On Temptation, Wilderness, and Microwaves

'After his baptism, 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, 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.'

--Luke 4: 1-13

A few years ago I was out to dinner with a group of people in a non-church setting. Believe it or not, that does happen. Sometimes. Out of the blue I got asked this random question: “So Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness…why’d it happen after his baptism?” I was more concerned with the sportsball game on the tv, but whatever. I gave an answer off the top of my head that, you might figure, after all this time would’ve changed, but truth be told, it hasn’t. Jesus’ temptations happen after his baptism because that’s the point.

Coptic Orthodox image of Jesus in the wilderness.

After this public declaration of Jesus’ belovedness, he faces the biggest test of his life up to that point. The Spirit of the living God, the very Spirit who recently had rested upon him, the one with whom God is well pleased, now leads him into the desert, where for 40 days and nights he is tempted to the outer limits of the imagination.  In the weakest conditions imaginable – hungry, lonely, utterly spent – Jesus confronts the forces that seek to draw him away from the One who had called him beloved, by means of three temptations: possession, power, and prestige.

So let's look at them.  While Jesus is no doubt starving, the devil suggests he command a stone to become a loaf of bread.  Feed himself, and he'll be satisfied and full.  The implication is that if Jesus had enough of a thing –in this case bread – he would be safe and secure.  This is the temptation for possession; the illusion that there could be enough of any material object to satisfy one’s hunger. But Jesus knows better, saying that one does not live by bread alone.  He knows that material goods, even bread, are not the means to ultimate satisfaction, only God is.  Strike one for the devil.

For the second temptation, the devil offers Jesus dominion over all the kingdoms of the world.  This is the temptation for power.  There's no vulnerability here, only the lure of control over of everything and everyone.  This is top-down power, the kind Pharoah's Egypt exercised, the kind Rome exercised.  But Jesus knows this is not God's brand of power.  That power is shown in vulnerability, in self-sacrifice, not glorification; it’s power-with, not over. “Worship only the Lord your God,” Jesus says. Strike two.

Finally, the devil says, "Hey, if you're the Son of God, jump off the temple, and let the angels catch you."  The devil even uses a portion of Psalm 91 to convince Jesus that it's ok.  This is the temptation for prestige.  Take up this position atop the temple, symbol of God's authority, jump off, and if you're really so special, God will save you! But Jesus knows one shouldn't put God to the test because one needn't prove one's worth before God.  The devil's promoting a form of idolatry, making one’s ego into one’s God.  But Jesus does not seek the gratification of his own ego, he seeks only God's will.  Strike three.  The devil is out.

There was a movie in 2015 called Last Days in the Desert, which tells this story of Jesus wandering and being tempted by the devil, and it stars the best Jedi ever, Ewan McGregor, as Jesus.  What's fascinating is that he doesn't just play Jesus, he plays the devil too.  Here the devil doesn’t have a bifurcated tail, nor does he carry a hayfork, he comes to Jesus looking and sounding exactly like him.  The implication is that these temptations are coming from Jesus himself.  We may not be comfortable with this idea, but if the Incarnation is real, and Jesus actually is fully human, then that means he would be tempted as we are.  It also means that those same temptations are there inside each one of us. 

Ewan McGregor as both Jesus and the devil (which is which?) in Last Days in the Desert.

We know them well. Walter Wink once suggested, and I’m in agreement, that these three are the root temptations of all sin. The temptation for possessions tells us we can never have enough – money, toys, romantic partners – and that we have to keep them at all costs; it’s a scarcity mindset. The temptation for power comes from a need for control, otherwise all might sink into chaos; we don’t have to look far to see what happens when men give in so completely to this temptation and desire for top-down control. And the temptation for prestige says that we should want to be big deal, super important folks, with our name plastered on buildings and aero planes; this temptation is what often leads to poor folks voting against their own self-interests; they want even the possibility that they too could have the good life to be true. Tale as old time. 

The longing to pursue such pathetic substitutes for the real good life – the kind modeled for us in Jesus – tempts us on a daily basis. We seek immediate satisfaction of our hungers, we crave the illusion of control, and we want to be looked up to, admired, and appreciated. The easy, abundant life we feel we deserve comes too slowly, after all. We want a speedier ascent to holiness, a quicker fix, instant results, a sort of microwave spirituality. 

