Luke 4: 1-13
First Sunday in Lent
17th February 2013
Did you notice
who sent Jesus into the desert? Did you
hear who sent him into the wilderness for forty days? The Holy Spirit. The Spirit of God sent him
there, into a wild and harsh and life-threatening landscape, to the sand and
sun and isolation of the Judea desert.
There’s very little to sustain life there. Little or no food, not much to drink. After forty days he was famished, as you can
imagine, his body weakened. No
shelter. Exposed to the elements. Alone with his thoughts and with God…and
someone else.
Luke
tells us Jesus was “full of the Holy Spirit.” It’s a striking expression, “full
of the Holy Spirit” – πλήρης πνεύματος ἁγίου – pleres pneumatos agiou.
It’s the first and only time Luke uses this phrase to describe
Jesus. Pleres is used to describe a vessel that is filled to the brim. It
has a sense of completeness; a word used to describe something that is
completely, fully covered. To be full, full
here of the Holy Spirit, means the Holy Spirit is permeating every part of Jesus’ being, completely, fully.
Now how did
Jesus get in this state? Was he always
this way? Was he born this way? The text
isn’t clear, but what is clear is that Luke intentionally links his entrance in
the wilderness with what occurred along the River Jordan. This text is directly connected to Jesus’
baptism. And so it’s in a state of
spiritual bliss, as it were, riding high from that profound religious
experience, full of God’s presence, clear about his identity as the Son of God
– remember what he heard coming up out of the water, “This is my son, my
Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22) – he then begins his work.
He’s on the return from the Jordan, returning to reality with this new insight,
full of the presence of God, when he’s led by the same Spirit permeating his
spirit into the wild and dangerous terrain of the wilderness.
He’s sent there intentionally
by the Holy Spirit for one purpose only:
to be tempted by the devil. The Holy
Spirit is deliberate. He’s sent there
for a reason: to be tempted for forty days.
A better word than “tempted” here is “tested.” And when we use “tested” and combine it with
one of the favorite numbers in the Bible, 40, immediately our minds go to Moses
and the Exodus – at least that’s where our thoughts should take us; that was
probably Luke’s intent. Israel was
tested for forty years, not by the devil, but by the wilderness of Sinai on
their way from slavery into the freedom of the Promised Land. The people were tested in the wilderness –
their faith was tested, their loyalties were tested, their commitments to God,
to their neighbors, to themselves as a people. It was through the struggle in
and through the wilderness that they came to have a clearer sense of who they
were and who God is and what they were called to be and do as a people. Even God was tested by them because over and
over, for forty years, the people complained and whined and complained and
whined about their conditions, forgetting again and again and again about
Yahweh’s promised faithfulness to them.
This is tough to
take in: in order for growth to occur testing is required. Yet, it’s true. All great leaders, artists, writers, poets,
inventors, scientists, prophets, athletes, ordinary women and men who become
mature and wise and advance humanity just a little become great and wise and
mature through moments of testing.
They’re tested, if not by the devil or directly by God, then by
circumstances or environment or by prevailing injustice. In those moments we are usually brought to
our limits (or think we’re there), brought to edge of our wits and energy, brought
maybe to the edge of sanity. Then we hit
a wall and realize we can go no further.
And we know we’re “famished” – meaning, here, to acknowledge want, need,
to hunger and crave ardently.
And there’s
probably no better place to discover one’s limits or discern what one craves
than in a desert. There’s probably no
better place to encounter God and everything in our lives that tries to lure us
away from God than in a desert. Because,
you see, there are things that only the wilderness can teach us. Nudos
amat eremos. Jerome (c.347-420) wrote
in a letter to Heliodorus: Nudos amat ermemos. “The desert loves to strip bear.”[1] It strips the
ego bear as we quickly learn there that we are not at the center of our
universe or any universe. The early
Christians who spent a lot of time in the desert often talked about apatheia, apathy or indifference. The wilderness or desert is completely
indifferent to us.[2] It doesn’t really care about us. It doesn’t care if we exist or not. It’s silent.
