I begin today with a story about a clergyman who was walking down the street one day when he saw a group of about a dozen boys surrounding a rather nice-looking brown dog that was standing in the center of their circle.  Concerned that the boys might be teasing or tormenting the dog, the clergyman walked over, and asked what they were doing.

            One of the older boys said, “Oh, this is just an old neighborhood stray dog who’s been around here forever … but he’s really nice, and we all want him, but only one of us can take him home.  So we’ve decided we’re going to have a contest, and whoever can tell the biggest lie gets to take the dog home.”

            Well, the clergyman was shocked that they would take the practice of lying so lightly – and he proceeded to launch into a 10-minute sermon to tell them exactly why!  He started out with, “Don’t you boys know it’s a sin to lie,” and after a whole lot of preaching, finally ended with, “Why, when I was your age, I never told a lie.”

            Well, the whole group fell silent for about a minute, and the boys all looked at each other, shuffling their feet, and the clergyman was feeling pretty good, because he felt he’d really gotten through to them.  Finally, the youngest boy in the group looked at the other boys, and then at the clergyman, and gave a deep sigh, and said, “All right, give him the dog.”

            This is a funny joke, and we all “get” why it’s funny – that obviously the clergyman was telling as big a whopper as he was concerned about the boys telling … but it also captures a deeper truth about human beings.  It is so easy for us to see the shortcomings in others – to see their wrongdoings – but in ourselves, “not so much.”

            Our very understandings of what constitutes a shortcoming – or a wrongdoing – have changed considerably over time.  Lying was once considered a very serious sin; as was theft (even of the smallest thing); as was using profane language … today, again, “not so much.”  If we turn to the language of Lent, our understandings of “sin” – and its cousin, “temptation” – are not what they used to be. 

            As a culture, we have re-defined so many things – so many values, so many mores, so many understandings of human relationships – that we may think, in fact, that “sin” – and “temptation” – are concepts that are utterly outmoded, concepts no longer relevant at all to the way we live.  And yet, today’s story from Matthew’s Gospel suggests that is not true at all.  Because those temptations that Jesus struggles with in the story are just as real – just as relevant – just as challenging – for us today as they were for him 2,000 years ago.

            In Matthew’s version of this story, Jesus has just been baptized.  You may remember that while he was standing there in the waters of the Jordan, his cousin John’s hand on his head, the crowd that was there saw a dove – a symbol for the Holy Spirit – descend on Jesus, and heard a voice (that appears to be the voice of God) saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved.” 

            Jesus has just been claimed as God’s very own son, and is just about to embark on his ministry of teaching and preaching and healing.  Life is good.  All is well.  His faith is certainly intact – perhaps even perfectly so.  And then, if you will pardon the expression, all hell breaks loose.

In Matthew’s version of the story, Jesus is led by the Holy Spirit (isn’t that interesting!)

out into the wilderness – a dangerous and frightening and threatening place … where Satan shows up live and in person.  And being Satan, a/ka/ The Tempter, he immediately begins to prey on Jesus’ weaknesses – which are the same kinds of weaknesses that we have.

            First, the story says that in preparation for this wilderness trip Jesus has (in the best tradition of his Jewish faith) prepared himself by fasting for 40 days and 40 nights.  And so, by the time he reaches mid-desert, and Satan shows up, Jesus is so empty he is beyond hunger … he is “famished.”

It’s a word that most of us can’t begin to understand – yes, we may get hungry around supper-time, or want a snack in mid-afternoon, but very few of us sitting here have ever been so desperately hungry that our insides feel like they’re acid-burned and raw, and convulsing, and cramping agonizingly, so hungry that every cell in our body is screaming for food.  But Satan understands it.  And Jesus understands it.  If he doesn’t get something to eat soon, he will die.

So Satan picks up a stone from the desert floor, and holds it in front of Jesus’ eyes, and says, “okay, if you really are the Son of God, all you have to do is speak the magic word and you can turn this stone into bread.”  Just think – could there be anything better right now than a nice, warm crispy hot loaf of bread to eat?

            Try to imagine how truly tempting that would have been.  Jesus is about to die of hunger.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad – just this once – to use the special power he’s been given and take care of his own needs.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad – just this once – to focus on his physical needs, even at the cost of his spiritual well-being – his obedience to God, his ability to trust in God.  I mean, how useful can he possibly be to God if he’s dead in the desert? 

            And we understand that.  We have needs – very real needs.  And it’s really tempting to get those needs met, right here and right now, regardless of what it might cost.  Perhaps – just this once – we could skip our visit to the sick, homebound person we promised to go see, so we can get in a quick trip to the health-club, because we really need a swim … Perhaps – just this once – we could forget about paying our pledge to the church, because we really need a new sofa … Perhaps – just this once – we could flirt with that attractive person we’ve just met, even though it would break our life-partner’s heart if he or she knew because we really need to feel better about ourselves.  The culture we live in tells us in a thousand ways that we deserve to have our needs met – whatever those needs may be – and we deserve to have them met immediately (we call that “instant gratification”).

            But what does Jesus model for us?  He tells the Tempter – and tells us – that what matters most in life is not getting our physical needs met, but meeting our spiritual needs.  Yes, he says, we do have physical needs – but our most important is to be in loving relationship with our God.

            So Satan moves on to a second test.  Okay, if Jesus is going to head out on the preaching ministry, maybe turning stones into bread isn’t a big enough feat to really “wow” the future crowds anyway … so, how about this one instead:  Satan takes Jesus to the very top of the highest pinnacle on top of the holy Temple in Jerusalem – a building that was one of the largest, tallest buildings in the whole known world at that time.  Try to imagine, in our world, standing at the top of the Sears Tower in Chicago … or the Empire State Building in New York…or the Eiffel Tower.

And looking down from this immense height, Satan says, “Okay, Jesus – you want to wow everyone with your power?  Just step off this roof.  Make like Superman – but without the cape.  After all, Scripture says that God has special angels guarding you – if you really are who you say you are, then they’ll protect you, and you won’t even stub your toe when you land.”  Prove how good you really are.  Prove how special you really are.  That will guarantee that everyone will listen to you!

            Now, that has to have been tempting.  Jesus is sick – weak – almost unto death.  He’s being called to begin a ministry that he knows is likely, eventually, to cost him his very life.  Wouldn’t it have been great to just go ahead and prove that he really was special?  Wouldn’t that show everyone, right off the bat, who he really is, how important he really is?

            Now, that scenario on top of the Temple may be a little bit of a stretch for us, but is the temptation all that far-fetched?  Don’t we have others tempt us the same way?  Prove that you’re really as good – or as successful – or as (you fill in the blank) as you say you are.  Prove that you’re really a good mother – or daughter – or sister – or spouse – or son – give up everything to take care of that other person; sacrifice all of your needs to theirs, destroy your own health or your marriage or your finances taking care of someone else’s needs  – that’ll show everyone you’re really good!  Or, prove that you’re really as smart – or as talented – as you want us to believe – earn a Ph.D., make a fortune in the stock market, retire by the time you’re 30, earn success after success, no matter what you have to do, or who you have to step on to do it – that’ll show everyone how wonderful you are!  Do any of us believe that anyone – even God – really loves us as we are – or are we being tempted continually to prove our worth and our value?

            Yet Jesus’ answer again, is simple:  You don’t have to test God.  You are loved.  You are worthwhile.  You don’t have to do anything to prove it.

            Having failed again to get Jesus to do what he wants, the Tempter finally takes Jesus to one more high place – to the “peak of a huge mountain.”  Imagine, if you will, standing on the top of Mount Elbert, or Long’s Peak, or Mt. McKinley, or Mt. Everest.

From the high peak that Jesus stands on, he can see all the power-centers in the world … perhaps he sees Rome, the very heart of the mighty Roman empire … or Thessalonica, the twinkling jewel city on the coast of the Aegean Sea, that was the heart of the Macedonian empire … or Damascus, the opulent metropolis that was the capital of Syria.  Today, standing on our imaginary high place, we might see cities like New York – or London – or Paris … or we might see other power-centers like the U.S. White House … the Pentagon … the U.S. Bank Building in Los Angeles … the British Parliament building … or the Kremlin.

            And as Jesus stands and looks, Satan says “Jesus, you can have it all … every possible kind of economic and political and secular power … you can rule every kingdom on earth, do anything to anyone that you want to, have anything you ever want … all you have to do is worship me, instead of God.”  How could Jesus possibly turn that down?  I mean, could his faith – could God, for that matter – really be all that important, compared to what he was being offered? 

            Now, I don’t know about you, but no-one has recently offered me the option of becoming the President of the United States, or the Queen of England … so I’ve never had to make an agonizing choice about whether to sell out what I really believe, what I really value, in order to have some real power in the world.  But I certainly am tempted from time to time – as every one of you are – to want power or control over other people in my ordinary, day-to-day life.

            Maybe it’s a little thing – like having the power to get our bank to send us our statement on time, and have it be correct.  Or maybe it’s wanting to only have people we like and know and agree with elected to the City Council … or to serve on a church Board … or to lead our national government.  I’ll freely admit that last Tuesday night, as I attended our political caucus in Fruita, I really wanted to be able to convince the other people there to support the candidate I think should win the Presidential nomination.  Or maybe we want to control the decisions our children make – or that our grandchildren make – or that our parents make.  We want them to choose a “better” life-partner than the one they’ve chosen; or to pursue a career that we think will be better for them; or to travel more if they’re staying at home too much, or not to travel if we think they shouldn’t be driving any more.  And I think if we’re totally honest, there are times – maybe a lot of times – when we believe that if we were in charge – of the city council, of the school system, of the country, of our church – that we could and would do things a whole lot better than the folks who are currently in charge.

            Power is just as much a temptation for us as it was for Jesus.  And it’s incredibly hard for us to say – and really believe – what Jesus says:  “Let go … and trust God.”

No, my friends, the temptations are not just a vocal group that some of us remember from the 1970s.  They’re alive and well.  They occurred over and over for Jesus, during his life and ministry.  And they occur over and over for us.  And part of our faith call – and our faith journey – is to struggle with them as honestly as we can.

            I invite you, during this Lenten season, to reflect on what tempts you – is it “stuff…” is it trying to “prove yourself” … is it power … or is it something else?  And I invite you to reflect – honestly (remember, it’s Lent) – on which temptations you most often succumb to, and which are easier to say “no” to.  And I invite all of us to reflect on how – like our Christ – we can deepen our relationship with our God, so that we too – tempted though we may be – can trust … can obey … can follow … where God leads us.  Amen.