Here's the thing about microwaves: they don’t always work. When we moved into our new home in Durham we got one of these fancy pants microwaves that had a bunch of great reviews. It’s got pre-settings that make it easier and save you time, they said. You know what it didn’t have? Numbers. That’s right, no numbers on the microwave, so if we wanted to just heat something up for 15 seconds, we couldn’t do it, only a pre-set that added 30 seconds at a time. Sometimes what we think is easier and faster, ends up being a soulless imitation. 

Scriptures says the devil departed Jesus until an opportune time; son-of-a-gun didn’t quit. We can’t escape the temptations either because baptism, being marked as part of Christ’s own Body forever, drives us out into a wild and chaotic world. We don’t just stay in the safety and security of our churches or homes because Jesus didn’t. C.S. Lewis said that if he had been looking for a religion that always gave him a good feeling, he wouldn’t have picked Christianity; he said could’ve gotten that from a bottle of port. Christianity isn’t for wimps, so they say. It’s hard because it’s hard, and the devil’s always looking for an opportune time. 

And still the Good News is that Jesus calls us o’er the tumult of our lives’ wild, restless seas; to venture through our own deserts and to face our own temptations. The lure of possessions, power, and prestige are all around us, and they are within us, yes. But they can be overcome, through prayer and community, by remembering who we are and whose we are, and at the Holy Table that gives us food enough, bread for the journey, to go out into the wilderness and face our own temptations. Seek not the quick fix, but the lower place, the slower pace. And you’ll strike the devil out too. 

Will We Listen?

'Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"--not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

'On the next day, when they had come down from the mountain, a great crowd met him. Just then a man from the crowd shouted, "Teacher, I beg you to look at my son; he is my only child. Suddenly a spirit seizes him, and all at once he shrieks. It convulses him until he foams at the mouth; it mauls him and will scarcely leave him. I begged your disciples to cast it out, but they could not." Jesus answered, "You faithless and perverse generation, how much longer must I be with you and bear with you? Bring your son here." While he was coming, the demon dashed him to the ground in convulsions. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And all were astounded at the greatness of God.'

--Luke 9: 28-43a

“Listen to him!” The voice of God speaks on two occasions in the synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. The first is at Jesus’ baptism, when the voice speaks directly to Jesus, calling him “my beloved” and saying “with you I am well pleased.” The other time is the moment we just heard, the Transfiguration atop Mt. Tabor, when Jesus is lifted in the air, shining and resplendent light, and shown conversing with Moses the Law-Giver and Elijah, the greatest of the prophets. In a moment filled with awe and wonder, the voice speaks about Jesus, once again calling him a Son, the chosen, and instructing the onlookers – and everyone who inherited this story - to listen to him.

Well, they didn’t listen. If you go atop Mt. Tabor today, you can see the gigantic Basilica of the Transfiguration, and when you step inside, you’re greeted by the chapel of Moses on one side and the chapel of Elijah on the other. Peter, it turns out, got his way. We built the things. We didn’t listen to Jesus. Why is that so hard?

The Basilica of the Transfiguration atop Mt. Tabor today.

I wonder if it’s because we so rarely ever listen to each other. When I played baseball in college, we had a practice one day in which we were working on catching flyballs. Coach hit a sky-high pop fly to left field. The left fielder, shortstop, and third baseman all tried to catch it. The left fielder called for it – “I got it! I got it!” The other two slowed up a little but the ball fell between the three of them. The third baseman and shortstop told Coach that they had, in fact, heard the left fielder call for the ball. “You may have heard him,” Coach said, “but you weren’t listening.”

There is a difference. Hearing is a natural sense of the body, while listening means really paying attention to what’s being said and responding. It’s more relational, it’s active. The third baseman and shortstop, Coach said, should’ve let the left fielder know they were listening by yelling back, “Take it! Take it! Take it!” To listen is to communicate, verbally or non-verbally, that you’re in it with the other person. Can you think of a time when you were speaking to someone and they didn’t respond in any way that did thisl? Maybe they told you afterwards that they heard you, but they weren’t listening. What does it mean for us to not just hear Jesus but to listen to him?

