As I think most of you know I am a big fan of the lectionary, that three-year cycle of readings that determine our Sunday texts. But the first Sunday of Lent is one of the times when I really disagree with the lectionary selection, and here’s why. First, this story from Luke four falls totally out of order from the texts we’ve been reading. We started in Advent with the stories before Jesus’ birth, and that made sense for Advent. On Christmas Eve, we read about the night Jesus was born, also logical. On the day we celebrate Jesus’ Baptism, we read Luke 3, about Jesus’ baptism. Then through Epiphany, we read about his ministry in Galilee. Last week, the last Sunday of Epiphany, was the Sunday that marks the transition between Epiphany and Lent, a day we refer to as Transfiguration Sunday. And, appropriately, on this transition Sunday, we read the story that marked the transition between Jesus’ Galilean ministry and his journey to the cross, the transfiguration of Jesus. Throughout the next four weeks of Lent, we will read about Jesus teachings in Jerusalem as his crucifixion drew nearer. In Holy Week, we’ll read about those final events leading to his death. On Easter, we’ll read of the resurrection. And then in the Sundays following Easter, we’ll read about Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances to his disciples and we’ll also read stories from Acts, about how the church developed after Jesus ascended into heaven. The whole first six months of the church year falls nicely into a logical chronological order of the events of Jesus life, death, and ministry. All except this Sunday. Where we randomly jump from the transfiguration to before even the beginning of his Galilean ministry. This isn’t where we are in the story.
I understand why the lectionary committee set it up this way. We are on the first Sunday of our forty day journey through Lent, so it makes sense to read a story about a time when Jesus went on a forty day journey in the wilderness. The lectionary committee is trying to frame the season of Lent, to give some context to where this forty-day period of the church year comes from. The problem I see with this is I think by starting with this story of Jesus victory over temptation in the wilderness, the lectionary committee sets us up with an overblown expectation of what this season is all about. By starting Lent with this reading about Jesus resisting temptations for forty days, in a season where we are encouraged to give things up and commit ourselves to spiritual disciples, it almost makes it seem like resisting temptation is the purpose of Lent. It becomes all to easy to frame the next forty days as a period of epic battle between the forces of good and evil, where every Facebook notice or piece of chocolate or swear word or whatever we have given up for Lent is a test placed in front of us by Satan himself, and our job is to, like Jesus, successfully resist all of these carefully placed temptations and prove that we, like Jesus, can stand strong against the forces of evil. And if we fail in our Lenten journey? If we give in to chocolate or swearing or not devoting time to prayer? Well, Jesus resisted way greater temptations than this and HE did it without any food and in the wilderness all alone, so we should at the least be able to go without Facebook.
Now there are a couple problems with this. The first, rather obvious, one is that we are not Jesus. Now, don’t get me wrong, using Jesus as a model for how to live our lives is a great strategy. The literal meaning of discipleship is to learn through imitation. So imitating Jesus, following Jesus, is great. The problem comes when we set the proof of our success in discipleship in actually becoming Jesus. Because, fully human though Jesus may have been, he still has a leg up on us in the fact that he is the Son of God. Imitating Jesus is one thing, being Jesus is another thing entirely. I don’t know about you, but the last time I tried to walk on water, I got very wet. If being Jesus is what we are striving for, we have set ourselves up to fail.
And I say “set ourselves up to fail” because I cannot believe that being Jesus is what God expects from us. I think all too often when we read this story and we think about temptation, even as we are reading “the devil,” we subconsciously place God in the role of the tempter, and make this story about God testing Jesus, testing us, to prove we are worthy of God’s love. You know that old saying about how God will never give you more than you can handle. The truth, brothers and sisters, is that statement is not actually scriptural. That statement is so often used to downplay real traumas in our lives as nothing more than a test God set before us because God knows we can handle it, and if we fail to do so it is a judgment on our faith, not God. But this is a story about the devil tempting Jesus. See God is just not in the business of pushing us to our limits to see just how much we can handle. God is in the business of being with us in the brokenness of the very limits of our lives, because God knows what it feels like to be hurt, to be broken, to be alone. This is a story about Jesus being hungry, lonely, hurting, so when we read this story we can know that when we are all of those things Jesus can relate to our pain because Jesus knows exactly what pain feels like.
But I think this story is about more even then that. Because Jesus does not so much resist the devil’s temptations as he refuses to engage them at all. I picture the devil as a carnie, pitchfork in grubby hand, greasy hair covered by a baseball cap pulled low around jutting horns, snaked tongue hissing through missing teeth, as he casually tries to entice Jesus to step right up, step right up, just knock over the pins, get the ball in the hoop, pop the balloon with a dart, and he can win the huge stuffed animal of wealth, fame, and fortune, knowing all the while that the pins are glued down, the hoop to small for the ball, the darts dull, the game is rigged, and there is no way for Jesus to win. And instead of proving his power by playing the game and winning, Jesus simply walks away. Because Jesus refused to even play the game, the rules of the game could not apply to him.
Brothers and sisters, the game is rigged. We can’t win, we won’t win. And the good news for us on this first Sunday of Lent is that doesn’t matter because we don’t have to play the game. Our worth is not dependent on our ability to beat the devil in his tricks, our worth is in the One who doesn’t play games. Jesus didn’t win; he didn’t play. In Jesus there are no winners and losers, there is just Jesus who came to set the whole world free.
And so, because of Jesus, the spiritual disciple of Lent is not about trying to be Jesus, it is about that root meaning of the word discipleship, it is about imitating Jesus. Here’s your nerdy Lutheran theological concept for the day, this is what Luther referred to as the third use of the law. See after the law has condemned us. After we’ve realized that the game is rigged, we can never win, and we will always fall short, we experience the radical transformative grace of God. We come to know that God never needed is to play the game in the first place, God loves us exactly as we are, exactly who we are. And when we’ve experienced that grace. When we come to know the unconditional love of God. Then the law becomes for us not a threat, but a guide. A helpful tool for shaping our lives. We can use the law like we use a cookbook, if we don’t have an ingredient, we can substitute something else. Like the law about what to do if your neighbor’s ox gets loose. If you don’t have an ox, you can still find in the intent of the law guidance about how to be a good neighbor. The law becomes not about trying to measure up to some impossibly high standard, but about helping us become better, stronger, happier versions of ourselves. Because in the end, better, stronger, and happier is what God wants for us.
So this season I invite you to enter into the disciple of Lent. Give up something that’s taken too much from you, or take on something you wish you had more of. Do something hard, lean into the discomfort of the struggle. But do it knowing that you are doing it for yourself, not for God. Because God already thinks you are great, and wants you to think you are great too. Amen.
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