Communion Meditation: Don’t Tempt Me! Luke 4: 1-3 February 25, 2007

As I’ve shared with you before, I spent my formative years in a largely Roman Catholic neighborhood – much like this one – in Clifton, New Jersey. Most of my friends went to St. Paul’s, the big Catholic church in town, and for the most part my classmates at School Twelve – we Cliftonites don’t believe in having clever names for our schools; there are seventeen public elementary schools in town and their names are still School One, School Two, School Three…and so forth – anyway, my friends were mostly members of St. Paul’s parish, even if they didn’t attend the Parochial school.

So, this time of year, ashes would show up on foreheads and meatless lunches would show up in the school cafeteria every day – as opposed to just on Fridays the rest of the year. In addition to observing the Church’s ban on meat, which was relaxed by Pope Paul, by the way, in 1966, my friends would always give up other things for Lent. Candy was a favorite. Coca Cola was another. It was always something you liked. Not me. Just to annoy my friends, I would always give up brussel sprouts.

For me, and for my family of origin, Lent was pretty much a spectator sport. And when I look back, my attitude toward Lent, at that point in my life, was unfortunate. Over the years, I’ve learned to appreciate this holy season, for a whole host of reasons, but mostly because it calls us to sacrifice and prayer.

Originally, Lent was a season of baptismal preparation. It was the culmination of a three-year period of instruction and discipline for new converts. Now there’s an inquirer’s class for you.

And the final days before baptism were marked with a fast, a fast that other members, even whole congregations, were invited to join in order to renew their own baptismal vows come Easter sunrise.

Actually, if you look at our Easter Morning Liturgy, this is precisely what we Moravians do. We reaffirm our baptism on Easter just as the Church (with a capital C) has been doing for nearly two thousand years. Talk about being rooted in tradition!

And speaking of tradition, for as long as the Church has kept records, the temptation narrative we read a few minutes ago has been the Gospel reading for this Sunday, the first Sunday in Lent. It is this reading, with its reference to Jesus’ 40-day fast in the wilderness, that gives Lent its reference point and its 40-day duration.

To observe Lent, first and foremost, is to follow Jesus into the wilderness to pray, and, like Jesus, to confront the temptations that face us each day.

The Gospels’ description of that wilderness encounter is a familiar one. Listen to it once again.

Luke carefully sets the scene. Loaded with symbolic meaning, Jesus leaves the water of the Jordan River and, like Israel centuries before, enters the wilderness to pray. The forty day period can be seen as a symbol of the forty days Moses spent on Mount Sinai with God, the forty days and nights Elijah spent walking to Mt. Horeb, or the story of Noah where God makes it rain for forty days and forty nights. But most of all, it is symbolic of the Exodus. Of the forty years the Hebrew people wandered in the desert, traveling to the Promised Land.

During his 40-day fast, the devil addresses Jesus, attempting to tempt him.

Just to be clear, the significance of this passage has absolutely nothing to do with whether you think the devil is a human-like being or just a metaphor for the force of evil. When you hear the word “devil,” just let it point to whatever image works for you.

In Luke’s words, the devil tests Jesus three ways: "If you are the Son of God," he first says, “use your power to turn this stone into bread.” “One does not live by bread alone,” Jesus responds. Test one – passed.

Undaunted, the devil continues. In the second test, he offers Jesus an easy way to establish the kingdom - the power and glory of this age instead of the humility, suffering and death that by this time Jesus knows is his destiny. The devil is even willing to give up the authority he claimed to have over the inhabited world and turn it over to Jesus, but again Jesus refuses. Jesus chooses not to worship the devil, but rather to travel God's way to victory. Test two – passed.

The devil, however, is persistent. He proposes a third test. Jesus is again tempted to gain recognition by applying his miraculous powers. “If you are the Son of God,” the devil taunts, “jump off this high point of the temple and survive.” Jesus does not bite. “Don’t tempt me,” he tells the devil. Test three – passed; and this time the devil has no more tests to propose. Frustrated, he leaves.

Jesus faced the full range of temptations, and refuses to yield. During Lent, you and I are invited to do the same. Jesus refuses to be tempted by power, security, and recognition. Any of these might have satisfied him temporarily. Submitting, however, would have deterred him from his real purpose in life. Jesus chooses mission. Jesus chooses to follow God.

The same choice confronts each of us as individuals, confronts us as a congregation; and indeed, confronts the entire Church in the world today. Will we yield to temptation or will we choose God? Will we embrace our call and be embraced by it? Will we hear and listen to God's Spirit at work in us?

This is one of those questions that is easy to answer and hard to implement. Temptation, after all, is a permanent part of the human experience. And if temptations were not difficult to resist, they wouldn’t be temptations.

Barbara Brown Taylor thinks of our temptations as addictions: “I am convinced,” she writes, “that 99 percent of us are addicted to something, whether it is eating, shopping, blaming or taking care of other people.” “The simplest definition of an addiction,” she goes on to say “is anything we use to fill the empty place inside of us that belongs to God alone. Whenever we start feeling too empty inside, we stick our pacifiers into our mouths and suck for all we are worth. They do not nourish us, but at least they plug the hole.”

Sound familiar? It sure does to me.

Taylor proposes that for Lent, we choose to leave one of those addictions behind. “Nothing is too small to give up,” she suggests. “Even a chocolate bar will do. For 40 days, simply pay attention to how often your mind travels in that direction. Ask yourself why it happens when it happens. What is going on when you start craving that chocolate bar? Are you lonely? What is so bad about being alone? Try sitting with the feeling instead of fixing it and see what you find out.”

“Chances are,” she concludes, “you will hear a voice in your head that keeps warning you what will happen if you give up your pacifier. If you do not know whom that voice belongs to, read Luke’s story again. Then tell the devil to get lost.”

Lent reminds us that we have a choice. We can yield to the temptations that plug up that hole in our soul that longs to follow God, or, when the temptation arises, we can follow Jesus’ example and shout “Don’t tempt me!” to the devil and instead, choose mission.

Fortunately, we are not alone when faced with this choice. We face it together as a community of faith and we face it with the knowledge that The Holy Spirit leads, directs, guides, strengthens and renews us.

So, brothers and sisters, as we gather around this table this morning and receive the sacrament of Holy Communion, may we not be distracted by temptation, but rather remember that Jesus chose sacrifice over satisfaction, eternal glory over temporary fame.

And as we hear the words “this is my body, broken for you,” and “this is my blood, shed for you,” may we fill the space in our life with God and, with Jesus, embrace our mission. Confident that the devil, as he did in the Galilean wilderness, will surely give up and walk away.

AMEN