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.

I wondered about this Gospel this time around in a different way than I usually do. I’m used to seeing Jesus as some kind of a super hero, duking it out with the devil, in the wilderness. And I always read this story knowing how it’s supposed to end: like Superman and Lex Luther, or Spiderman and the Green Goblin, or Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader – I know the good guy, in Jesus, is going to come out on top.

But this week, I wondered if Jesus knew that when he made his way into the wilderness after his baptism – that he would come out on top, I mean. And I wondered if that’s why he made his way out into the wilderness in the first place. First of all, it’s important that you know, I’m not convinced Jesus is milling around in the woods or out in the desert – wherever this “wilderness” was for him – with an actual “devil” like this:

or like this:

or like this:

or like this, even:

You are free to disagree, but I think Matthew’s Gospel has personified “the Tempter” in order to tell a really great story about what was going on in the heart and mind and spirit of Jesus. And it makes much more sense to me to understand it that way.

What I’m saying is, I think “the Tempter” where Jesus is concerned, is somewhere between a hooved, horned, pitch-fork-carrying, fire-breathing shyster in the desert – and the dark, doubting, deceitful, depths of Jesus’ human psyche. Whatever the case, that darkness is having its way with Jesus – testing his faith, questioning his identity, teasing him with alternatives, taunting him with options, tempting him to choose something other than God’s best for him. And I wonder if – when Jesus makes his way into the wilderness – he’s just as curious as the proverbial devil to know who’s going to win.

See, right out of the gate, Jesus hears, “If you are the Son of God…” And I wonder if Jesus is thinking, “I never said I was the Son of God!” That’s what my mom’s always told me, but she talks to angels. Dad dreamed it in a dream, once too, but he’s just a carpenter – and not the sharpest tool in the shed.”

People had been telling Jesus his whole life he was something special … descended from the house of David ... “Emmanuel” … “God with us,” and what not. Those magi from far and away, those “wise men,” showed up with gifts for him when he was just a boy. He probably heard stories about how King Herod had tried to kill him because of it. John the Baptist had been telling everyone that Jesus was “the One – the Lamb of God – who would take away the sin of the world.” And when he was baptized, there was a hole in the clouds, a dove, and some voice, somewhere, said something about Jesus being the beloved Son of God.

But who among us would have been so sure? So what if, after all of that, even Jesus wasn’t so sure? What if he had his doubts? What if he felt like just an ordinary, average, everyday Joe … not Jesus, son of the most high God? What if he wanted to know for certain? What if he needed some proof… some confirmation… some assurance that he was up for whatever this task and title – this “Son of God” business – was all about? And what if all of it felt more like a burden than a blessing sometimes? What if he felt foisted upon, rather than faithful about all of this more often than not?

What if that’s what drove Jesus into the wilderness … his doubt, his uncertainty, his cynicism, I mean? When I consider it that way, Jesus starts to look less and less like an untouchable, unrelatable, unreachable superhero and more like you and me…

… like someone trying to make his way in the world, buying or rejecting the ideas and the opinions so many others have of him… (Do you know anyone like that?)

… like someone trying to live up to the expectations and the assumptions others have put upon him, in ways he can manage, if not be proud of… (Do you know anyone like that?)

…like someone trying to prove – to himself and to others – that he’s worthy and valuable and that he’s up to something worthy and valuable with his life and with his time and with his work… (Maybe you’ve felt like that yourself a time or two.)

…like someone who wants to take risks, who wants to choose the good, who wants to have faith in something or someone greater than himself; and like someone who needs some help – or at least some fresh perspective about – all of that from time to time, because it can be a heavy load to bear. (Haven’t we all danced with that devil more than once, ourselves?)

It’s why what Jesus is up to this morning can be a powerful encouragement for each us. He follows the Spirit of God into the wilderness for a season of time long enough to get away from all the voices and all the people, all the opinions and all the ideas of the world around him, and he considers it from the holy perspective he knows God would have for him.

And so I wonder if that’s our invitation and challenge, with all of this, this time around.

“One doesn’t live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” We are invited not to live by or for the “bread” of this world – the things, the money, the stuff and the possessions that never last. But we are invited to be fed, nourished and sustained by the better things of love and grace and mercy and hope that come from the mouth of our creator.

“Don’t put the Lord your God to the test.” God’s love for you has already been proven. It already is. You are already beloved. So we can take risks. We can choose the good for the sake of the good. We are invited to trust in God’s mercy because we can, not because we have to. And we are invited to test the world around us with the love and grace of God, instead, and to see who or what is left standing when we do.

“Worship the Lord your God and serve only him.” Jesus reminds us not to be distracted or deceived by the false gods that surround us in this world – all of those competing voices and ideas and opinions that challenge or feed our egos, unnecessarily. We are invited to live humbly and in awe and with grateful generosity for what is God’s in this world, and not our own. And we’re invited to join God in sharing that with others.

And we can do this, not because we’re superheroes, but precisely because we are not. We can do this because we are beloved children of God. And when we buy that, when we believe that and live accordingly – in those moments when we choose wisely and faithfully and in ways that our heart’s desires honor God’s desire for our heart – the devils of doubt and deception and temptation to do otherwise will leave us, and we will know relief and rest and joy and peace which passes all understanding. And I think that kind of rest, relief and joy might feel something like being waited on by angels.

Amen

Luke 4:1-13

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”

Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written,

‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”

Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 10 for it is written,

‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”

Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’” When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.

The wilderness seems kind of close these days if you ask me.

