Our Everyday Tests

Matthew 4:1-17

For Spirit of Peace Lutheran Church

January 20, 2019

© 2019

 

Rohann Zulieen 2009

Well, we just heard the account of Jesus’ temptation from Matthew’s Gospel. Comparing the Gospel accounts, imagining Jesus and the devil going at it, pondering how much was internal and how much was acted out, puzzling over the meaning of each test, and plenty more easily scrambles our brains. My experience is that researching Bible commentaries often muddies the water further. So I am going to take what I think of as a contemplative approach to explore my own journey with Jesus. I hope this will help you to meet the tests of anxiety, fear, and power on your journey by cultivating active companionship with Jesus.

First, I want to suggest a shift in vocabulary from “temptation” to “test.” We typically think of temptation as being lured into doing something evil, even against our will. Jesus was not being attracted to something dirty. He was being tested to be prepared for his ministry.

In the Lord’s Prayer, we say “lead us not into temptation.” You may remember that Pope Francis recently got in some hot water for suggesting a change of wording so as not to imply that God tempts people. The NRSV correctly translates it as “do not bring us to the time of trial.” So I want us to think about the daily tests we face.

Some of you may remember the comedian Flip Wilson evoking laughs with the line, “The devil made me do it.” We are going to avoid “Flip Wilson theology” today that leaves us feeling helpless so we can focus on how our daily tests can benefit us.

Matthew and Luke say Jesus was tested by the devil; Mark uses “Satan.” We tend to think of “Satan” as the devil’s name and miss the point. Satan comes from the Hebrew hasatan in the Book of Job. Hasatan is not tempting Job to some evil but testing his integrity. Hasatan is the title of the prosecutor in a criminal court, the one who brings the charges. This is in keeping with Revelation 12:10 in which the Messiah casts down “the accuser of our comrades” (“the brethren” in KJV). So I would suggest that when we go around making accusations of each other we are doing the devil’s work.  

After fasting for the spiritual strength for his test, Jesus was hungry and satisfying that bodily need was certainly natural. With our joyful noise offerings we are reminding ourselves that the congregation is in a time of need to provide the resources to keep going. I expect most of us have times of holding our financial breath and scrimping at least a little to get to the next paycheck to meet our basic needs for food, shelter, and clothing. This can be a test of how well we trust God with thanksgiving to meet our needs.

In the Lord’s Prayer we say, “Give us this day our daily bread.” Not asking for our weekly, or monthly, or yearly needs to be assured in advance is a test of faith.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus assured us, “Do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ … Your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 5:31-33)

In explaining the Parable of the Sower, Jesus said that what was sown among thorns is choked out by “the cares of the world.” (Matthew 13:22; Mark 4:18; Luke 8:14) The point of this test is not to scold us for worrying about daily needs but to free us from the anxieties that interfere with our joy in daily walking with Jesus.

Over the years I have found I often need to listen to my own sermons. Today is one of those. Our car goes in for major repairs this week, and I feel the test to relinquish my anxiety about paying for that and enjoy walking with Jesus. I am thankful we’ve got enough in our reserve. The test is whether I trust our reserve or trust God.

In my college days I enjoyed rock climbing, even after having taken a pretty serious fall. Part of the thrill is the exhilaration of feeling the fear of queasy legs from a perch viewing a grand panorama not visible from another vantage point. For Jesus the test of jumping from the pinnacle of the Temple may have been about doing something spectacular, but imagining it reminds me of those fears on a rocky cliff. To be sure we all face fears every day. Fears of violence and crime, fears of political and economic chaos in the country, fears of compromised health, fears of relationships gone sour.

1 John 4:18 says that perfect love casts out fear. Based on that, I have long said that the opposite of fear is not courage but love. A mother does not dash in front of a speeding car to snatch her child to safety because she is brave but because her love for the child is greater than her fear. I suggest that when we feel afraid, we ask, “How can I give (or receive) love?”

In Luke 12.32: Jesus said, “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” As small and weak as we may feel, God’s love is so great do need to be intimidated by anything.

And 1 Peter 3.14: says “But even if you do suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed. Do not fear what they fear.” Sharing love is more powerful than any of the threats that might immobilize us.

