In the Midst of Great Difficulty (Part 2)
In the Midst of Great Difficulty (Part 2)
Matthew 4:1-11
Last week, we watched as Jesus went from the unbelievable high of his baptism to the great difficulty of life in the wilderness. We acknowledged that this is the same “roller coaster” life that we all know. What we saw, though, was that Jesus was called just as much into the wilderness as he was called to the River Jordan. God is no less present in the midst of great difficulty than God is present in life’s mountain top moments. Most of the time, when things get hard, we are so afraid or so angry or just so overwhelmed that we hardly remember to look for the God who is standing next to us.
This morning, Jesus has been in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights. These were loaded numbers. When the great flood came and Noah set off in his ark, it rained for 40 days and 40 nights. When the slaves were set free from bondage in Egypt, they wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. Forty was a sacred number and a short cut way of saying, “A long time…”
Wilderness… I’m not sure about you but I think the longest that I’ve ever camped was about two weeks. On a typical trip, the first few days are rough. It takes a while to get your muscles working, to get into the flow and the routine of a day in the wild. It takes a night or two to remember how to be just as comfortable on the ground as you are on your mattress at home. It takes a meal or two to come up with your system: who gets firewood; who fetches water; who is in charge of meal preparation. Slowly, you find the “new normal.” You adjust. In fact, it is possible to adjust so thoroughly that the return to “civilization” can be just as overwhelming.
All of this, of course, assumes a few things. We travel with nice tents, carefully chosen for how light they are, how dry they stay in a storm, how well they circulate a breeze on a warm night. Our clothing is the best that technology can offer, shedding moisture, drying fast, keeping us warm when a little warmth is a godsend. We travel in kevlar canoes that weigh a fraction of what an aluminum canoe used to weigh. We have just about every food that could work on a campsite, including a tin of oysters that my friend always manages to sneak in. That’s the thing—you would think that the point of camping would be to rough it for a little while. However, all these comforts take the edge off roughing it.
There is no comfort for Jesus in the wilderness. He has no food. He’s fasting—for a long time. There is almost no water. There are no other people. He has nothing but time, time to listen to his stomach growl, time to think about the home he left behind, time to wonder what the heck was going to happen. Our comforts—whatever your comforts might be—serve all sorts of functions. They can anesthetize us when we are upset. They can distract us. They can gently whisper to us, “Everything is going to be alright.” There are no such comforts for Jesus in the wilderness.
Even when we have all our creature comforts and good company, as well, the wilderness is difficult. You don’t just run the risk of getting lost. You run the risk of getting lost in your own stuff. I remember when we started to have children and still went into the wilderness. We missed them. We wondered how they were doing. We regretted missing their game or their concert. Sure, it was good to get away. We knew we would be better people and even better parents when we returned. However, we could no longer just get immersed in the woods. You could see it in your paddling partner’s eyes. They would stare into infinity and be lost in their own thoughts: “Hey, buddy…where’d you just go?” Being in the wilderness—even with a bunch of comforts—stirs things upImagine how tired and hungry and messy that Jesus must have been. No doubt, after sleeping in the dirt for forty nights, Jesus could have used a good dip in the River Jordan once again. After so many days of fasting, he was probably in that place where food didn’t even sound good. (Who hasn’t had a stomach bug and reached the conclusion—the temporary conclusion—that you might just be “over” the whole food thing?) Jesus isn’t just dirty and tired and hungry, though. Jesus is vulnerable.
The truth is that Jesus is going to be vulnerable for the next three years. He will eat but he is going to rely day-after-day on the kindness of strangers to do so. He will sleep but that sleep will, at best, be in a different bed every night in the home of some kind stranger. On more than a few nights, we assume he dropped to the ground and had a rock for a pillow. If you cover the miles that Jesus covered, you are going to be a mess. There are going to be a few days between baths. Dirty, tired and hungry were going to be the new normal. For Jesus, the wilderness was just a quick tutorial.