Maybe it’s the news again – our politics, that tornado that ripped through Alabama last week, everything going on in places like Venezuela and Haiti and Great Britain, Alex Trebek has pancreatic cancer…

Maybe it’s that the Methodist Church went the other direction – the wrong direction, in my opinion – when it comes to loving gay and lesbian and transgender people… (I’m not judging the Methodists, mind you, so much as I am lamenting with them and with all those who are scandalized by that decision.)

Maybe it’s the sadness of yesterday’s funeral for Joe Richards and all that led up to it…

Maybe it’s the threshold of Lent we crossed over on Ash Wednesday… or that I’m getting ready to head to the actual desert, out in of Phoenix, later this week… or it could just be one less hour of sleep thanks to Daylight Savings Time.

Whatever it is, the wilderness doesn’t seem so hard to find… or very far away… or easier to get into than out of these days.

And I’m always fascinated with Jesus and his time out there in the wilderness. This Gospel story is one of those oldies and goodies most of us have heard before where the Devil and Jesus seem to be playing this well-choreographed, back-and-forth kind of dance and dialogue:

First, Jesus is hungry. Starving, even, after 40 days of fasting. And the devil says: "If you are the Son of God, you could turn these stones into bread." Jesus insists that man doesn't live by bread alone. So the devil hurls him around the universe, shows him all the kingdoms of the world, and tempts him with a promise: "All this will be yours if you’d just worship me." And Jesus, faithfully, says, “No, worship the Lord your God," and that's that. So the devil takes him high atop the pinnacle of the temple and says, "So prove to me that you're really God's son and take a dive … you won't get hurt if what God says about you is true." And Jesus refuses, reminding himself and Satan that our God isn't one we ought to test.

The point of Lent – and the point of this Gospel story this time around, for me, anyway – is to wonder what it means to be called into the wilderness. I think we’re called to seek out and to put a finger on the evil and darkness and temptation in our own lives. We’re called to name it, to stop denying it, and to confront it in ways we neglect too much of the time.

But that's hard to do, this wilderness wandering – whether it’s the First Sunday of Lent or any other day of the year – or we would do it more often, more faithfully, with more resolve and courage and success, I believe. We don’t head out into the wilderness enough of the time, following the Spirit’s lead. We’re more likely to find ourselves pushed there, dragged there, kicking and screaming. Or we end up there, in the wilderness – much to our surprise – before we know what’s coming. And then the temptation of it all is to let it overwhelm us – the grief of it; the fear of it; the unknown and uncertainty of it all, whatever the case may be, in the wilderness.

And so we fail the tests too often, don’t we? We fill ourselves with all the wrong things too much of the time. Where Jesus refused to turn stones into bread – we grab the potato chips or the ice cream; the booze or the weed or the cigarettes or the pills.

Where Jesus turned down the offer for more power and glory, we go after as much as we can grab and look for it in all the wrong places – work, money, things and stuff, just for starters.

And where Jesus refused to put God to the test, we do… every time we throw up our hands and wonder why God won’t – why God hasn’t – just fixed everything that’s wrong with us, with the world, and with this wilderness.

And I think the reason we fail the tests too much of the time is because we forget something Jesus knew and held onto, from the start. Remember, Jesus entered into the wilderness “full of the Spirit” and “led by the Spirit,” on the heals of his baptism. I like to imagine that his hair was still wet when he met up with the devil in the dessert. He was fresh from the Jordan where the heavens had opened, a dove had appeared out of nowhere, for crying out loud, and God had declared him beloved, “the Son, the Chosen” with whom the Creator of the Universe was well pleased.

And it’s with all of that in his back pocket, that Jesus made his way into the wilderness to duke it out with the devil. So it’s easier for me to imagine that he might have resisted all of that temptation and passed all of those tests with flying colors, don’t you think?

And that’s our call and invitation, too. To remember, however and whenever we find ourselves in the wilderness, that – just like Jesus – we can enter it all on the heals of and filled with the promises of our baptism. And when we live like that, our chances of resisting the temptations… of passing the tests… of making it out alive are infinitely more likely, it seems to me.

I came across a poem by Jan Richardson, an artist and author and United Methodist pastor, who says this better than I could. It’s called, “Beloved Is Where We Begin.” It goes like this:

If you would enter into the wilderness,
do not begin without a blessing.

Do not leave without hearing who you are:

Beloved,
named by the One who has traveled this path before you.

Do not go without letting it echo in your ears,
and if you find it is hard to let it into your heart,
do not despair.

That is what this journey is for.

I cannot promise this blessing will free you
from danger,
from fear,
from hunger or thirst,
from the scorching of sun or the fall of the night.

But I can tell you that on this path
there will be help.

I can tell you that on this way
there will be rest.

I can tell you that you will know
the strange graces
that come to our aid
only on a road
such as this,
that fly to meet us
bearing comfort
and strength,
that come alongside us
for no other cause
than to lean themselves
toward our ear
and with their
curious insistence
whisper our name:

Beloved.
Beloved.
Beloved.

The wilderness seems too close… too easy to find… too hard to navigate… too difficult to escape too much of the time.

The temptation to quit… to choose the selfish, prideful, destructive way… to take the devil’s hand and follow his lead… the temptation to despair can seem like a watering hole in the parched places of our lives.

But if we enter into those desert places… If we engage the temptations of this life, filled first with and led by the Spirit of our creator… If we enter into the wilderness with the waters of baptism still dripping from our foreheads and the promises of God ringing in our ears.

We don’t have to fear any of it, knowing that we and those we love will come out of it alive – in one way or the other – on this side of God’s heaven or the next – always beloved, in the end.

Amen

Devil-Dancing in the Wilderness - Matthew 4:1-11

Beloved in the Wilderness