In Jesus’s temptation in the wilderness, we get a picture of resistance bigger than willpower and faith. A resistance to becoming powerful at all.
Resisting temptation and power with Jesus
Lent 1C | Luke 4:1-13
He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished.
It was a traditional practice in ancient Israel to go out into the desert for a fast, as a cleanse or spiritual retreat. The harshness of the wilderness offers a fascinating place for introspection as the abundant reality of the situation can be overwhelming. The scope of the desert or perhaps the northern woods or ocean beaches expand our minds and shrink our egos.
And the dangers of the wilderness put our minds and bodies on edge, sharpening our wits and demanding persistent attention.
Jesus goes there on purpose, right after his baptism. He was called to the river, has seen the Holy Spirit, heard the voice of God. Now he’s drawn into the wilderness to be tempted.
He begins full of the Holy Spirit, but after 40 days, he is starving.
Tempted
The Adversary comes to Jesus in the wilderness to tempt him.
You’re hungry, right? Make yourself some food.
God sent you as Messiah, right? Here is power over the whole world
These temptations aren’t simple things to resist. Nor is this a story of a superhero batting them away like flies.
The Adversary is tempting Jesus with true, earthly power. Human power over creation, other people, and even God.
But this encounter doesn’t happen when Jesus is surrounded by disciples or at home with his Mom. He’s out in the desert, growing hungry and losing faith.
We can imagine this moment like any of the great temptations in literature. The tempter slides up next to his prey, quietly whispering I know you’re hungry. We can do something about that.
The Faustian bargain doesn’t come when Jesus is strong and full, but when he’s weak and hungry. Here’s when we’ll find ourselves accepting the deal: when we’re desperate. Cut corners, steal, fight. Even when we know it’s wrong. That sensation of feeling trapped or worn down; desperate to make the pain go away, desperate for relief.
Of course, Jesus isn’t just hungry for food. And the Adversary knows that. It’s increasing by the day and bread won’t cut this hunger.
Power’s siren call is strong. It tempts and convinces; justifies and preys on us. And it appeals to all of our weakest insecurities. When we’re most vulnerable, most seducible. Most prone to go against our own convictions.
Wandering
There’s a point in the ancient story when the people of Israel were in the desert for a long time. Then it wasn’t 40 days but 40 years. Wandering, lost and confused. They were given promises of a beautiful land all for them. A land which would not only be theirs, but represent a land of peace.
When Jesus responds to the Adversary’s offers, he quotes the book of Deuteronomy. He isn’t just taking lines of Scripture from
The call in the desert is to grumbling and anger. But the presence of God is hope. As always, surviving the wilderness intact is easier said than done.
Especially as the Adversary keeps tempting, the Spirit of life keeps draining away, the sand keeps persisting and the days keep coming.
This is the actual trial, after all. Persisting. Not the temptations. Not simply staying alive or drawing a breath or getting frustrated because sand gets everywhere. It’s listening when the voice gets quieter, hoping when things don’t seem to change, and giving when everything keeps disappearing.
But Jesus knows something about the desert. The vastness of the desert doesn’t yield for him a desire to tame it, subdue it, kill it. It tames him, subdues him, kills him.
The true power isn’t in his hands. Or the Adversary’s. It’s in the desert, the wilderness, and in the creator of these desolate and wild places. There is no need to force God to prove anything.
God is.
And everything about Jesus points to God.
About God
He says to the A
“One does not live by bread alone.”
“Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”
“Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
The temptation to power isn’t an objective truth offered to Jesus by a trickster, but the embrace of the ego. The appeal of power is narcissistic and devilish, zero-sum and deceitful. It is to claim single, absolute power in the hands of the individual. To play God.
This is nothing like Jesus. And nothing like God.
While I could wade into the waters of Christology here, trying to help define the nature of Christ in his full divinity and full humanity, I find such theology makes for truly terrible sermons. And really, it is neither the author’s point nor our hope.
It doesn’t matter whether or not Jesus could be tempted half as much as how he resisted.
Jesus didn’t use will power, though that was leaving him by the day.
And it wasn’t knowledge of scripture or the right prayer forms.
He resisted temptation because he knew it wasn’t about him. He doesn’t put himself at the center of the universe.
We might call Jesus Messiah, Lord, or Son of God. Or we might declare him to be king of kings or the second person of the Trinity. And we may continue to fight for centuries over his true nature and found thousands upon thousands of churches in his name. In fact, we might find ourselves here today because of an encounter with him. All of this is true, but none of it is the point.
Jesus shows us the way to God.
Even at his lowest, his eyes point us toward God.
Hunting
The chapter begins with Jesus full and yet by the end of the second verse, he’s empty. Well, not empty. Hungry.
In Matthew’s beatitudes, Jesus says “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” Hunger isn’t only food, aching isn’t only emptiness. The appetite for God’s righteousness and justice is insatiable among the loving. The hunger for turning the world aright with all of our neighbors is mighty.
And these temptations go straight at that. Who Jesus longs to be, what he longs to do, it would be so much easier if he had more power. But he doesn’t want it that way. Justice can’t come from power, from destroying the enemy, from crushing them, from becoming the oppressor.
It all comes from God. It comes from turning toward God, longing to see earth become like heaven, the people truly living out the love of their Father. All of us embodying love — generous, hopeful, trusting, giving. Offering up the power to God, letting go of control.
Becoming like Jesus. Pointing to God.
And the adversary, having failed to persuade Jesus, went away “until an opportune time.” Not the first opportune time, but another, the next one. He’ll be back again. He is the Adversary, hunting, provoking, trying to drive Jesus away from God.
But ultimately, the Adversary doesn’t get the point! He can’t drive Jesus away! His purpose isn’t to be the Messiah, to be the Lord, to be anything at all!
Jesus points the world to God. And he succeeds every time we find God. Every time we hear the still small voice or love the one we should hate.
The Adversary fails over and over again. Even in our darkest times, the light returns.
Even when our neighbors cling to power, tempted by it, seduced to steal it, empowered to destroy it, the story doesn’t end. We don’t end.
The true power in this story isn’t the temptation. It’s the hunger. Hunger for what power can’t give us, for what oppression can’t secure, for what our knowledge can’t reveal.
The hunger for righteousness, for the Spirit’s transformation, for God. A hunger to make the world like God wants, not as we want. To feed everyone so that none is hungry. Forgiving our debts as we forgive the debts to us. Praying God won’t draw us into temptation, but deliver us from it.
Deliver us like the wanderers, the deserted and lost; deliver us from power, temptation, from evil.
Our familiar prayer is full of the Spirit and draws from that hunger for righteousness. Come inspire us! Come transform us! And deliver us from power and into your hands of love.
Every time. There will be another time. But you will be with us. Because you are God. You’re always with us.