and sisters there, yes, but without also condoning or ignoring the plight of the Palestinians, too.

Like, what if, among other things, the glass ceiling of sexism in this country could be brought low, so that women don’t make a mere 82 cents for every dollar that a man makes?

What if the crooked ways of systemic racism could be hammered flat so that, among so many other things, people of color weren’t incarcerated for longer sentences than white people for the exact same crimes?

What if the low places of homophobia were raised up so that, among other things, gay and lesbian people didn’t have to call me, before showing up for worship here, just to be sure they’ll be safe and feel welcomed, if they muster the courage to give it a go?

See, God knows it’s so often the emperors and governors, the rulers and religious leaders, the people of power and privilege, who rest easy in the status quo and who resist change for the sake of others because of it. It’s why God’s word comes to the likes of John down by the river, and sends people like him to cry out in the wilderness, to prepare the way of the Lord, and to make his paths straight.

Tupac Shakur, a Black rapper from my generation – a voice in the wilderness of his day, for sure – wrote something that made me think about all of this:

So let’s stop long enough to listen, you and I, during these Advent days, and beyond. Let’s hear the cry of John’s voice and others like it these days: voices different from our own; voices different from the powers that be; voices that tell of struggle and oppression and suffering and a life’s experience many of us can’t fathom or fully grasp. And let’s respond to God’s invitation to confess, repent, and do something to change what’s broken in this world until all flesh – all flesh – shall see, receive, and experience the salvation God brings in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Amen.