Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Matthew 4:1-11
Sunday Night Alive - February 29, 2004
On a day in October, coming back from Chicago, I stopped in Grand Rapids for a round of golf, stealing 18 holes from the greedy jaws of winter. On a 200 yard par three, I dropped my tee shot five feet from the pin and proceeded to sink the putt. Since it was the only time I matched or beat par all day, I smiled at my partner, shook hands around the foursome, and thanked the prevailing gods of golf for their uncommon and surprising beneficence. I believe that one of the best things about golf is that no matter how inept you may be, there is always that rare hole when a hacker can look like a pro. I have also discovered that par is all the more sweet when you are among the ordinary mortals who don’t meet it very often.
I tell you this, the better to set up a rather awkward jump in thinking…a jump that will take us from meeting a high standard in a frivolous game to meeting a high standard in the game of life, itself. More specifically, let me ask: “Is it ever possible to measure up to the standard set by Jesus Christ?” There are some who would think the idea preposterous. They would answer, “No.” For many, the “no” is rooted in an under-valuation of self (“I cannot measure up because I am too dumb, too dull, too devilish”). For others, the “no” is rooted in an over-valuation of Jesus (“I can never measure up because Jesus is so divine”).
The apostle Paul contributes to the problem when he tells his new-found friends in Philippi: “Have this mind among you which you find in Christ Jesus.” What an amazing thought. It suggests that we are not only called upon to act like Jesus, love like Jesus, even die like Jesus, but that we are also called upon to think like Jesus. Even those who flippantly suggest that “great minds run in the same channels” will have a hard time with that one. For which of us believes there could be any correlation between “the mind of Christ” and the inner workings of our own? It is not that we lack smarts. It is that we lack focus. Jesus knew his purpose. He knew who he was. He knew where he was going. We do not. Which is the difference between his mind and ours. Or so we think.
All of this has something to do with some reading I’ve been doing about the accounts of Jesus’ wilderness experience and the manner of his being tempted there. The temptation narratives have a strange allure to them. For while I am tempted to say that they are bringing me closer to Jesus, what they are really doing is bringing Jesus closer to me.
But let me back up and set a stage. It seems that sometime during his formative years, Jesus had an experience of God that was so powerful….so personal….so devastatingly real….so fundamental to the way he looked at his life….that it became impossible to lay the experience aside or dismiss questions about what had happened to him and where it might lead.
Theology wrestles endlessly with the question of “messianic self-consciousness.” Don’t let the phrase throw you. To talk about messianic self-consciousness is nothing more than to attempt to answer the question: “When did Jesus sense that there was something qualitatively different about his experience of God….his relationship with God….or his mission from God?” In a world which once looked at Richard Nixon and wondered, “What did he know and when did he know it?”, I suppose it is fair to ask: “What did Jesus know and when did he know it?”
At some time in his life, Jesus became aware of God in a very powerful way. That awareness led him, around the time of his thirtieth year, toward a riverbank encounter with an itinerant baptizer. When Jesus was baptized by John, scripture would have us believe that a most extraordinary thing happened. It was like the heavens opened and the living, breathing Spirit of God descended upon him like a dove. And in the midst of that experience, it was as if he heard a voice speaking (with the voice seeming to say): “You are my beloved son; I am pleased with you.”
Right away we are in danger of making two mistakes. The first mistake is to identify the baptism of Jesus with the moment Jesus became powerfully aware of his calling from God. I don’t think the two can be confused. I believe the powerful experience of God came first. I doubt Jesus would have presented himself at the riverbank had it not. I think baptism is, for Jesus, something of a confirming moment. It is a moment of acceptance. It is a moment in which a lot of things come together. It is a moment of saying: “Yes, my experience was real….is real….and may have more earth-shaking implications than I ever dreamed.”
The second mistake is to get lost in a debate over the mechanics of the story. In other words, had you wandered down to the river that day (to wash your shirts, or whatever), would you have seen the dove, and would you have heard the voice? I am not certain the question can be answered. I am even less certain that the answer matters. In point of fact, it is most interesting that in Matthew and Mark, the voice speaks directly to Jesus: “You are my beloved son; I am pleased with you.” In Luke, the voice speaks to the crowd: “This is my beloved son; I am pleased with him.” In the gospel of John, there is a baptism, but there is no voice at all. No dove, either. So much for unanimity as concerns history.
So forget the mechanics. Concentrate on the experience. Picture Jesus coming up out of the water. Picture him climbing the bank of the river. Picture somebody handing him a towel. Try to imagine how he feels. Howard Thurman suggests that Jesus may have been shaken to the core. I think that’s right. Over the years, I have discovered that genuine experiences of God scare the daylights out of people. When the weight of that much grandeur impinges itself on your life….in such a way as to make an unavoidable claim on your life….that can be frightening.
So drawing richly from a mixture of biblical scholarship and his own poetic imagination, Thurman has Jesus say:
I must find someplace of complete and utter isolation to sort this out….to wait and to weigh….the better to get it all together….to find my bearings in the wake of this tremendous experience….lest I find myself ignoring it….or betraying it.
So off to the wilderness he goes. Where else? Biblically considered, the wilderness represents that place where you are when you are lost, or the place to which you go to get lost. And do not, my friends, underestimate the sense of being lost on the part of Jesus. Depending upon which gospel you read, Jesus is either “led” to the wilderness or “driven” there, where he is thrice-tempted by the Devil. And the Devil feels real…because temptation is real. And the Devil feels personal….because temptation is personal.
But, again, I warn you. Don’t get sidetracked in the mechanics. Once, in a men’s Bible class where the members had been together so long that no idea was too far-fetched to be voiced (and no question too off-the-wall to be asked), we were reading the temptation narratives. When suddenly Fred asked: “When this conversation is going on, is Jesus talking to anybody real?” And since I have learned that one of the best ways to be like Jesus is to answer one question by asking another, I said: “What do you think, Fred? Had you been in the wilderness that day, hiding behind a tree (with sophisticated sound-recoding equipment and a videocam), would you have been able to capture anything for posterity? Would you have been able to see the Devil or hear his voice?” In response to my question, Fred said absolutely nothing. Neither did anyone else. So I asked the question again, only more strongly. All seventeen men around the table shook their heads in a general direction that indicated “no.”
But that doesn’t make the Devil any less real. And it doesn’t make temptation any less powerful. If you think it does, let me ask you a question. When you last wrestled with temptation, did it feel like you were fighting a real opponent? There is a Congregational church in Chicago, about ten blocks from the Loop, where one can find a most amazing picture entitled “The Temptations.” In it, Jesus is seated on a rock overlooking the valley. He is staring straight ahead. But as you stand watching the figure (and your eyes become adjusted to the light in which it sits), this is what you see….dozens of fingers grabbing and clutching at Jesus’ mind. Play with that image for a while. Then picture Jesus thinking:
I seem to have had this incredible experience of God. But what shall I make of it? What shall I do with it? How shall I use this feeling? Can this feeling be used at all? Can my experience be translated into the simple stuff of ordinary life? Or was I invaded, ever so momentarily, by a slice of glory that has nothing to do with ordinary life?
Which is followed by much thinking and pondering….much pro-ing and con-ing….much on-the-one-handing and on-the-other-handing….which is, I suppose, the essence of wrestling. And in the midst of that, I think a couple of things happened, more or less simultaneously. The first was that Jesus recognized he hadn’t eaten in a long time and was hungry. And the second was that his eyes fell on some flat stones by his feet which looked, for all the world, like the cakes his mother used to make when he was a little boy. And the struggle was on.
If I really have the power of God within me….and the favor of God upon me….why not try a little test? Why not see if I can make this power work for me, not only to satisfy my hunger in this present moment, but to insure the satisfaction of my people’s hunger in future moments? What could be wrong with that?
And as he pondered, he remembered something from the Hebrew law about bread. Something his mother used to read to him. Something remotely negative. But what? And why? What could be negative about bread? What could be bad about bread? Man needs bread. Man has to have bread. Man lives by bread. This is a practical world, even for those who have seen visions of God. People have to eat. Therefore, some must be bread-makers. Others must be bread-winners. People must organize all of their resources to build some kind of windbreak against the cold, impersonal forces of economics and the marketplace. Which means, you see, that….
Bread is not only wheat or rye or pumpernickel.
Bread is also salary, stipend and social security.
Bread is an acceptance letter to a good college.
Bread is pension plans and insurance policies.
Bread is savings in the bank and stock certificates in the strong box.
Bread is credit cards in the wallet and a freezer in the basement.
Bread is Blue Cross, HMOs and dental plans.
Bread is a car in every garage and a chicken in every pot.
So what could be so wrong with bread? Nothing! Nothing at all! Unless (and until) we come to that point where life starts and stops with bread….or the day begins and ends with bread. Which is, I fear, the point to which many have already come. We begin by consuming bread. But we end up being consumed by bread. We are a bread-driven society. Which his why the temptation is so insidiously real. “If I have God in me….God’s power in me….God’s favor upon me….why should I not put it to work to get more bread?” “Let God prosper you,” cries the TV evangelist. “God wants to make you rich.”
I wish God could make you rich. I wish I could make you rich. I wish I could wave a magic wand, say some magic words, and tell you that faith will make you rich. I wish I could tell you that people who follow Jesus will never lack for any good thing, or that people who join the church will never be out of work, out of luck, or down and out.
I remember two years’ worth of conversations with a young man who had a call to ministry, a feel for ministry, all the gifts in the world for ministry, and tons of encouragement to prepare for ministry. But he agonized, resisted, dragged both feet (along with every other part of his body), held off, backed off, even wandered off…first to one job, then to a second. Both jobs were good. Both jobs were lucrative. Both jobs made him miserable.
More than once I heard him say to me: “You know, I really hate to admit this. But I grew up in Birmingham….lived all my life in Birmingham….got used to all the good things that come your way in Birmingham. It’s like Birmingham is in my blood. Once you get used to it, it’s hard to consider life without it. But looking at the clergy I’ve met, most of them don’t have it. And will never have it.”
I could have told him, “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that, at least long term. You’re the real deal….the cat’s meow….the cream that will, in due time, find it’s way to the top of the church’s bottle. You’ll do just fine for yourself.”
I could have told him that. But I didn’t. Well, yes I did….a little. But I didn’t overplay it. Instead, the next time he started into it, I simply said: “If you want the good life….and you’re living the good life….why isn’t the good life making you happier? And if you tell me you’re not miserable, why do you keep coming into my office (between your marvelous opportunities) to talk about ministry?”
Today, he’s in seminary. And he’s never been happier. So what happened? It wasn’t that he embraced poverty. Instead, he came to a bit of reality….in his wilderness place….just as Jesus did in his wilderness place. I am talking about the day Jesus put the words together finally, that made the puzzle come together correctly. “Man shall not live by bread….alone.”
Clearly, it is the addition of the word “alone” that makes the difference. Man must be a bread-eater. Man must be a bread-winner. But the bias….the tilt….the leaning energy of a man’s life must slant toward those things that feed the hungers of mind and spirit. Too much bread destroys that bias. Too much bread denies a bias exists. Or ought to exist. Man must not….cannot….will not….be able to live by bread alone.
I have not met many devils in the wilderness. But I do recall hearing of a wicked witch in the forest who fed my cousin Hansel handsomely, until one day the lad caught on. He was being fattened for the kill. I think more than a few of us know the feeling.
