The temptations of Jesus
Very often these days, it seems that the principal task of the church is to prove something: to prove that there is a God; to prove that Jesus is God’s Son; to prove that there’s any good reason to be part of the church. It often feels to me like what we mostly have to do here is prove it.
At the beginning of Lent, there is an added burden of proof: to prove that Lent matters, and that anyone should pay attention to this change in the church’s calendar, and to the change in our attitudes that it is supposed to usher in.
The burden of proving that Lent matters implies all kinds of other proofs that might need to be supplied: proof that sin matters; proof that we are all sinners; proof that Jesus can do something about it. You can take all this apart and put it back together again in a lot of different ways; but no matter how you look at it, there’s a lot to prove in a world that is often dubious, to put it mildly.
Mind you, no one has actually said this to me. No one has challenged me to prove any of this. I am just telling you that this is how I often feel. It’s not so much those of you who fill these pews, as it is all the people who aren’t here, who seem to be challenging me (challenging us) to prove it. No, it’s not you. It’s the empty seat beside you that is an affront to me, and that feels, so often, like a challenge to prove something. The temptation to try to do just that - to try to prove it all - is sometimes pretty strong. And I sometimes feel as though maybe I could do it, if I was a good enough preacher; maybe I could prove the faith of the church in some compelling way. Yes, I sometimes feel that not to do so, or to do anything but prove it, must be a failure.
As Jesus set out on the beginning of his ministry, the way having been prepared by John the Baptist, I imagine that, whatever else he thought about what he had to do, he must have thought that he was going to have a lot to prove. He was going to have to prove who he is. He was going to have to prove that what he had to say and to do mattered to people, and that it mattered to God. He was going to have to prove that people should follow him. Yes, he had a lot to prove.
By way of preparation, Jesus was driven by the Spirit into the wilderness to fast, and then to be tempted by the devil. Interestingly, the devil has a singular approach to his temptation: he approach is to demand that Jesus prove himself. All three of the devil’s temptations include an “if.” And in all three cases, that “if” amounts to a challenge to Jesus to prove it.
“If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves....”
“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down....”
“I will give you [all the kingdoms of the world] if you will fall down and worship me.”
This last try turns the “if” on its head by demanding a negative proof - Jesus can prove who he is by not giving in to the “if” - but it amounts to a proof all the same.
And of course, what happens is that Jesus refuses to prove anything. Like so much else that Jesus does, this refusal to prove it is frustrating to us, because, if we are honest with ourselves, we probably would have liked Jesus to give in at least to the first two challenges, and maybe even the last. It’s not so much that we would like to see Jesus turning stones into bread, or being rescued by angels, or even taking his seat at the head of all the nations. Rather, we would like to have some proof for ourselves, in our files, so that when times get tough, when our own faith is weak, and when they world seems dubious about the lordship of Christ, we could pull out the old proofs and remind ourselves and everybody else who’s who and what’s what, beyond the shadow of a doubt.
Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t it be just great if Jesus would prove it all? But to our frustration, we show up in church on the First Sunday in Lent, and Jesus announces that he has nothing to prove. Of course, it is often the case that those on the side of truth, in fact, have nothing to prove. The truth speaks for itself.
Since Lent is mostly defined by its disciplines, expressed neatly in the idea of giving something up, it can feel as though this is a season that is custom-made for us to prove something: that we are faithful enough, pious enough, strong enough to be good Christians, to follow Jesus, or at least to keep our own rules. But if we hear Jesus refusing to prove himself, maybe we should hear that as a word of encouragement that you and I don’t have to prove anything much to Jesus, either. After all, the basis of our faith in the living God is grace - that is, our faith is a gift given to us that helps us see that all of life is a gift given to us, and that nothing we have isn’t part of that gift, that grace. How do we prove that?
How do you prove that grace and love have been poured into your life? How do you prove that something beautiful has been shot right through you and has made your chest pound and the top of your head tingle? How do you prove that you have been washed inside? How do you prove that a little wafer of bread and a sip of wine is the most important meal of the day? How do you prove that you belong to Jesus?
When Jesus left the wilderness, having resisted the temptations of the devil to prove himself, he started to go through Galilee and to call his disciples. He didn’t ask them to prove themselves either. He only asked them to come with him, to follow him, to walk with him. He had been famished in the wilderness, and it seems clear that one of the things Jesus expected of those who followed him was that they would be hungry with him from time to time. And, of course, he showed them that in him, they would find food for their hunger.
I don’t suppose it’s really any different for us. I’m not sure Jesus expects us to prove anything at all to him. He already knows that we are sinners - that’s something we have to learn for our own sakes, not for his.
Maybe as Lent begins, Jesus wants us to hear that he has nothing to prove, and maybe he wants us to know that we don’t have anything to prove either. Maybe Jesus just wants us to walk with him, and to be hungry with him, so that in time we can eat, and be satisfied.
Whatever you do this Lent. - and I hope you will do something to use this time for your spiritual nourishment - maybe at the outset, you can let go of the thought that you have anything to prove in keeping a holy Lent. If you give something up, do it because you know it’s good for you, and it will help you realize how much you have in life. If you take something on, do it because you know it’s good for you, and you also know that you have room to grow.
If you can, find a way to account for your sins, and repent for them. Make your confession, not because you have anything to prove, but because you don’t have anything to prove, and that’s when you can be most honest.
Find a way to walk with Jesus this Lent. Find a way to be hungry with him. Let yourself be famished. You have nothing to prove; and Jesus will feed you.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
1 March 2020
Saint Mark’s, Locust Street, Philadelphia