Had Peter really been listening, maybe he wouldn’t have suggested building the three dwelling for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Maybe the Basilica of the Transfiguration and its accompanying chapels wouldn’t exist atop Mt. Tabor. Maybe he could’ve understood then what Jesus is still trying to get us to understand now, which is that we can’t stay on the mountaintop. We have to come down. 

Mountaintop experiences are wonderful, don’t get me wrong. A wedding, a graduation, a birth, all of these are moments of pure excitement and joy, where it feels like our hearts are set on fire with a kind of holy exuberance that comes from encountering the Divine face-to-face. We can’t help but want to stay in them. But it is only by coming down from them that we grow and learn. Weddings are great, but then the couple has to learn to live together in this new way. Graduations are exciting, but will a job exist that will enable the person to use that new degree? And a birth is cause for celebration, but that child is going to need a ton of love and support if they are going to have a chance in this world. If I may bring it closer to home, being declared a parish and celebrating with the whole diocese was an amazing experience for everyone here, but we gotta learn what being a parish really means from here on. Like Moses, Jesus, and especially those three disciples, we all must come back down from our various mountaintop experiences if we are going to become who God is calling us to be.

What happens when Jesus comes down from Mt. Tabor? It ain’t pretty. A man comes up to Jesus in desperation to cure his child’s epilepsy.  The disciples who had not gone up the mountain had tried to help, but they failed.  No one knows what to do, and Jesus’ frustration begins to show.  “How much longer must I be with you and bear with you?” he wonders out loud.  Have you ever seen the images of ‘Facepalm Jesus,’ the statue of Jesus that looks like this….

Yeah, that’s more or less what’s happening here.  He doesn’t find peace or quiet or people who have it together.  When he comes down from the mountain, down into the valley, Jesus finds chaos and confusion.  His ministry shifts, too, from walking around and meeting people where they are in Galilee, to heading up the long, treacherous road to Jerusalem. To betrayal and death and resurrection. This is why every year we hear the story of the Transfiguration the Sunday before Lent begins. Our focus, too, is shifting. We are about to embark on a time of fasting, praying , and reflecting. The journey is long, but it ends with resurrection. 

We may wish for the euphoric moments in which the power and majesty of God is as close to us as it was to Peter, James, and John. But it is down in the valleys of our lives that we learn and grow and discover our true selves. Whether willingly or unwillingly, to move into those valleys and head toward our own Jerusalem is frightening, but we do not travel the way alone. We have each other, and most of all, we have Jesus, who has already blazed that trail for us. Maybe you feel like you’re in the valley right now and will never reach that mountaintop again. But know that where you are is not where you will finish, and together, we’ll get to resurrection.

The first time I preached on the Transfiguration I told the story of how I grew up on a mountain, how the majesty of the mountains can often connect us to God, but how, like Jesus and the disciples, we are so often compelled to come down from the mountaintops of our lives in order to become who we are meant to be; and I used as an example, driving away from that mountain for the last time and heading off to seminary and this great unknown journey Jesus was calling me to take. I thought it was a pretty good sermon, to be honest, but as the folks filed through the receiving line, one woman said to me:  “Oh I just love the mountains, too!”  The point of the sermon, which was that we have to come down from the mountain, had been completely lost on her. I guess she heard my sermon, but she didn’t really listen to it.

In the wilderness of Lent, will we simply hear Jesus, or listen to him? Will we not just hear him rebuke Satan’s temptations of power, prestige and possessions, but listen to him compel us to rebuke them ourselves? Will we not just hear his story of a prodigal child, but listen to him as he shows us the ones that we can embrace and love in the same way as the father in that story? Will we not just hear him call Lazarus to get up from the grave, but listen to him call us out of the depths of our unworthiness, grief, and pain, and into the light of our true selves? On the road to Jerusalem, in the upper room washing feet, crying in agony on the cross, and walking away from an empty tomb, this is Jesus the Father’s Chosen. Let us listen to him.