Here’s what happens in the “wilderness” moments of our lives. We get tapped out. We aren’t sleeping well because we are going through a crisis, or managing a huge amount of stress, or trying desperately to discern the path forward in a time of feeling lost. We are not feeding ourselves—maybe literally, because we can’t take time to eat properly; maybe metaphorically, because we have stopped doing the things which feed our souls. We look in the mirror and we hardly recognize ourselves from the wear and tear of all that is happening. Our minds slide into dark places. We begin to doubt not only ourselves but everything we’ve ever believed.
Eventually, wilderness time is worth it. However, before we can get to any such “payoff,” we have to face our own stuff. Think about it. We’ve peeled away all the distractions, all the anesthetics, all the noise. What we are left with are the conflicts and doubts that are below the surface all the time. What we are left with is the darkness which we run from on a regular basis. Now, though, there is no more running. There is nowhere to hide.
Have you ever heard about the acronym, “H.A.L.T.?” It stands for “hungry, angry, lonely, tired.” The idea is that there are circumstances in our lives that make us vulnerable to being less than our best selves, that make us likely to act out and act on our worst impulses. It may help to think of that Snickers commercial when the characters are “hangry” until they have their Snickers and return to their best selves. If we are depleted, we are in trouble. We need to restore ourselves soon. If we were a car, the little red light would be flashing and the bell would be chiming away.
It seems simplistic but really, if you think about it, most of our worst moments unfold when the conditions are right for doing or saying something dumb and self-centered and destructive. We don’t usually have a great meal and then push our chair back and start a fight. We don’t usually enjoy great connecting time with our families and then say the wrong thing. Instead, we lose track of our needs and end up hungry, angry, lonely or tired. Then, we get flooded by those needs. When we ignore such things, we put ourselves and our relationships with those we love at risk.
Sometimes, though, we are just stuck in the wilderness. That’s when we need to remember what Jesus went through. Jesus is tempted by Satan. Now, I will remind you that I’m not a Satan guy. (If you are, that’s okay!) I think that it is too convenient to have some otherworldly figure take responsibility for our brokenness. I do believe in temptation, though. There is nothing more real than the way that temptation comes creeping into our thoughts and our feelings as soon as our needs begin to grow out of control.
Jesus is tempted in three ways: to turn bread into stone and feed himself; to throw himself from the top of the temple and test God; and to worship Satan and get all worldly power for himself. Now, rather than getting lost in each temptation, I want to step back and ask you to think about two things. Your temptations may be different than Jesus’ temptations. However, the two truths which are embedded in the story are all of ours to see.
First, the temptations seem different but what underlies them is not. All temptations are invitations to narcissism. All temptations turn on us being blinded by our needs: “I deserve this! I’m entitled to this!” When we are hungry, angry, lonely and tired, the great temptation is to make myself and my needs the center of the universe. Of course, it’s not that my needs don’t count. I have to manage them. However, satiating my needs is not why I’m here. I may need to meet those needs by making sure that there is enough sleep or enough food in the tank. However, there is a wide gulf between “enough” and allowing myself to become my needs.
Second, the move that Jesus makes each time he is tempted is the same: he quotes Scripture. It may be hard to not see that as being some “holier than thou” strategy. However, I don’t think that is the point. At its best, Scripture reminds us to be open to God’s presence right now in our lives. That is the struggle in our wilderness times, in times of great difficulty: to ground our lives in the truth that my life is not about me and my needs. My life is about me staying connected to the God who is with me, no matter what comes my way. Temptation might trip us up for a moment. However, my struggles cannot destroy the love of God.
For the next three years, there would never be more than enough food or sleep for Jesus. There would be much to make him angry and plenty of lonely times. However, he wasn’t in it for the food or the great night’s sleep. Neither are we! We don’t worship ourselves or our needs. We manage those needs so that we can turn to the task of loving God and loving our neighbors. We stare down the great difficulties of this life and whisper, “God, stay with me now…”