Matthew 4:1–11
Presented February 10, 2008, by J.D. Kline
The First Sunday in Lent
Lenten Theme: Another Way of Living
In the three synoptic Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—the story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness plays a critical role. It is a time of discernment, a time for Jesus to grapple with the nature and shape of his calling, to consider how it is that he might most faithfully proclaim the good news of the unfolding kingdom of God. Jesus has just been baptized in the Jordan River by John the Baptist, the Spirit descending and a voice from heaven announcing, “This is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased,” when the unexpected happens. The Spirit of God leads Jesus into the wilderness for a time of testing. There is something within us that would like to believe that baptism somehow ought to provide some form of inoculation against any struggles with the darker realities of life, that baptism would render us invulnerable to the difficulties and struggles of life. But the very opposite was true for Jesus, and by our own experience, we too know that the life of faith offers no immunity from life’s hurts, struggles, and challenges. As Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount, God “makes the sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matthew 5:45). Truth is, when we embrace a new vision for human life—a vision of justice and peace, a vision of compassion and self-giving love—we ought not be surprised to discover that we come face to face with opposing forces who prefer the way of darkness.
Why is it that the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert? Is it not so that Jesus might confront those dark forces, that Jesus might grapple with conflicting voices from this world? Voices asserting that success and status are meant to be the ultimate goals of our life. Voices suggesting that it is in the grasping after power and the clawing after prestige that we are most able to impact the world around us. Voices that certify that the end justifies the means, that violence and injustice and warfare may well be necessary in order to achieve our results. Voices attesting that our efforts to raise our voices for justice and peace, for compassion and new life, count for little if we do not speak from a position of influence.
In his book The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus Peter Gomes, pastor at Harvard University’s Memorial Church, reminds us that “the terror of the temptations put to Jesus is that they are so reasonable.” From the perspective of the world in which we live, who would not seek power and influence over others? Who does not yearn for recognition? Who does not clamor after success, yearning to find ourselves at the top of the heap? In our passion to make a difference in the world, who among us is not tempted to use questionable methods in order to reach desired results?
And yet, the gospel continually seems to be in the business of turning our customary ways of thinking and acting upside down. Much that we consider “common sense,” the gospel calls into question. For while the world around us—and our own instincts—prods us upward in the pursuit of higher salaries, more prestigious positions, greater acclaim, Christ’s way of compassion carries with it a downward pull, toward the way of self-giving servanthood.
It is this way of humble servanthood that Jesus settles upon in the desert, even as Satan is offering one challenge after another to that way of thinking. Satan begins by prodding Jesus, saying, in effect, “If it’s true, as your baptism suggests, that you are the Son of God, then surely God does not want you to experience hunger. Turn these stones into bread. What could possibly be wrong with a little display of useful—even spectacular—power?” But to follow that voice, Jesus recognizes, is to choose his own path rather than God’s path.
So it is with the other temptations as well. The temptation for popularity, position, status, acclaim—“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from the pinnacle of the temple. Surely God will rescue you, and the people will be amazed at your power. Then they will listen to you without reservation.” And the third temptation, the most dangerous one because of its appeal: “The whole world is before you. It’s yours for the taking, if only you would sell your soul.” It’s the promise of competence greater than anyone else’s competence; it’s the promise of power to make things happen; it’s the promise of domination, of others cowering before Jesus.
But Jesus knows that the course set before him has nothing to do with domination and coercion. It has nothing to do with self-satisfaction, with self-indulgence, with preoccupation with his own success, and everything to do with choosing another way of living—choosing God’s vision for his life and ministry. It is a matter of embracing, not the way of power over others but the way of humble servanthood, not the way of forceful domination but the way of peaceful compassion, not the way of unquestioning certitude in life but rather the way of faith that takes the risk of living faithfully and living well, even when we do not know how things will turn out. From the perspective of the world’s standards, Jesus’ choice seems to be based on a crazy kind of logic. But from the perspective of God’s realm, it makes perfect sense.
