Facing Temptation
Text: Luke 4:1-13
Temptation…
In our day and age, what is the first thing that pops into your head when you hear that word? If you’re like most of society, we’ve all been well programmed by mass media. More often than not, the dreaded “t-word” reminds us of a diet, quitting smoking, or actively resisting something that we understand is bad for us, and yet by contrast is also pleasurable. When we see the term “sinful delight” it’s most often around the latest mouth-watering dessert that we’ve just given up for Lent… or that we realize that Tim Horton’s always seems to hold its “roll up the rim” event right in the midst of Lent. Somehow we’ve made temptation something that’s frivolous.
Even inside the church, we’ve made it trivial. We don’t like to talk about temptation all that much… and usually when we do, we reduce it into really obvious, overly simplified yes or no kind of choices... Black and white… right and wrong… It’s what computer programmers call binary logic, it’s either on or it’s off, with no room in between.
We’ve come to believe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I remember attending a Baptist Sunday school once with a child, that shows this balance beam called the narrow path. Any slip one way or the other meant a fiery fate. In less judgmental terms, we understand that Jesus calls us to a path of righteousness… but it’s still limited. We get trapped when real life gets in the way. The day to day decisions that we really make are not between right and wrong, but between what is good, and what is best. The “right” thing is no longer as clear as we once believed. Our binary logic gets trapped in the illogical world around us. Suddenly, the black-and-white framework that we would like to be comfortable with is enshrouded in a cloud of grey.
Reality… the world we live in… God’s world… is much more ambiguous. As we begin our journey through Lent, part of the tradition is to examine our faith. We do this as we remember Jesus on the walk to the cross, and discover that this road traverses some soft, mucky, and confusing ground. It is no mistake that on the first Sunday of Lent, this road leads out into the desert with Jesus.
Fasting for forty days and nights, is a long time to go without food. Luke tells us that Jesus was famished. This goes well beyond our own understanding of hunger. Every fibre of his being would scream for something, anything to nourish his starving cells. Even the rocks themselves begin to look tasty. Then it begins to creep in, that whispering echoing voice, chilling him to the bone… “it’s okay, go ahead… do it! You’re the son of God! You have the authority… change these stones into bread, and satisfy your hunger. You’ll die if you don’t!” The voice of temptation…
As Luke imagines this encounter with Jesus alone in the desert, he is vulnerable, his body crying out for survival. What would it hurt to turn a single pebble into a small little morsel. It’s not like it’s going to kill anybody. In fact, it may even save a life! What harm could it possibly do? Surely his own life is worth it! At best, the choice that Jesus faces here is ambiguous.
Through the torment of hunger, Jesus remembers the stories of his youth and their power. He remembers Moses and the Israelites in the desert. He remembers their own starvation, their own grumbling about how they liked it better the old way. He remembers God’s presence with them. Using words from Deuteronomy, he replies to this dark voice. “One does not live by bread alone…” (Deuteronomy 8:3)
He struggles to his feet. For Jesus, to turn stones into bread to satisfy his own hunger would be a breach of the gifts entrusted to him: using his power for his own gain. We face the same temptation… to use our own power for our own personal gain… It’s an abuse of the trust that comes with it. Jesus emerges with his integrity still in place… yet not without genuinely facing the ambiguity that comes with power and responsibility.
The scene shifts. We find Jesus suddenly standing atop the highest of mountains. As I mentioned last week, mountains are high holy places. In Hebrew scripture, it’s the place one is most likely to have a profound experience of God. Yet as we begin to learn, the encounter Jesus is in the midst of is anything but holy. From this high vantage point, we can see all the realms of earth in their glittering splendour.
The voice of temptation begins taking on a more sinister form. He leans into Jesus one more time, “You would be a good emperor, you know… a true king of kings… The people of this world are backward, Jesus, they need your help. Be a benevolent governor, a kind ruler. Be someone to whom the people of the world could count on for a meal on their plate, a roof over their heads, and a safe neighbourhood to live in! If you won’t use your power for personal gain, then don’t! Use it for the benefit of all these people. Become their leader, use your gifts for their good! Be the messiah they are looking for! This is what God is calling you to be!”
The arguments are convincing… it seems like it would be a good choice. Be the good king! Be the new David everyone was hoping for! Use his gifts to be a kind and benevolent ruler? What harm could their be in that?
Jesus pauses… The arguments are good. Really good. Strong, powerful, convincing, and best of all, ambiguous. But he shakes them off… because of the fine print that would come with such a contract. It has been said that power tends to corrupt, and if true, then to become an earthly king would mean to be no different than the Roman Caesars, who found themselves embroiled in intrigue and personal gain and corruption amidst trying to do the right thing. The lines between right and wrong are so blurred that it’s impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends. There is no edge to teeter on because it’s one big confusing mess. To make matters worse, the tempter presents Jesus with the marker to draw his own lines across the blurs, to define for himself what is right and what is wrong. He is tempted to be an earthly king, defining what is good and what is just for the people. Jesus says narrows his eyes… “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”
Had Jesus agreed, he would effectively be bowing down to temptation itself. The want to draw those lines for oneself is a fundamental mistrust in God. Jesus is becoming more aware of the voice’s owner.