And in the silence of such places we have nothing to say, nothing to
prove, nothing to think, nothing to defend.
This is a marvelous gift that the wilderness gives us.[3] We come to face ourselves and our demons and
those things that call us away from our true calling. This, too, is a remarkable gift.
I think— or, I
believe—no, I know, in love the Holy
Spirit sent Jesus into the wilderness to be tested. It’s only in love. It’s only in love. If we don’t hear this within the context of
God’s love and grace, then it looks like God is sadistic. And we have to be
careful with how we understand words like devil
or Satan. They have a long and
complex history within the Bible, not helped by later writers, such as Dante
Alighieri (c.1265-1321), who put his own tormented twist on things. Did you
know that in the book of Job (1:6-12), Satan, meaning “accuser,” that’s what
the word means, is actually on Yahweh’s payroll? He’s in the court of Yahweh in
heaven. He’s an adversary, an adversary who actually moves the plotline along,
oddly enough (think about that for a while).
In Scripture, there’s never any question who is ultimately in charge,
who rules, who has power. Also, the
devil doesn’t always tell the truth. When the devil says to Jesus, referring to
the kingdoms of the world, “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,”
(Luke 4:7), some claim that the world has been given over to the devil to
rule. But why assume the devil is
telling the truth here? Why would the devil tell the truth? Does the world belong to him? The testing serves a larger purpose.
So why, then,
does the Holy Spirit send Jesus to be tested in this extreme struggle of mind,
body, and spirit? And what does this
mean for you and me? Identity and
idolatry. What’s at stake here both for Jesus
and for us is the crucial question of identity and the perennial threat of
idolatry.
Identity. The first and third tests from the devil have
to do with the question of identity. “If
you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself
down from [the pinnacle of the temple].” Some scholars believe that the three
temptations echo the three worse temptations in the Greco-Roman world, that we
are tempted by the love of pleasure, the love of possessions, the love of
glory. There is a parallel of sorts, I
guess. But it’s easy for any or all of
us, whether we’re persons of faith or not, to be ruined by a love of pleasure
or possessions or glory. You don’t have to be a religious person to be tempted
by the love of pleasure, the love of possessions, or the love of glory.
There’s more
here. It’s the phrase, “If you are the Son of God,…”
that is the real cause for concern, because it sows the seeds of doubt. The critical question for Jesus was not
whether or not he wanted bread, but who he was, really, and how was he going to
live faithfully with that identity.
It’s
the identity question that directly links us back to Jesus’ baptism and through
his to ours. Who are you? Really?
Who are you? Baptism answered this
question for Jesus, as it does for us. This
is another example of baptism understood less as incorporation into the church
than of rite of identification; it’s about identity: that we are
children of God by grace. That’s who
we are, right? That’s what our baptism
claims, doesn’t it? If so, then that
makes you a son of God; that makes you a daughter of God. But do you really believe it? Or, do you wear
this identity lightly? Question it? What does it really mean for you? We might believe it in our heads,
intellectually, but do we really feel it in our bones, in our bodies? Does that
knowledge permeate through the core
of your being? Or are you plagued by
seeds of self-doubt, “If….” Each
response Jesus gives to the devil is rooted in his affirmation of who he is and
his decision to respond faithfully to God.
The
second test is often associated with temptation of glory, but it really has to
do with worship. This is the critical issue here. As children of God, who are we going to
worship? What are we going to
worship? What is worthy of our time and honor
and devotion? When the issue of worship
is front and center the threat of idolatry is always close at hand. When we forget who we are as children of God, it’s easy for us to be lured away by false gods, to fall prey to gods that are
not gods. We might think idolatry is an antiquated, quaint notion that we don’t
have to worry about any longer. It’s not
a threat to us because we don’t have statues and don’t bow down to graven
images in our churches (although we have a cross in the sanctuary). We believe
in God, we’re here to worship him on a Sunday morning, aren’t we?
