Exodus 26: 1-11 and Luke 4:1-13

Lent I

Exodus 26: 1-11 and Luke 4:1-13

February 14, 2016

Whenever my siblings and I get together before the night is out the conversation inevitably evolves into swapping stories from our childhood. And the stories most often repeated are of the trips we took on summer vacation. Remember when mom and dad gave away those plane tickets and instead insisted we drive from Orlando to Denver? Remember the year vacation consisted of hiking the Appalachian Trial, never mind that none of the sisters had any interest in hiking. Remember how it rainedevery day all day for the week? We’ve reminisced so often the stories have taken on a life of their own, so that even the next generation clamors to hear how the luggage flew off the car top in the middle of Kansas or how grandpa never did get a fire going amid the downpours. The stories are funny now, of course, but laughter isn’t the source of their power. The memoriesshared speak of the events that shaped usand thus hold a piece of our identity.

Memory, says one scholar, is the mother of faith.[1] It is the stories we have received of God’s great actions in the past that can nurture our belief in God’s activity in the present. One generation’s experiences become the next generation’s shared reminiscents. This is what happens in worship – for here we rehearse the God’s truths –and the origins of our activity come in the directions given to the first generation, as recorded in Deuteronomy. In the moment when you offer God the first fruits of your labor, tell again the story of who you are, where you’ve been and most importantly, what God has done.

A wandering Aramean was my father begins the recitation. My fore family was rootless, lost, and starving. We went into Egypt, small in number yet mighty in heart. There we were treated harshly. Amid our suffering, we cried out to you, God. You heard our cries and brought us out with unmistakable power, leading us into the land you promised, the fertile place where we now live. So on this day when we gather the grain from the field, as we reap the harvest that will sustain us in the year ahead, before anything else we give you the first portion. You before us. For we are here because of you. By the time this worship pattern was compiled into sacred text the people who recited the story were not the ones who had experienced God’s saving deeds but the descendants many generations removed. A wandering Aramean was not my father but our father, the seed of the story that becomes the truth upon which we stand.

Does it not become crucial to remember our story in the moments when our identity is tested? That is the demand of Lent – to know something of perishing, wandering, harshness, and suffering. And something of crying out for saving and God’s reply. There’s no better witness to this crucial recollection than Jesus’ 40 days of wrestling in the wilderness, with the devil’s accompanying temptations.

Scripture tells us that following his baptism, the Holy Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness, a place beyond town where the wind is strong, the cold is deep, and the animals howl. No comforts. No distractions. Just Jesus, his baptism, and the road ahead. He fasts there, doing the spiritual work of preparation, emptying himself in order to make space for others and building up his resolve. One piece of the test comes in the devil’s temptations.

Now temptations are personal things. What is tempting to me may not be tempting to you. What can cause me to stumble may leave you unmoved. I can’t resist chocolate, but chips and salsa are easy to leave alone. I love the dark, where the depth of the night wraps not fear but safety around me. But anxiety rears its head whenever I’m faced with allowing my children to venture out on their own and – my anxiety kicks into high gear. Fasting from Facebook would be an easy task. Yet when my daughter suggested we turn off the television for the Lenten weeks my first thought was of March Madness.

So thenthetemptations presented to Jesus reveal what he struggled against, where his fear was aroused, and wherehis resolve was threatened. Having heard the voice say you are my beloved, where did Jesus wrestle with being the Son of God?

The first temptation addresses hunger, enticing Jesus to turn stone into bread. After forty days of fasting, Jesus is famished. The devil suggests he might consider satisfying his very human need. Surely with your status you can take a shortcut, the temptation might whisper, perform a miracle out here where no one will see. Go ahead, sate your appetite.

Jesus quotes scripture, replying no one lives on bread alone. It is a truth anyone of us has lived. Food might satisfy your physical hunger, but it won’t banish the loneliness of eating meal after meal alone. You might give into the temptation for a new coat, a new car, or another _____, but in a few days you’ll realize the deeper needs of your life have not changed. No matter how good the bread would have tasted, Jesus would still be carrying our wounded, needy world. How human are you willing to be? is the question of the devil’s first temptation.

The second temptation deals with power. All these kingdoms can be yours today, if you shift your allegiance to me. By this point in his life, at the edge of ministry, Jesus sensed his power, as well as his capacity to lead. He has had a chance to dream about his life, maybe imagining himself as a just, generous king. This can all be yours is an immediate, attractive offer. If you are seeking power for good, the temptation might enticingly suggest, what does it matter how you obtain the throne?

Again in his reply Jesus quotes scripture. He is worship God alone. It is a lie to imagine something wrongly attained will not make its mark upon soul. Whatever the source of your power is what you worshipand you can only worship one God.

Not ready to give up, the devil reaches to the heart of the matter, to the tender spot of relationship: Jesus’ to God. Since you are God’s Son, God will save you. Throw yourself down from the temple’s highest pointand watch the angels rush to your aid. Quiet any doubts you might harbor in secret for surely God will protect you.

For such a piercing question the devil doesn’t ask it in the wilderness. He moves them to Jerusalem, to the city where Jesus will die and God will not save him. Temptation brings into the forefront an ancient question, asked a thousand times over. What good is God anyway? How much can I rely upon this relationship, this link between God to me?

For a third time Jesus quotes scripture, drawing yet again from Deuteronomy, the textbook of his ancestors’ faith. As much as I might like a sign, a test is no way to nurture trust. It is no way to build a relationship. Even as I look over the city in which my life will end, I will choose my relationship with God over any other more immediate, more tangible rewards.

Three temptations, which boil down to bread, power, and safety.[2] These temptations find their root also in us. How human will you be? Who do you worship? How do you choose trust over testing? To make his decisions Jesus relied upon two resources - presence of the Holy Spirit and the wisdom of scripture. These two resources also are available to us. So as Lent stretches before us, we are given our challenges. How human will you be? Do you know the hungers of our lives? Who do you worship? Is there anything ahead of God? How is it that you stayed rooted in relationship with God? How deep is your trust?

[1]Currie, Thomas W. “Theological Perspective” for Deuteronomy 26:1-11 in Feasting on the Word Year C, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Know, 2009), 28.

[2]Taylor, Arch B. “Decision in the Desert: The Temptation of Jesus, in the Light of Deuteronomy” in Interpretation, 14 no 3. July 1960. 300-309. Accessed through ATLA Religion Database on February 12, 2016.