The devil offered Jesus power over all of the kingdoms of the world. So much of the political conflict in churches, in our country, and in the world revolves around a lust for power. With the #MeToo movement, we are hopefully learning that sexual harassment and violence is often more about power than sex. All too often, “getting what I want” outweighs “getting what is right.” Not that we don’t each have our own yearning for power, but for most of us the test is how to respond to those who exert power on us.

Jesus is the quintessential example of the power of humility and service, which he equated with greatness in Matthew 18:4; 23:11; Mark 9:35; 10:43-45; and Luke 9:48; 22:26.

This kind of power culminates in Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection. The prayer in Ephesians 1:19-20 asks for “the immeasurable greatness of [God’s] power for us who believe. … God put this power to work in Christ when [God] raised him from the dead.”

This is a great mystery. The power of Christ-like non-violence is not capitulating to evil but confronting evil with love. Finding the path between vengeance and victimhood is a profound test that we can meet by cultivating intimacy with Jesus.

All three synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke) report that Jesus passed the tests and was ready to begin his public ministry picking up where John the Baptist left off proclaiming, “The kingdom of God has come near.” To pass the tests of your journey, cultivate active companionship with Jesus who passed his tests. A number of years ago I heard Father Thomas Hopko speak on cultivating the spiritual life. He has retired but was then the Dean of St. Vladimir’s Orthodox Seminary in New York. He said to us, “My mother used to tell me that if I wanted to grow as a Christian I should read my Bible, say my prayers, and go to church. Now I am in charge of training people for leadership in the church and I tell them to read their Bibles, say their prayers and go to church.” I would add this from Father Henri Nouwen, “The spiritual life is not complicated, only difficult.”

You don’t need to become a Bible scholar to stick close to Jesus. I suggest just a single paragraph or episode from a Gospel each day and pay attention to Jesus, especially how he treated people. Don’t skip around (though you could skip the genealogies), just saunter through one Gospel at a time. If you haven’t done this before, I’d suggest starting with Mark and ending with John. Then go back and start over.

When you pray, don’t make it too complicated. You don’t need to be eloquent. Don’t stress over telling God what to do. Just ask to recognize God’s presence and guidance on your journey.

Going to church is not a religious duty or something we do to make God happy. Church is about being with others who are also journeying with Jesus to support and encourage each other. As you cultivate active companionship with Jesus who passed his tests, you will pass the tests of your journey.

Light Through Cracks in the Wall

 Matthew 2:1-23

January 6, 2019 Milwaukee Mennonite Church

January 12, 13 King of Glory Lutheran Church
© 2019

We have come through the Advent and Christmas seasons with their emphasis on the prophecies of peace, righteousness, justice, and prosperity to be brought by the Christ child, whose birth is accompanied by praising angels and adoring shepherds in Luke’s Gospel. We delight in the inspiring, if sometimes sentimental, music of the season. And then we come to Epiphany and get clobbered by the clashing accounts of the Magi and Herod in Matthew. Sure, we’d rather have the Magi arrive at the manger, simultaneously with the shepherds or maybe after their departure, and skip Herod’s bloody slaughter of innocent babies in Bethlehem.

Yet, that unsettling disconnect simmers in our minds and hearts even as we celebrated hope and peace, joy and love. As much as we push it into the shadows, the real events of our world and even our personal lives ask where is the promised hope and peace, joy and love? That is hardly a new anguish.

I well remember Simon and Garfunkel’s 7 O’Clock News/Silent Night, in which real news events from August 3, 1966 were played over them singing Silent Night. The jarring discontinuity was just too easy. Not much creativity needed as the Vietnam War raged on.

You may know the song I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day with its lyrics from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem. It was written on Christmas Day 1863 in the midst of the Civil War and published in February 1865, three months before the war ended. The specifically Civil War verses are not usually included in the musical versions. Longfellow clearly saw the Confederacy as an evil threat to peace on earth.

Then from each black, accursed mouth

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Just an aside here. Having lived in Texas for 17 years, I can tell you that plenty of people there still think Abraham Lincoln and the Union Army were the real threat to peace on earth. Those whose ancestors lived through that war call it The War Between the States or even the War of Northern Aggression. Nevertheless, we all have moments of identifying with Longfellow’s gloom.

