"The Temptations - Not Just My Imagination"

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 afterward, he was famished.

Then the tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” Jesus answered him saying, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’

Then the devil brought Jesus to the holy city and placed him atop the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, 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.’”

Then the devil led Jesus up a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world, and their splendor, and said to him, “All of this I will give to you, if you will bow down and worship me.” Jesus said to him, “Away with you Satan, for it is written, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, and serve only him.”

Then the devil left him and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

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I decided this time around that I’ve always given the devil – “the Tempter” – in this pretty popular story from Scripture more credit than him deserve. I mean this story of Jesus in the wilderness being tempted by Satan has always seemed to me like a depiction of a cosmic, sweeping, grand battle of wit and wisdom between the powers of good and evil; between the Son of God and the personification of all Wickedness; between the Source of all light and goodness, in Jesus, and the Depth of all darkness and sin, in the Devil.

I’ve imagined and seen many and various depictions – movies, paintings, television mini-series, Sunday School felt boards and coloring books – of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness that have fed this grandiosity over the years. Maybe you have too.

So, in my mind it’s like Jesus leaves the safe, comfortable confines of Capernaum in Galilee, is led out into the wilderness of some expansive desert (sand, dust, and dry, scorching heat) – or maybe it’s an oppressively dark forest like the haunted one in the Wizard of Oz – and, as if in a time machine or a whirlwind or a cloud – maybe on a magic carpet, I don’t know – he gets transported from place to place, with the Devil in tow, for these moments of temptation, these other-worldly tests of will, to do battle with a Force … with an Adversary … the very Prince of Darkness.

And, famished from a forty day fast, Jesus is tempted to turn stones to bread. With a chance to fly, Jesus is tempted to leap from the top of the temple in Jerusalem and be rescued by angels. With a bird’s-eye view of the whole, wide world, he’s given the option to rule over all of it.

And each time, rather than take the bait, Jesus proves not only his resolve, his restraint and his faithfulness, he proves how well he knows his Scripture.

“It is written – one does not live by bread alone.”

“It is written – do not put God to the test.”

“It is written – worship God, and God alone.”

And when it’s all said and done… when he has passed every test… when he has resisted whatever the Devil can dish out… I imagine Jesus wiping the sweat from his brow, maybe collapsing in a heap like Rocky Balboa in the corner of the ring after the fight, and being tended to by angels – fed and nourished, satiated with a cold drink, his brow wiped, his feet washed, his shoulders massaged, fanned – perhaps by the cool breeze of ten-thousand angels’ wings.

And I’ve imagined Satan disappearing in a cloud of thick darkness; or being swallowed up by an earthquake, descending to the place of weeping and gnashing of teeth from whence he came; maybe with an everlasting roar of anger and rage; maybe with a shaking of fists and a belch of fire; certainly with his proverbially pointed tail slithering between his legs.

But what if I’ve been overthinking it? What if we’ve made more of these temptations … too much of this wilderness and of the ways Jesus is tested by the evil that surrounds him? What if, like so much else in Scripture, the special effects get in the way of the story? And what if all of that makes it hard to find the meaningful place where the rubber of it all meets the road of our lives of faith in this world?

I mean, I’ve never known real hunger – so stones-to-bread isn’t something I’d find all that tempting, let alone possible.

I have a very real, legitimate fear of heights – so that stunt from the pinnacle of the temple is never happening.

And I’m no Vladmir Putin so ruling over the nations isn’t my thing.

So, if you and I are supposed to find some common ground with Jesus today – if all of this temptation stuff is supposed to mean something for us – maybe we can think differently about it for a change. Maybe it’s smaller and closer to home than I’ve imagined all these years.

What if the devil in the wilderness … what if all of those tests … aren’t as cosmic or as confounding as the magic of turning stones to bread or as dramatic as a swan dive from the top of the temple or as sweeping and world-domination?

What if the devil in our wilderness, with all of those questions … with the many and various ways over the course of any given day that we’re tempted to follow the wrong path, to choose the wrong, to opt for darkness rather than light … what if our “Tempter” is less like a fire-breathing snake with a pitch fork and more like a toddler, following us around the grocery story – pestering us with questions about every. little. thing. until we buckle under the weight of that persistence?

Doesn’t it seem like that’s more the way temptation weasels its way into our hearts and minds and lives in this world? Small things. Things we can justify or excuse or ignore … until we can’t anymore. Even the big stuff that tempts the most desperate addict can happen in seemingly insignificant increments. Whether it’s food or alcohol, porn or nicotine – the temptations come one nibble, one sip, one click, one puff at a time, right?