The scene shifts, and we find Jesus standing on the pinnacle of the Temple. “Alright,” the voice of temptation says, “you’ve been using scripture Jesus. Two can play at that game… This is about trusting God. Well… we’re here. Why not show your trust in the most profound way… throw yourself off this pinnacle, and trust God to rescue you. After all, Psalm 91 says, “he will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone… Show that trust! Jump!”
Each time Jesus looks to the experience in Hebrew Scripture of God. This time, scripture itself is thrown in his face. But then again, anyone can proof text. Anyone can spit out Biblical verses to twist it to their own meaning. It is a reminder to us that even the devil can quote scripture. Jesus replies with his own, but it has a far deeper foundation… “Don’t put God to the test.”
Putting God to the test is to try to get the Divine to fit our ideas, our notions, what we want God to be for us. It’s very subtle and seductive. Atheists argue convincingly that the religious invent God to fit their own psychological needs. The temptation to create God in our image is very powerful, inviting, and deceptive. Like the devil quoting scripture to Jesus, we can rationalize anything with this kind of logic. Yet by doing this, we limit God. We limit what God can do, and where God can appear in our lives. There’s no room for anything outside of that. In his reply, Jesus reminds us that we can’t put limits on where and how God chooses to act, and we also cannot demand that God bend to our will.
Temptation is never as clear cut as we would like to think. Christian Ethicist Reinhold Neibuhr made an observation that I believe I have shared before. The point at which we have the greatest capacity to sin is when we think or feel that we can do no wrong. In assuming that we are in the morally pure position, we become able to take actions that can be tremendously destructive and sinful. History is full of examples. As the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Out of these painful lessons, we learn that temptation is not so much between a choice between good and evil, but it is the choice between what is good and what is best. The question we need to be asking is “what is the best solution? What is the best alternative?” Most of the time, answers are not clear cut. The key is not to eliminate the shades of grey, because they are always there. The key is to make the choices that we do, being fully ready to admit that we’re wrong. God calls us to take risks and wrestle with the choices that we make, to weigh alternatives carefully. We know that there will be times when we will be wrong… but the good news is that in Christ, there is room for forgiveness.
Amen.
Temptation…
In our day and age, what is the first thing that pops into your head when you hear that word? If you’re like most of society, we’ve all been well programmed by mass media. More often than not, the dreaded “t-word” reminds us of a diet, quitting smoking, or actively resisting something that we understand is bad for us, and yet by contrast is also pleasurable. When we see the term “sinful delight” it’s most often around the latest mouth-watering dessert that we’ve just given up for Lent… or that we realize that Tim Horton’s always seems to hold its “roll up the rim” event right in the midst of Lent. Somehow we’ve made temptation something that’s frivolous.
Even inside the church, we’ve made it trivial. We don’t like to talk about temptation all that much… and usually when we do, we reduce it into really obvious, overly simplified yes or no kind of choices... Black and white… right and wrong… It’s what computer programmers call binary logic, it’s either on or it’s off, with no room in between.
We’ve come to believe that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I remember attending a Baptist Sunday school once with a child, that shows this balance beam called the narrow path. Any slip one way or the other meant a fiery fate. In less judgmental terms, we understand that Jesus calls us to a path of righteousness… but it’s still limited. We get trapped when real life gets in the way. The day to day decisions that we really make are not between right and wrong, but between what is good, and what is best. The “right” thing is no longer as clear as we once believed. Our binary logic gets trapped in the illogical world around us. Suddenly, the black-and-white framework that we would like to be comfortable with is enshrouded in a cloud of grey.
Reality… the world we live in… God’s world… is much more ambiguous. As we begin our journey through Lent, part of the tradition is to examine our faith. We do this as we remember Jesus on the walk to the cross, and discover that this road traverses some soft, mucky, and confusing ground. It is no mistake that on the first Sunday of Lent, this road leads out into the desert with Jesus.
Fasting for forty days and nights, is a long time to go without food. Luke tells us that Jesus was famished. This goes well beyond our own understanding of hunger. Every fibre of his being would scream for something, anything to nourish his starving cells. Even the rocks themselves begin to look tasty. Then it begins to creep in, that whispering echoing voice, chilling him to the bone… “it’s okay, go ahead… do it! You’re the son of God! You have the authority… change these stones into bread, and satisfy your hunger. You’ll die if you don’t!” The voice of temptation…
As Luke imagines this encounter with Jesus alone in the desert, he is vulnerable, his body crying out for survival. What would it hurt to turn a single pebble into a small little morsel. It’s not like it’s going to kill anybody. In fact, it may even save a life! What harm could it possibly do? Surely his own life is worth it! At best, the choice that Jesus faces here is ambiguous.
