"Close Encounters of the Christ Kind: Satan"
Lent 1A (3/9/14)
Matthew 4:1-11
Close Encounters of the Christ Kind: Satan
The sun beat down on him, its heat hard and heavy. One tiny trickle of sweat dripped down into his eyes, stinging for a second as he tried to blink it away. He smirked a bit, thinking it a wonder that he could still sweat at all at this point - how many days had it been now since his last meal, his last drink? 38? 40? It was hard to keep count anymore. His stomach gave a loud growl and he nearly doubled over with the hunger pang that followed; he’d thought they’d go away after a time, but as they grew fewer in number they only became greater in intensity. Why couldn’t the Spirit have driven him to somewhere a little less... rugged? Why not some of those shaded caves and streams where David found shelter hiding from Saul? Why not send him some of that manna and quail that the Israelites got during their own time in the wilderness? But that was just the hunger and the heat talking. He’d been brought here by the Spirit; this, too, would pass... right?
And that’s when the Other came. The Other looked fresh. He looked rested, well-fed, presentable. He didn’t come with horns and a pitch-fork. He didn’t come with scorching flames and a pointy goatee. He came with a proposition, a challenge; a way out. “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.”
It couldn’t have been easy for Jesus. The Gospels don’t really say how long it took Jesus to answer the tempter - he may have taken time to think, to pray, to carefully consider what he should do. Then again, it could have been much as we’d have imagined, with Jesus’ response immediate and sure. Either way, it couldn’t have been easy for him. He was hungry. He was hurting. He was hot and tired. His throat as dry and dusty as the wilderness that surrounded him. And he was the Son of God! He has the power of the Creator at his fingertips - the ability to speak worlds into being, to give sight to the blind, voices to the voiceless, freedom to the captive, even life to the lifeless. With such phenomenal cosmic powers, turning a stone to bread would have been child’s play! He could have ended the gnawing pangs of hunger that twisted his stomach. He could have called forth springs of cool, fresh spring water to slake his thirst and cool his sun-scorched brow. He would have been foolish, in fact, not to do just what the other suggested - if he died now from hunger and dehydration, what good would he have accomplished? What salvation, what great triumph, what year of jubilee comes from being born and baptized, just to run out into the desert and starve to death? Wouldn’t it have been better to ensure that he stayed alive, that his story didn’t end in the desert, so that he could go on and proclaim the good news that the Kingdom of Heaven was near? Surely the Father would understand the situation and know that there simply comes a time when a man has to eat. Right?
Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone.’”
He sighs, knowing that his answer means more hunger pangs, that his throat will remain the strip of leather it feels like it’s become. Another stinging drop of sweat falls into his eye and he blinks it away. And as quickly as he blinks his eyes, he’s no longer in the desert. Jesus feels a wave of disorientation as the world shifts around him. Closing his eyes to let his senses readjust, Jesus took a deep breath to steady himself and smelled... incense. The crisp scent of burning meat and grain. The sharp aroma of wine. His hunger pangs hit hard, twice as hard as just moments ago as he’d considered the possibility of changing stone into bread. He heard the singing of cantors, intoning psalms and prayers to the Lord, the twang of lyre-strings. And then he opened his eyes and saw the entire temple below him, the priests and people small as ants as they bustled about. The other steps out beside him, fishes a drachma from his pocket, and drops it from the edge of the temple’s pinnacle. “If you are the son of God,” the other says, then 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.’”
The other knew his scriptures. Not only knew them, but straight up quoted them to Jesus. And it made sense... didn’t it? We don’t think too much about it, but Jesus must have felt doubts of his own from time to time. He must have wondered what God had in mind sending him out into the wilderness in the first place. He must have questioned what the plan was - in the garden, he even asks God to make another way, to take the cup from his lips and spare him from the torturous death that awaited him. Jesus hasn’t done much of anything yet that’s really proven that he’s the son of God, even to himself - just had some strange visitors who claimed they’d seen angels, had a pretty solid knowledge of scripture, and heard this weird voice from the sky after he was baptized telling him that he was its son and that it was well pleased. Some kind of divine angelic intervention this point might well have been welcomed! So... why not take the example of the Scriptures and let the Father put his money where his mouth is? Why not just jump off the pinnacle and see if the angels would bear him up and keep him from harm? Surely the Father wouldn’t begrudge him a little proof, a little reassurance that this isn’t just some crazy, heatstroke vision, would he? It’s the least the Father can do when he’s asking the Son to sacrifice himself for all humanity... right?
So Jesus closed his eyes again... he took another deep breath, smelled the incense and the sacrifices, heard the sounds of the temple... he swayed in the waves of some returning vertigo... then barely whispered... “It is said...” then, finding more strength and firmness to his voice, “‘Do not put the Lord your God to the text.’”
Then the other *snapped* his finger. The bottom dropped out of the world as an overwhelming sense of vertigo washed over Jesus. The world zoomed away from Jesus’ sun-baked feet. Jerusalem grew smaller and smaller beneath him, and then with the slightest jolt, Jesus felt solid stone beneath his feet again. Surprised at the sudden change, he gasps. He notices the air is thinner here, and colder - a nice change from the oppressive heat of the desert wilderness and the sun beating down on him from the pinnacle of the temple. And then the other gestures out at the mountainous vista to which he has brought them. He looks out at the landscape before him and sees the city of Jerusalem on the horizon, miniaturized by distance. He sees the rest of the Roman empire sprawled out before him like a drawing in the sand; he sees the places where the empire becomes frontier-lands, where other kingdoms still hold fast. All the kingdoms of the world lay before him in this strangely panoramic place to which he has been brought. The other swaggers over to stand beside him, brushes a bit of sand from Jesus’ shoulder, and says, “To you will I 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 be all yours.”
And at this height, with this view in front of him, this offer still echoing in the thin air, perhaps Jesus actually forgot his hunger for a moment. He knew who it was putting the contract down on the table. He knew what the other was asking him to do. And yet... and yet... isn’t the other giving Jesus the very goal for which he is striving, and on a silver platter, no less? Isn’t this the chance of a lifetime for Jesus, to come back from this place with full authority over every kingdom of the earth, to fully establish the kingdom which, up till now, has only just been near? All it would take is just one little bow, a little bit of lip service, a nod of the head to boost the ego of this other. Jesus wouldn’t have to mean it, or anything... just do what he’s asked to do because it’ll serve the greatest good and take him down the path of least resistance. Surely the Father would understand that Jesus was simply taking a short-cut to the goal that was meant to happen all along, right?
Jesus took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and answered, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”
And then, taking one more deep breath, Jesus opened his eyes. And it was over. The other had left. Jesus was alone once more, surrounded by wilderness. His stomach was still empty, his throat still dry. His body was still weak and empty, but he was filled with the Spirit. He may not have known where and what the Father was leading him to, but he knew he was being led. He knew that he had work to do. A message to proclaim. His time in the wilderness had prepared him; his temptations strengthened him. And now it was time for his ministry to begin in full.
During this season of Lent, we remember the story of Christ. Of how he was tempted in every way, and how he resisted those temptations. As we are led into our own wildernesses, we’ll face temptations, too. They come subtly, shrouded in good intentions and noble desires. We’re tempted to take shortcuts, to circumvent God’s means in favor of our own. We’re tempted to take shortcuts out of the wilderness, to skip the hardships, to take the path of least resistance. But we need those wilderness times. We need to be emptied, to experience hunger and thirst. For when we become emptied of ourselves, we give God the chance to fill us up once more with what is good and holy. May that be what this season of Lent is for us. To God be the Glory. Amen.
Matthew 4:1-11
Close Encounters of the Christ Kind: Satan
The sun beat down on him, its heat hard and heavy. One tiny trickle of sweat dripped down into his eyes, stinging for a second as he tried to blink it away. He smirked a bit, thinking it a wonder that he could still sweat at all at this point - how many days had it been now since his last meal, his last drink? 38? 40? It was hard to keep count anymore. His stomach gave a loud growl and he nearly doubled over with the hunger pang that followed; he’d thought they’d go away after a time, but as they grew fewer in number they only became greater in intensity. Why couldn’t the Spirit have driven him to somewhere a little less... rugged? Why not some of those shaded caves and streams where David found shelter hiding from Saul? Why not send him some of that manna and quail that the Israelites got during their own time in the wilderness? But that was just the hunger and the heat talking. He’d been brought here by the Spirit; this, too, would pass... right?
And that’s when the Other came. The Other looked fresh. He looked rested, well-fed, presentable. He didn’t come with horns and a pitch-fork. He didn’t come with scorching flames and a pointy goatee. He came with a proposition, a challenge; a way out. “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.”
It couldn’t have been easy for Jesus. The Gospels don’t really say how long it took Jesus to answer the tempter - he may have taken time to think, to pray, to carefully consider what he should do. Then again, it could have been much as we’d have imagined, with Jesus’ response immediate and sure. Either way, it couldn’t have been easy for him. He was hungry. He was hurting. He was hot and tired. His throat as dry and dusty as the wilderness that surrounded him. And he was the Son of God! He has the power of the Creator at his fingertips - the ability to speak worlds into being, to give sight to the blind, voices to the voiceless, freedom to the captive, even life to the lifeless. With such phenomenal cosmic powers, turning a stone to bread would have been child’s play! He could have ended the gnawing pangs of hunger that twisted his stomach. He could have called forth springs of cool, fresh spring water to slake his thirst and cool his sun-scorched brow. He would have been foolish, in fact, not to do just what the other suggested - if he died now from hunger and dehydration, what good would he have accomplished? What salvation, what great triumph, what year of jubilee comes from being born and baptized, just to run out into the desert and starve to death? Wouldn’t it have been better to ensure that he stayed alive, that his story didn’t end in the desert, so that he could go on and proclaim the good news that the Kingdom of Heaven was near? Surely the Father would understand the situation and know that there simply comes a time when a man has to eat. Right?
Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone.’”
He sighs, knowing that his answer means more hunger pangs, that his throat will remain the strip of leather it feels like it’s become. Another stinging drop of sweat falls into his eye and he blinks it away. And as quickly as he blinks his eyes, he’s no longer in the desert. Jesus feels a wave of disorientation as the world shifts around him. Closing his eyes to let his senses readjust, Jesus took a deep breath to steady himself and smelled... incense. The crisp scent of burning meat and grain. The sharp aroma of wine. His hunger pangs hit hard, twice as hard as just moments ago as he’d considered the possibility of changing stone into bread. He heard the singing of cantors, intoning psalms and prayers to the Lord, the twang of lyre-strings. And then he opened his eyes and saw the entire temple below him, the priests and people small as ants as they bustled about. The other steps out beside him, fishes a drachma from his pocket, and drops it from the edge of the temple’s pinnacle. “If you are the son of God,” the other says, then 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.’”
The other knew his scriptures. Not only knew them, but straight up quoted them to Jesus. And it made sense... didn’t it? We don’t think too much about it, but Jesus must have felt doubts of his own from time to time. He must have wondered what God had in mind sending him out into the wilderness in the first place. He must have questioned what the plan was - in the garden, he even asks God to make another way, to take the cup from his lips and spare him from the torturous death that awaited him. Jesus hasn’t done much of anything yet that’s really proven that he’s the son of God, even to himself - just had some strange visitors who claimed they’d seen angels, had a pretty solid knowledge of scripture, and heard this weird voice from the sky after he was baptized telling him that he was its son and that it was well pleased. Some kind of divine angelic intervention this point might well have been welcomed! So... why not take the example of the Scriptures and let the Father put his money where his mouth is? Why not just jump off the pinnacle and see if the angels would bear him up and keep him from harm? Surely the Father wouldn’t begrudge him a little proof, a little reassurance that this isn’t just some crazy, heatstroke vision, would he? It’s the least the Father can do when he’s asking the Son to sacrifice himself for all humanity... right?
So Jesus closed his eyes again... he took another deep breath, smelled the incense and the sacrifices, heard the sounds of the temple... he swayed in the waves of some returning vertigo... then barely whispered... “It is said...” then, finding more strength and firmness to his voice, “‘Do not put the Lord your God to the text.’”
Then the other *snapped* his finger. The bottom dropped out of the world as an overwhelming sense of vertigo washed over Jesus. The world zoomed away from Jesus’ sun-baked feet. Jerusalem grew smaller and smaller beneath him, and then with the slightest jolt, Jesus felt solid stone beneath his feet again. Surprised at the sudden change, he gasps. He notices the air is thinner here, and colder - a nice change from the oppressive heat of the desert wilderness and the sun beating down on him from the pinnacle of the temple. And then the other gestures out at the mountainous vista to which he has brought them. He looks out at the landscape before him and sees the city of Jerusalem on the horizon, miniaturized by distance. He sees the rest of the Roman empire sprawled out before him like a drawing in the sand; he sees the places where the empire becomes frontier-lands, where other kingdoms still hold fast. All the kingdoms of the world lay before him in this strangely panoramic place to which he has been brought. The other swaggers over to stand beside him, brushes a bit of sand from Jesus’ shoulder, and says, “To you will I 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 be all yours.”
And at this height, with this view in front of him, this offer still echoing in the thin air, perhaps Jesus actually forgot his hunger for a moment. He knew who it was putting the contract down on the table. He knew what the other was asking him to do. And yet... and yet... isn’t the other giving Jesus the very goal for which he is striving, and on a silver platter, no less? Isn’t this the chance of a lifetime for Jesus, to come back from this place with full authority over every kingdom of the earth, to fully establish the kingdom which, up till now, has only just been near? All it would take is just one little bow, a little bit of lip service, a nod of the head to boost the ego of this other. Jesus wouldn’t have to mean it, or anything... just do what he’s asked to do because it’ll serve the greatest good and take him down the path of least resistance. Surely the Father would understand that Jesus was simply taking a short-cut to the goal that was meant to happen all along, right?
Jesus took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and answered, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”
And then, taking one more deep breath, Jesus opened his eyes. And it was over. The other had left. Jesus was alone once more, surrounded by wilderness. His stomach was still empty, his throat still dry. His body was still weak and empty, but he was filled with the Spirit. He may not have known where and what the Father was leading him to, but he knew he was being led. He knew that he had work to do. A message to proclaim. His time in the wilderness had prepared him; his temptations strengthened him. And now it was time for his ministry to begin in full.
During this season of Lent, we remember the story of Christ. Of how he was tempted in every way, and how he resisted those temptations. As we are led into our own wildernesses, we’ll face temptations, too. They come subtly, shrouded in good intentions and noble desires. We’re tempted to take shortcuts, to circumvent God’s means in favor of our own. We’re tempted to take shortcuts out of the wilderness, to skip the hardships, to take the path of least resistance. But we need those wilderness times. We need to be emptied, to experience hunger and thirst. For when we become emptied of ourselves, we give God the chance to fill us up once more with what is good and holy. May that be what this season of Lent is for us. To God be the Glory. Amen.
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