But our temptations don’t have to be so tangible, obvious or immediately destructive as all that. Maybe it’s that little white lie we tell or the gossip we engage; that angry outburst or deliberate, selfish disengagement from someone who needs our attention. Maybe it’s the selfishness or pride known only to us, God and the tempter, himself. There are as many temptations to choose something other than the God-pleasing faithfulness we long for as there are people in this room and seconds in a day, I suppose. Big, small and everywhere in between.

So, what if Jesus’ temptation to turn stones into bread is for us not about satiating our own hunger after a forty day fast, but a call to consider using our abundance and excess to share bread with the world, instead?

What if Jesus’ temptation to leap from the temple isn’t about seeing if God will rescue us from our next emergency, but more about an invitation to remember that we’re already being saved, right where we are, in the midst of whatever stress or struggle befalls us?

What Jesus’ temptation for power isn’t about ruling the world for you and me, but, instead, about how we treat our kids or our classmates; our spouse or neighbor; our colleagues and co-workers; or our fellow Cross of Gracers, maybe?

What if the temptation to stand on that very high mountain, able to see and to long for all that isn’t ours is really about simply being grateful to enjoy the view, for a change?

I guess what I’m saying is that – in these Lenten days – as we try to focus more deliberately on our journey of discipleship; as we make our proverbial walk to the cross of Good Friday and as we hope for the good news of Easter’s resurrection; that all of this can seem so big; so grandiose; so out of reach, out of touch, out of this world sometimes. But that it’s supposed to matter here and now, day to day, right where we live.

And the choices we make, right where we live, might seem small in the moment and by comparison to what we read about in Jesus’ temptations. And that may make them easy to dismiss or disregard as having any great consequence for us or for others. But, this time around, I’m reminded that that’s not the case.

Today’s story shows us that Jesus chose sacrifice, so that we can, too. Jesus chose vulnerability, so that we can, too. Jesus chose humility, faithfulness and the ways of God, so that we can, too. And in the days ahead, he’ll keep showing us that – even when we can’t or won’t or don’t always choose what’s right or best or most faithful – that God’s grace, love, mercy and forgiveness choose us anyway, every time.

Amen

The Asbury Revival and Transfiguration

Matthew 17:1-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him.

Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”

When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.”

And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone. As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

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Have you heard about the spiritual “revival” at Asbury University?

Asbury University is a private Christian school in Wilmore, Kentucky. It identifies as “non-denominational,” but has ties to the Wesleyan-Holiness movement. Which means, I think, that it’s inclined toward the Methodist institution, in not so many words.

Anyway, apparently they’re experiencing a surprising, unintended, unplanned, Holy Spirit-induced, good old-fashioned “revival,” there – and have been since a week ago, Wednesday as far as I could tell.

See, Wednesday is when Asbury University has its regularly-scheduled, weekly chapel, as many small, private, religiously affiliated undergraduate colleges and universities do. And at Asbury – like so many other schools – students are required to attend some number of these 10 a.m., Wednesday morning, chapel services each semester.

And last Wednesday, something odd happened.

After the benediction, when worship was supposed to be over; when, I’m guessing, students usually pull out their phones, put on their coats, and shuffle off to their next class, to the cafeteria for lunch, or back to bed … they didn’t leave. Many, or most, maybe all of them – students, professors, staff and worship leaders – just stayed.

They stuck around… singing quietly, praying like they meant it, reading Scripture, publicly confessing their sins, even. Small groups of prayer circles formed. People raised their arms in praise. Some knelt at the altar. Some prostrated themselves on the floor. According to those who’ve witnessed it, the space was filled with peace and quiet and music and joy and light and love and all the good vibes.

Ultimately, people began to come and go, but the praying and worshiping, reading and confessing continued. The place has been packed – standing room only – according to a professor of theology from the seminary across the street, who walked over so he could see it to believe it.

AND students have been showing up from other schools – the University of Kentucky, Ohio Christian, Lee University, Georgetown College, Mt. Vernon Nazarene University – Purdue and Indiana Wesleyan University, even – just to name a few. I saw some Asbury alumni from right here in New Pal posting about it on Facebook, too.

And I find it fascinating. My skeptical instincts, some of what I’ve read about it, and my limited experience with such things tempt me to be critical of it, but I’m not going there. It’s not something that ever happened in chapel when I was an undergrad – not that I would have been there to notice. (They didn’t take attendance at Capital University.) And if it’s all it’s cracked up to be for those who are experiencing it, more power to them.

