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.

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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

Salt, Light, and Looking Ahead

Matthew 5:13-20

[Jesus said,] “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt has lost its taste, how can it’s saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, and is thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill can not be hid. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a bushel basket, but places it on the lampstand where it gives light to all in the house. Let your light shine before others, therefore, so that they might see your good works and give glory to your father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets, for I have not come to abolish, but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter – not one stroke of a letter – will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever does them and teaches them, will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For truly I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

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I got to spend a couple of days this week at the annual reunion of the Wabash Pastoral Leadership Program, in Crawfordsville, which is always a real boon for my spirit and sense of call, and reminder of why church work and ministry matters so much in the world, these days – and the impact we can have when we get it right.

For those of you who don’t know/remember, the Wabash Pastoral Leadership Program is a Lilly Endowment-funded endeavor that gathers small groups of Christian clergy from around Indiana for a two-year program of study, learning, and travel, that connects pastors with each other and with civic leaders from around the state to broaden the scope of what congregations can accomplish in the world, in whatever context they find themselves. For those of you who’ve been around awhile, you might remember that I was part of the first cohort of the program back in 2009-2010. (I would spend a few days, every other month at Wabash College and take a couple of international trips thanks to the program.)

Anyway, the program hosts annual reunions for the pastors who’ve engaged it over the years, and that’s where I was for about 48 hours last week. As part of it all, some of our colleagues shared, with the rest of us, some of the work they’ve been up to in their various settings and communities.

A couple of pastors in New Albany teamed up the past couple of summers to establish a ministry of “cooling stations,” hosted by a handful of churches in their town … places where house-less people and families – rather than hiding in the public library or wading in the creek on the edge of town to keep cool – could find air-conditioned shelter, safety, and water when the temperatures reach 100 degrees or more. This is what kingdom welcome and hospitality looks like – on earth as it is in heaven.

Another pastor’s congregation does the opposite. Over at West Morris Free Methodist Church on the westside of Indy, they have a very traditional 60,000 square foot building with a sanctuary that seats close to 1,000 people, though they only worship about 40, these days. So, they removed all of their empty wooden pews, filled their space with tents, and house nearly 80-100 house-less people when temperatures are too dangerously cold to sleep outside. What used to look like this:

now looks like this:

Of course, they feed them and care for them in other ways, too. It’s still very obviously a sanctuary, maybe more now than ever before, and this is what the fullness of the kingdom tastes like when we get it right.

A friend from my own cohort – Kent Ellet, the Pastor at the Speedway Church of Christ and his congregation – have bought and rehabbed three houses in recent years on Alton Avenue, near their church. They’re working on their fourth, as we speak. Once they are ready, they rent these houses at half the cost – or less – to individuals and families who need stable housing and other support, in order to get back on their feet after all manner of struggle, difficulty, bad luck, and whatnot. My friend Kent calls this ministry the “Alton Alternative” and it is a light of grace, sitting high on a lampstand, shining brightly for all in those houses – and their surrounding neighborhood, and now all of us – to see.

When Jesus tells the crowds on the hillside in this morning’s Gospel that they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world, he was trying to get them to think differently about the kind of light and flavor their faith brings to the world around them. And, I happen to think, he was inviting them to get creative about that for a change … to wonder differently about what kind of difference they might make … to imagine ways their faith was inviting them to be a blessing for the world.

“You are the salt of the earth,” he tells them. “But if salt has lost its taste – if you have lost your flavor – what good is that? What are you doing here? What’s the point of it all?”

“You are the light of the world,” Jesus says. “Like a city on a hill… like a lamp on a stand… like a beacon in the night. Don’t cover yourselves up… don’t hide under a basket. Let your light shine so others can see what you’re up to; so people know what God is doing through you… and for you… and for the sake of others.”

Now, I happen to think we have so much to be glad about and plenty to celebrate and even a little to be proud of when it comes to how we do Church here, in this place, especially when I think of the very unique voice Cross of Grace is in our community.

No one else is welcoming, advocating for, and hosting events that support our LGBTQ+ friends, family, and neighbors. No one else is preaching and teaching and hosting ministry that supports anti-racism and racial justice the way we do.

We have $45,000 to give away from our Building and Outreach Fund grants thanks to our generosity over the course of the last year. (Please spread the word to your favorite non-profit organizations to apply for those grants before the end of March.)

And I hope, as we continue to wonder about this building project that’s on the horizon we’ll get creative about all of this salt and light stuff in ways my Wabash friends have done.

And just to get your wheels spinning, you should know I have started a conversation with our schools about a reading program for kids in our area for whom English isn’t their primary language. For those of you who know about the HOSTS program that already exists in our elementary schools, imagine that but for immigrant kids who speak Spanish or Haitian Creole. (I just learned we are blessed to have literally hundreds of them in our school district.)

Pastor Cogan has ideas about Cross of Grace hosting a summer day camp for kids who can’t afford the kinds of camps many of us send our kids to when they’re not in school.

Maybe we could be a cooling center … or a warming station … or let our parking lot be a safe place for people living in their cars to park for the night.

We could certainly host more and bigger special events for places like The Landing.

We could host more 12 Step meetings; expand our food pantry operations; you get the idea …

All of this is about not getting bored – or becoming boring – or losing our flavor – or letting our light dim – or hiding it under a bushel basket of complacency or apathy or selfishness or comfort or safety or whatever tempts too many Christians to stop doing God’s bidding.

All of this is about being as inspired as we are unsettled by those words from the prophet Isaiah this morning – words that surely inspired and unsettled Jesus, too… all of that stuff about loosing the bonds of injustice; about letting the oppressed go free; about sharing bread with the hungry; bringing the homeless poor into our house; covering the naked, and all the rest.

So let’s pray about and plan a future together, full of hope about the ways we can salt the earth and light up the world – with all that Isaiah promised and all that Jesus embodies:

• hope that our light – that the light of God – will break forth like the dawn;

• hope that our healing – that the healing of humanity – will spring up quickly;

• hope that our vindicator will go before us, and the glory of the Lord will have our back;

• hope that we will call and God will answer;

• hope that our needs will be satisfied even in parched places;

Let’s be hopeful – and full of faith – that, as God’s people, we will be known and seen and received, like a spring of water for the thirsty, like rebuilt ruins for those in need of refuge, like a firm foundation for those who can’t stand on their own; like a repairer of the breach for the broken among us, and like a restorer of streets to live in for a world searching for home.

Amen