William Sloane Coffin speaks to our own challenge of responding to God’s call, of choosing the pathway of faithful living, when he reminds us, “A career seeks to be successful, a calling to be valuable. A career tries to make money, a calling tries to make a difference.” It is not that money and success are evil in and of themselves, but when money and success and power become the driving motivation for our living, everything gets out of kilter. What is your vocation, your calling, from God?
The great Russian novelist Dostoevsky tells the powerful story of “The Grand Inquisitor” in his novel The Brothers Karamazov. Set in the dark days of the Spanish Inquisition, when any who did not fully embrace the official line were branded as heretics and countless numbers were tortured and burned at the stake, all supposedly for “God’s glory,” the story highlights the temptation to choose the pathway of “common sense” rather than the upside-down logic of Jesus.
It’s the story of Jesus appearing once again in the bodily form, in the square of a Spanish city, just in front of the town cathedral, in the medieval days of the Inquisition. Even before Jesus speaks, the people recognize him, for the same loving compassion that excited the people of ancient Galilee could not be hidden. Like a magnet, Jesus once again draws the people to him, so much so that the town square becomes a frenzy of excitement—until the aged Cardinal, the Grand Inquisitor, happens by.
Seeing immediately what is occurring, the Cardinal orders guards to seize Jesus and put him in prison. Later that night the Grand Inquisitor pays a visit. “Why have you come back here to hinder us?” demands the Inquisitor. Before Jesus can respond, the Inquisitor shouts,
You were wrong, Jesus—totally, absolutely wrong in your assessment of human nature and of our ability to change and grow. Your problem, Jesus, is that you related “up” to human beings, as if they really were children of God capable of deciding things for themselves, capable of taking responsibility for themselves and for their world. You treated them as if they were partners with God, when in fact they are by nature nothing but slaves—weak, unstable, rebellious creatures.
Where you made your mistake, Jesus, was at the beginning of your ministry, in the wilderness. The Spirit of this world came to you and tried to show you what would work, but you would not listen. Don’t you remember how we said, “Humans have three needs and three only—the need to be fed, the need to be mystified, the need to be dominated”?
The Spirit of this world understood human nature, but you would not listen. You with your impossible dreams of freedom and responsibility, of people living as the children of God. I can hear you now: “Human beings do not live by bread alone; they are more than mouths and stomachs.” You refused to dazzle their senses or stupefy them with the miraculous, because you believed they could think for themselves. And you would not take the role of King and get involved in the only process that works in this world—the process of power, coercion, domination. You held out that human beings are more than pawns and deserve better treatment.
Well, hear this, foolish dreamer: We have accepted the gifts that you rejected there on the mountain, and we are now proceeding to correct your work. We love people realistically and are willing to treat them as the slaves they are. We are not about to let you come again and revive your erroneous ways. We will some day conquer the earth and rule humankind as they must be ruled, You were wrong, Jesus—totally and absolutely wrong about people—and unless you leave on your own right now, we will kill you all over again.
Whose logic do we follow—the Grand Inquisitor’s and those, yet today, who would embrace his “realistic” assessment of humankind, or the “crazy” logic of Jesus? It is no simple matter, this business of following Jesus, listening attentively for his voice, walking in his footsteps. Psychologist and theologian John Neafsey, in his book A Sacred Voice is Calling, prods us,
It takes courage to do with our lives something that is different from what everyone else is doing, or from what everyone else thinks we should do. It takes courage, in matters big and small, to do not just the easy thing, but the loving thing, the just thing, the decent thing. In our culture, a kind of countercultural heroism is also required even to keep ourselves attuned to the inner voice of conscience, to allow it to have a say in our lives, to give the voice its due.
Sisters and brothers, this is the challenge before us this Lenten season—to embrace the crazy kind of logic embraced by Jesus, to take hold of another way of living, to attune our lives by the inner voice of conscience that dares to follow in the footsteps of Jesus. Sisters and brothers, this is our calling. Amen.