Anyway, all of this lasted for at least a week – it was still happening until THIS Wednesday, anyway, when I sat down to start thinking about this sermon and about today and about what we call “Transfiguration Sunday” around here – an event, for what it’s worth, I would have been equally skeptical about back in the day.

Because it seems like a spiritual revival of sorts took place on that mountain with Jesus, Peter, James and John. Jesus took them up the mountain “after six days,” we’re told, which is another way of saying, “on the seventh day,” which means we’re supposed to draw some meaningful connections to what happened when Moses took a hike up another mountain, “on the seventh day” as we heard about in our first reading from Exodus. Moses came down with the Ten Commandments, remember, after a transformative, transfiguring moment of his own up on there on Mount Sinai.

And in order to make that connection even more clearly, the disciples see Jesus in conversation with Moses – and Elijah, too – as a sign and declaration of his prophetic status and succession as the Messiah… the next … and last … and final Word … worth listening to … as God’s Chosen One … anointed … beloved prophet of all prophets.

So, however and whatever happened up on that mountain with Jesus – by way of his face that shined like the sun and his dazzling white clothes, in the appearance of those ghosts from the past, that talking cloud, and God’s profound declarations about his belovedness – the point was to reveal for those carefully chosen disciples (Peter, James and John) that Jesus was something special; that he was worth listening to, learning from, and following.

And we’d like to imagine the disciples were changed by all of this – Peter, James and John, I mean. They were knocked to their knees by what they saw and heard, after all. They were filled with fear and awe at what they witnessed. Maybe they prostrated themselves, raised their hands in worship, maybe they prayed, silently or aloud. And, like the students, faculty and staff at Asbury University, last week, Peter wants them to stay … to make it all last: “Lord, if you wish, I’ll build three dwellings here; one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah, too.”

But, as great and holy as it was… as mighty and transformative as it seemed to be… that doesn’t happen. It doesn’t last for long. Jesus seems to nip it in the bud pretty quickly. He comes to the disciples, touches them – seemingly snaps them out of their spiritual shock and awe – and they head back down the mountain. And as they go, he tells them to keep all of this on the down low. He tells them not to tell anyone about any of it until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.

And this, for me, is where the lesson, the inspiration, the challenge and the hope about whatever happened on that mountaintop with Jesus and – whatever may be happening at Asbury University – matters. Because the lesson, inspiration, challenge and hope of whatever spiritual renewal or revival we’re looking for, longing for, or experiencing shows up in what happens as a result of it all.

Because what happens next for Jesus, as God’s beloved, anointed, chosen one, was even more surprising, unbelievable and awe-inspiring than what happened on that mountaintop.

He healed the sick and gave sight to the blind. He taught about loving the lost and forgiving without limit. He chastised and challenged the rich and the wealthy. He preached against the powerful. He talked politics and protested injustice. He overturned the tables in the temple.

And after all of that – because of all that, and more – Jesus gets crucified. He shares a meal with his friends; he is arrested; he is denied and betrayed by the closest of his followers – Peter, James and John, from this morning’s mountain, among them – and then he dies a horrible, humiliating, public and painful death – whipped, beaten, mocked, spit upon, crowned with thorns and nailed to a cross.

So, I kind of think Jesus is saying – on his way down the mountain this morning: “don’t go yapping about this mountaintop stuff – this little ‘transfiguration moment’ up here on the hill – unless or until it amounts to something; until you’re able to see and connect it with the rest of what’s to come.”

“Don’t talk about spiritual renewal or faithful transformation unless or until it leads to some measure of sacrifice, in your life, for the sake of others.”

“Don’t talk about spiritual revival or transfiguration unless or until it comes from – or leads to – a place of humility, justice, mercy and peace.”

“Don’t talk about spiritual renewal or faithful transformation unless or until it has something to do with a new way of living and moving and being in the world; unless or until something changes in you that does something to change the world around you.”

So, may whatever spiritual revival or renewal or transfiguration we seek as God’s people in this world inspire us not to stay put or to cling to the mountaintop moments of our lives for the sake of the mountaintop moments of our lives. But may renewal, revival and transfiguration fill us, inspire us and move us down from the mountain, beyond our sanctuary, off of our couches and out of our kitchens – to the lonely places, toward the least among us, in the face of the darkness and the powers that be, for the sake of a world that is ripe for the live-changing, life-giving hard, holy grace and good news that belong to us all in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen