“A Temptation Shadow”
Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16; Romans 10:8b-13; Luke 4:1-13
February 25, 2007 – First Sunday in Lent

David A. Kaden

Perhaps the best way to connect ourselves to this story in Luke 4 is via art:  paint and canvass and pictures; because artists have a knack for portraying biblical narratives, some of which are rather bizarre, in concrete images.  Artists help us answer questions like:  what does Satan, or the Devil, look like?  In Rembrandt’s version of this narrative, Satan is depicted as a mere sketch of a person—a silhouette.  Other artists throughout church history have portrayed the Devil variously as a shadow, or a darker version of Jesus, or a bat-like creature…one artist hauntingly painted him as a small child, whispering the temptations into the ear of Jesus.

Artistic imagination of this sort contributes to the bizarreness of the narrative before us, reminding us that when we read this text we are reading a story that fits…into the literary category of myth:  the story may not be factually true, but certainly it is religiously and morally true—true for all time.

It’s important to remember, of course, that just because we have doubts or questions about some of the elements of this story, doesn’t automatically mean the narrative didn’t happen; Luke seems to believe that it did.  For myself, I remain agnostic about the historicity of this text:  it may have happened, it may not have happened in the way Luke describes.  Nevertheless, this narrative contains truth for us; and it’s that moral truth, buried in the text, which we’re hunting for this morning—truth which one artist, William Blake, can help us draw out of the story.

Blake painted a picture of this narrative which he entitled, ‘Satan Tempting Christ with the Kingdoms of the World.’  In Blake’s painting, the Devil is depicted with bulging muscles, a flowing white beard that gently rests on his chest, and a dark halo floating above his head.  Satan is not standing on anything, but hovering in mid-air, his left hand extended upward—gesturing as he makes his offer to Jesus in exchange for worship.  His right hand points downward toward the world’s kingdoms, which are wreathed in enticing gold color.

And yet, there’s a dark side to Satan’s proposal in this painting.  As brilliant as the Kingdoms appear, their shining brightness is outlined in black shadow; as if to say…this offer is tainted.  And though Satan himself is bright and muscular, there is something about him, as he’s depicted, that is repulsive; his brightness is, sort of, veiled in shadow—his true nature seems disguised.

Jesus, on the other hand, stands firmly on solid rock.  His clothes and his face beam with light.  His halo, unlike Satan’s, is angelic and immaculate.  He, too, gestures with his hands:  one pointing downward toward the world with its kingdoms and empires, and the other pointing upward toward God, as if to say:  I must choose. 

The choice Jesus would make while famished in the wilderness would determine his identity.  Who he was would be discovered in what he would do, as he began a journey from the wilderness to the city of Jerusalem.

Some people think Jesus was in the wilderness those forty days, wrestling with his identity and vocation:  Who am I?  What is God calling me to do?  Scholar Tom Wright, in an article entitled, ‘Jesus’ Self-Understanding’, answers the question of who did Jesus think he was by saying, ‘[Jesus must have wrestled both with] passionate and firm convictions and with the knowledge that he could be making a terrible, lunatic mistake [in his ministry].’

We don’t often place the words ‘Jesus’ and ‘self-doubt’ in the same sentence.  We may not even feel comfortable making this suggestion.  Yet, self-doubt seems to be what the Devil is exploiting in this exchange with Jesus.  The first thing Satan does in the wilderness is to raise a doubt about Jesus’ identity, saying, ‘if you are the Son of God then prove it by turning this stone into bread.’  Wave your hand, reveal your power, perform a miracle, eat the bread, assuage the hunger.  The choice Jesus would make would determine his identity.  Would he deny himself and his needs in obedience to God, or give in to his raging hunger, and eat the bread?

‘If you are the Son of God,’ Satan continues, ‘then prove it by grabbing power in the way Empires do—be a political King.  Prove to everyone and yourself that you are indeed God’s Son and Messiah.’  Be the Messiah—the King—the crowds want you to be.  Seize power—use force.  His choice would determine his identity.  What kind of King was God calling him to be?

The Devil concludes with one final temptation:  ‘if you are the Son of God prove it by throwing yourself down in front of the whole city of Jerusalem.  Let everyone see God save you, then no one will question who you are.’  His choice would determine his identity.  Would he trust God, or not?

With one arm pointed toward the world and the other pointing toward God, as in Blake’s painting, I can imagine Jesus wrestling with his identity.  Would he be what others wanted him to be?  A political King; a military warrior; a conduit for God to destroy Rome?  Would he satisfy people’s expectations, or would he walk the path God laid out before him?  A path of self-sacrifice, with crucifixion as its ignominious goal.

One German scholar following the psychoanalytic research of Carl Jung has suggested that this entire exchange between Satan (so called) and Jesus may have occurred in Jesus’ mind.  Perhaps Jesus was wrestling with the shadow-side of human existence:  the self-doubt, the questioning, the lack of self-confidence characteristic of humanness.

Struggling with identity is something each of us has experienced.  We all remember being teenagers, or flunking our first exam, or getting that letter of rejection from the school we desperately wanted to get into, or missing a crucial deadline at work.

Some psychologists have located the source of our self-doubts and insecurities in how we answer one question.  Am I good enough?  Do I meet people’s expectations of me?  Am I a success or a failure?  Am I good enough as a mom or dad?  Am I good enough to meet my parents’ expectations?  Am I good enough to meet the expectations of my co-workers, my teachers, my students?  Am I a good enough leader, or spouse, sibling?  Am I good enough in my vocation—my career?  Have I achieved success?  Do people respect the work I’ve done?  Am I good enough?

A newly promoted Army Colonel moved into his big and impressive office.  As he sat behind his new, much larger desk, reclining in the comfortable chair, basking in the success he’d achieved, a private knocked at his door.  ‘Just a minute,’ he barked.  ‘I’m on the phone.’  He picked up the receiver and said loudly, ‘Yes, sir, General, I’ll call the President this afternoon.  No, sir, I won’t forget.’  Then he hung up the phone and told the private to come in.  ‘What can I help you with, son?’  the Colonel asked.  ‘Well, sir,’ the private replied, ‘I’ve come to hook up your phone.’

Self-identity:  am I good enough?  This is something we struggle with.  One psychologist wrote, ‘we are not what we are.  We are not even what others think we are.  We are what we think others think we are.’  In other words, we let our self-identity be determined by what we think others think of us.

A young pastor was preaching his first sermon to a live congregation—he’d preached to his classmates in seminary preaching class before—but this sermon was to be the real thing.  As he started speaking, he noticed some people were glancing at their watches.  Another person was doodling on the bulletin in her lap.  Others appeared to be daydreaming with glazed looks on their faces. 

The young preacher began to get anxious—interpreting the body language of the congregation negatively.  As he continued preaching, he worried in the back of his mind that his sermon was running too long.  ‘That’s why they keep glancing at their watches,’ he thought.  Not knowing that in a congregation of 100-200 people, at any given moment, between 1 and 3 of them will glance at their watches.  In a time-conscious culture it’s quite natural—had nothing to do with his sermon. 

As he preached, he worried that his sermon was boring.  ‘That’s why I’m getting blank stares,’ he concluded.  Not knowing that of the three people with far-away looks, two were thinking about poor family situations, and the other was worrying about her teenaged daughter.  And all three of them began thinking about their families, as a result of being impacted by something he had said during his sermon.

Nevertheless, that experience was a negative one for the young preacher.  His insecurity and self-doubt was a product of his own runaway thoughts—what he thought others were thinking of him.

There’s a saying which puts in perspective our worry about self-identity:  At age twenty, we worry about what people think about us.             At forty, we don’t care what people think about us.  At sixty, we find out that people haven’t been thinking about us as much as we thought.

Yet, when we wrestle with insecurity and self-doubt, it’s good to ask:  how can our faith help?

Lent is an appropriate time of year to ask this sort of question.  Lent is a time of self-reflection.  It’s a time to reconnect with God—to reconnect with what theologian Paul Tillich called the Ground of Being—that which is beyond and greater than us; taking our eyes off ourselves and our fears and worries about being good enough.

Lent is a journey which lasts forty days from Ash Wednesday to Good Friday, mirroring the forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness.  During this time of year, clergy stoles are violet to symbolize penance, repentance from sin, and fasting.  Like in the other great monotheistic traditions—Ramadan for Muslims, Yom Kippur for Jews, Lent is a time for Christians to re-evaluate their lives.  Who are we?  What’s most important in life?  How does our faith help us?

To answer these questions, we take our cue from Jesus in Luke chapter 4.  Notice in the narrative that he never resorts to the miraculous to escape the temptations.  He performs no miracles in this entire narrative!  In fact, Satan is the one who does the extraordinary!

Rather, Jesus replies to each temptation—each prick of the pin of self-doubt—by returning to his roots as a Jew.  He goes back into his great religious heritage for strength and stability.  In response to each temptation, he quotes from the Torah—the Bible:  ‘it is written’; ‘it is written’; ‘it is said.’

Likewise for us, when insecurities or self-doubts cripple us, or weigh us down, returning to our spiritual heritage as Christians can be inspirational and uplifting.  In Celtic Christianity these uplifting and inspirational places are referred to as ‘thin places’—places where God’s refreshing presence can be felt.

Sunday worship can be a ‘thin place’.  Hymn singing, playing or listening to music; these can be ‘thin places’.  Some may find a ‘thin place’ on a hike, or at this time of year, skiing.  Enjoying God’s creation can be a thin place:  theologian Martin Buber tells the story of a Rabbi who would go daily to a pond to ‘learn the song with which the frogs praise God.’  And of course, prayer and Bible reading can create a ‘thin place’.

I invite you during Lent, as we walk with Jesus from the wilderness to the city of Jerusalem, to avail yourself of the spiritual disciplines.  Bible reading and prayer is a simple place to start; just 10 minutes a day.  Read a few verses of scripture, and pray through them.  Invite God’s Spirit to join you.  And then, be amazed as the doctor, lawyer, or scientist in you; the student or the teacher; the musician or the historian; the business person in you, is met with a word from God that is exactly what you needed.

AMEN