And in despair I bowed my head;

“There is no peace on earth,” I said;

“For hate is strong,

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Matthew reported the birth of Jesus by jamming the discordant stories of the Magi and Herod into each other. This not only acknowledges our painful reality, but sheds light on the way to look for Christ’s peace in our own troubled world and lives. Like light coming between the cracks in a wall, the shadows within are illuminated and we get a glimpse of the light beyond.

The Magi are mysterious figures. We have more questions than information about them. Where did they come from? How did they know that star meant a King of the Jews? How did they recognize this humble baby as that king? If they saw the star rising in the east, how did they know to go west? How did the star point out the house where Jesus was with Mary? Did they not see Joseph in the house? How did they know their dreams were from God and not eating strange food while traveling? How many were they? Of whom did they inquire about the newborn King of the Jews – Temple leaders or Herod? How did Herod know what they were up to? How old was Jesus when they saw him? What did King of the Jews mean to them? Did they understand this baby was the Jewish Messiah or God in human form? Were they historical, or legendary, or both? As a masterful storyteller, Matthew answers none of our questions but piques our curiosity to draw us deeper.

As Matthew tells of mystery and majesty of the visit of the Magi, he plants just enough foreboding of the threat of Herod the Great that we are compelled to keep reading or listening even though we know it will be dreadful. Herod probably thought he killed the child who he thought threatened his power. The horror of killing the babies of Bethlehem accentuates the intrigue of the escape to Egypt under cover of night. Herod the Great had died before Joseph brought Mary and Jesus back from Egypt and withdrew to Galilee because Herod the Great’s son Herod Archelaus was in power in Jerusalem. By the way, Herod was the family name of a dynasty. After Herod Archelaus, his brother Herod Antipas figures in the fate of John the Baptist and in Jesus’ crucifixion. In the next generations Herod Agrippa I dealt with the Apostles Peter and James, and Herod Agrippa II with Paul. That they are all called by the family name Herod gets confusing. Here though, Matthew wanted us to feel the suspense of the threats to the young Jesus.

Obviously Matthew did not tell the stories of the Magi and Herod for children’s story hour. He told them to evoke enough curiosity to keep us reading and engaged to the very end of his Gospel. The child Jesus slipped away into obscurity until just the right moment to proclaim a radically different kingdom than Herod or Caesar or any of the Temple leaders imagined. Jesus’ eventual violent death accomplished God’s purpose in God’s way. Yes, we ponder and puzzle about that too. Jesus’ resurrection signals the triumph of this kingdom of peace. Rather than a coup to dethrone those who rule by violent power, the proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection renders their threats meaningless. The light shines in through the cracks in the wall.

Simon and Garfunkel leave us hanging with incongruity. Longfellow seems to defy his own logic as though peace will inevitably come. He asserted that God was neither dead nor asleep, but gives no sign of that hope. He made no reference to Jesus whose birth the Christmas bells announced. He undoubtedly saw that in the Union victory in the Civil War, though we know that was not peace.

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;

“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail,

The right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Matthew, on the other hand, is both more realistic and genuinely hopeful. The light of hope and peace, joy and love shine through the cracks between Matthew’s stories of the Magi and Herod.

First the story of the Magi tells us that God is alive and awake in obscure and hidden people, neither the pious nor powerful. This is not just wishful thinking; it is always God’s way. Like the Magi, these folk may not fully understand what they are up to, but they are still God’s agents of peace. And the story of Herod tells us that though the people of violent power are visible, they are powerless to stop Jesus’ people of peace.

Second, the light shining through the crack between these two stories illuminates the darkness within. Within our world and within ourselves. Where does the light coming through a crack highlight someone acting as an agent of peace? A compassionate touch or act for someone struggling? A reconciling word for those who have been alienated? Where does the light coming through a crack light up a dark corner in your own soul? Or an opportunity for you to encourage someone in pain?

Third, the light invites us to come close to the wall and peer through the crack to recognize the light of God’s peace on the move in the flow of human affairs. As Martin Luther King Jr. paraphrased Theodore Parker (1810-1860), “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Its meaning and truth are debated, but Matthew’s accounts of the Magi and Herod affirm that God is alive and active whether we recognize it or not. Perhaps we only hear the whisper of one obscure voice, but when we look beyond our immediate situation, we can recognize how God is fitting all of these seemingly insignificant pieces into a redemptive whole. The Magi and Joseph got enough of a glimpse not to be intimidated by Herod. Look through the crack to see the light of God around and beyond us.