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.
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