Through the torment of hunger, Jesus remembers the stories of his youth and their power. He remembers Moses and the Israelites in the desert. He remembers their own starvation, their own grumbling about how they liked it better the old way. He remembers God’s presence with them. Using words from Deuteronomy, he replies to this dark voice. “One does not live by bread alone…” (Deuteronomy 8:3)
He struggles to his feet. For Jesus, to turn stones into bread to satisfy his own hunger would be a breach of the gifts entrusted to him: using his power for his own gain. We face the same temptation… to use our own power for our own personal gain… It’s an abuse of the trust that comes with it. Jesus emerges with his integrity still in place… yet not without genuinely facing the ambiguity that comes with power and responsibility.
The scene shifts. We find Jesus suddenly standing atop the highest of mountains. As I mentioned last week, mountains are high holy places. In Hebrew scripture, it’s the place one is most likely to have a profound experience of God. Yet as we begin to learn, the encounter Jesus is in the midst of is anything but holy. From this high vantage point, we can see all the realms of earth in their glittering splendour.
The voice of temptation begins taking on a more sinister form. He leans into Jesus one more time, “You would be a good emperor, you know… a true king of kings… The people of this world are backward, Jesus, they need your help. Be a benevolent governor, a kind ruler. Be someone to whom the people of the world could count on for a meal on their plate, a roof over their heads, and a safe neighbourhood to live in! If you won’t use your power for personal gain, then don’t! Use it for the benefit of all these people. Become their leader, use your gifts for their good! Be the messiah they are looking for! This is what God is calling you to be!”
The arguments are convincing… it seems like it would be a good choice. Be the good king! Be the new David everyone was hoping for! Use his gifts to be a kind and benevolent ruler? What harm could their be in that?
Jesus pauses… The arguments are good. Really good. Strong, powerful, convincing, and best of all, ambiguous. But he shakes them off… because of the fine print that would come with such a contract. It has been said that power tends to corrupt, and if true, then to become an earthly king would mean to be no different than the Roman Caesars, who found themselves embroiled in intrigue and personal gain and corruption amidst trying to do the right thing. The lines between right and wrong are so blurred that it’s impossible to tell where one begins and the other ends. There is no edge to teeter on because it’s one big confusing mess. To make matters worse, the tempter presents Jesus with the marker to draw his own lines across the blurs, to define for himself what is right and what is wrong. He is tempted to be an earthly king, defining what is good and what is just for the people. Jesus says narrows his eyes… “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”
Had Jesus agreed, he would effectively be bowing down to temptation itself. The want to draw those lines for oneself is a fundamental mistrust in God. Jesus is becoming more aware of the voice’s owner.
The scene shifts, and we find Jesus standing on the pinnacle of the Temple. “Alright,” the voice of temptation says, “you’ve been using scripture Jesus. Two can play at that game… This is about trusting God. Well… we’re here. Why not show your trust in the most profound way… throw yourself off this pinnacle, and trust God to rescue you. After all, Psalm 91 says, “he will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone… Show that trust! Jump!”
Each time Jesus looks to the experience in Hebrew Scripture of God. This time, scripture itself is thrown in his face. But then again, anyone can proof text. Anyone can spit out Biblical verses to twist it to their own meaning. It is a reminder to us that even the devil can quote scripture. Jesus replies with his own, but it has a far deeper foundation… “Don’t put God to the test.”
Putting God to the test is to try to get the Divine to fit our ideas, our notions, what we want God to be for us. It’s very subtle and seductive. Atheists argue convincingly that the religious invent God to fit their own psychological needs. The temptation to create God in our image is very powerful, inviting, and deceptive. Like the devil quoting scripture to Jesus, we can rationalize anything with this kind of logic. Yet by doing this, we limit God. We limit what God can do, and where God can appear in our lives. There’s no room for anything outside of that. In his reply, Jesus reminds us that we can’t put limits on where and how God chooses to act, and we also cannot demand that God bend to our will.
Temptation is never as clear cut as we would like to think. Christian Ethicist Reinhold Neibuhr made an observation that I believe I have shared before. The point at which we have the greatest capacity to sin is when we think or feel that we can do no wrong. In assuming that we are in the morally pure position, we become able to take actions that can be tremendously destructive and sinful. History is full of examples. As the saying goes, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Out of these painful lessons, we learn that temptation is not so much between a choice between good and evil, but it is the choice between what is good and what is best. The question we need to be asking is “what is the best solution? What is the best alternative?” Most of the time, answers are not clear cut. The key is not to eliminate the shades of grey, because they are always there. The key is to make the choices that we do, being fully ready to admit that we’re wrong. God calls us to take risks and wrestle with the choices that we make, to weigh alternatives carefully. We know that there will be times when we will be wrong… but the good news is that in Christ, there is room for forgiveness.
Amen.
Comments