The
Reformed theologian John Calvin (1509-1564) said the human mind is a factory of
idols. He was right. We always create images or things or personas to worship
(often not worthy of our devotion or time or money). Look at our fascination with shows such as American Idol or our enthrallment with
celebrities or the Baltimore mania/adoration – dare I say, idolatrous obsession
with the Ravens. This is not to judge,
but simply to observe (as a Ravens fan).
The reason idols
were considered dangerous in the Hebrew (and later Christian) scriptures was
because the Israelites knew that we are
always at risk of becoming what we worship.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), that wise American, made a similar
point: “That which dominates our
imaginations and our thoughts will determine our life and our character. Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what
we worship, for what we are worshipping we are becoming.”
It’s
easy to assume: I believe in God and
worship God therefore I don’t have to worry about idols. But let’s reframe this, change the language
slightly: “each of us believes in, wagers
on, and trusts in a god or deity, meaning…an all-orienting and all-dominating prime value, something or someone
whereby all else ultimately matters, and to which or to whom all the rest is
related.”[4] One
contemporary scholar has summed up idolatry this way: “Tell me which prime value dominates your
thoughts, your actions, your life in fact (perhaps unconsciously), and I will
tell you what is the concrete name of your god and what is the color of your
real religion, even if sociologically you belong to another.”[5] This is a deep struggle we all wrestle with,
including me, if we’re honest.
Jesus quotes
scripture saying we are to “Worship the LORD [our] God and serve only
him.” It’s the word “only” that makes us
start to sweat, squiggle, and squirm. Only.
What are we as a society worshipping?
Success? Freedom? Wealth? Tradition?
Power? Safety? Violence? It seems
to me this might be a helpful context for the church to talk about guns and gun
violence and the need for gun control. What are we worshipping? What are we becoming?[6]
In the wilderness, Jesus affirmed the “prime value,” invested his life in it, and allowed it to “fund”
the rest of his life. He discovered this
in the wilderness. That’s where the
journey really began for him. Knowing who he was, completely devoted and
dedicated to God, worshiping God alone, were the gifts he received from his
time in the wilderness, insights he probably would not have discovered
elsewhere. I’m not sure why it takes a
wilderness for us to discover these things, but I know it’s often required.
Perhaps when we’re away from the wilderness we’re easily distracted, tempted,
we forget who we are and whose we are, our value systems get skewed, and we
forget what matters most. That’s why we need these places. It’s where the journey begins again and again
for us. So don’t be surprised if the Holy Spirit leads you there or maybe
you’re already there. Just remember, the Holy Spirit leads us there in love –
always in love – and in love the Spirit will lead us through it.
[1] Cited in Belden
C. Lane, The Solace of Fierce
Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain
Spirituality (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1998), 23
[2] The early
Desert Father Avagrius of Pontus said, “Desert apatheia has a daughter whose name is love.” Cited by Lane, 186.
[3] Cf. the
quotation from the worship bulletin: “It
is a commonplace of all religious thought, even the most primitive, that the man
seeking visions and insight must go apart from his fellows and love for a time
in the wilderness.” Loren Eiseley
(1907-1977).
[4] James E. Atwood, America and Its Guns: A Theological Exposé,
Foreword by Walter Brueggemann (Cascade Books, 2012), 23. Emphasis added.
[5] H. E. Mertens
in R. Burggraeve and J. De Tavernier, Desirable
God? Our Fascination with Images, Idols, and New Deities (Peeters
Publishing, 2004), 38, cited in Atwood, 23.
[6] I try to
address the gun control issue within the context of religion, idolatry, and
violence, here: http://catonsville.patch.com/blog_posts/praise-the-lordpass-the-ammunition.
No comments:
Post a Comment