Lent begins – as it does each year – with the familiar story of the temptations of Jesus.  It’s a story we’ve heard many times before.  We know the ending.  But do we allow these words of Jesus to challenge us, to speak to us in the circumstances and challenges of our daily lives?  Do we keep Jesus, God’s Incarnate Word, at a safe distance?  Or are we ready to  invite him in, to comfort us and challenge us, to give us peace and to shake us up.?
  
Matthew speaks to us of the temptations of Jesus.  Now temptation – that’s something we’re all familiar with, isn’t it?  Often, we confuse temptation with sin: as if giving into it, sooner or later, is the necessary and eventual outcome.  As the Irish wit Oscar Wilde famously remarked: “I can resist everything … except temptation.”   Or that other gem, “The surest way to put an end to a temptation … is to succumb to it!” (Note that I am not recommending this solution.  As they say on TV, please don’t try this at home!) 

All kidding aside, don’t we all struggle with temptation.  As today’s Gospel so dramatically plays it out, Jesus too went through that same struggle.   Every time we say the Our Father, we devoutly pray “lead us not into temptation.”  Yet time and time again, that is exactly where we find ourselves. Temptation is a universal experience.  

Why does God allow us to be tempted?  (Note that it is not God who tempts us.)  Because temptations test the boundaries of our strengths and weaknesses.  They help us to recognize our moral capacities and our moral limits.  God allows these moments of temptation not because he takes some kind of perverse pleasure in pushing us to the extreme, but because they are part of our slow, arduous path to self-knowledge.  And how we deal with the “small” temptations becomes revelatory of the patterns which will shape the larger, more momentous decisions of our lives.    

This is illustrated in today’s first reading, the story of the so-called “Fall” of humanity, told through the story of Adam and Eve and their encounter with a crafty serpent in a garden.  (As a friend of mine once pointed out: the trouble in the Garden of Eden wasn’t the apple in the tree: it was the pair on the ground!) 

This story is sometimes used as an opening to a presentation on “original sin” and the fundamentally corrupt nature of humanity.  Yet that approach forgets that God’s original plan is for blessing: “behold, God saw all that he had created, and indeed it was good” … a qualification which is raised to “very good” in respect to God’s creation of human beings, male and female, in God’s image and likeness.  So what exactly went wrong?  How did original blessing turn into original sin?  

Perhaps it has something to do with our universal tendency to be reluctant to accept any kind of limits on our freedom.  Consider this example.  Suppose a wealthy stranger appeared at your door and offered to give you the wealth of the entire island of Montreal, which he had been buying up over the years. (There are no municipal taxes in this universe!)  But there is only one condition.  He wants to keep a penthouse apartment in a building overlooking the Oratory, and wants the light in that apartment to remain on all the time.  He doesn’t tell you why.  But that’s the only condition.  What is the first thing you do when you get the deed?  Rush down to the Oratory, find that apartment, take the elevator up to the top floor, and turn out the light!  

What would make us do something like that?  Why are we so attracted to what is forbidden?  Is it sheer perversity, a rebellious spirit?  Is it, as some suggest, a form of moral courage: overthrowing the social taboos, the parental and religious authorities that seek to control us and rule our consciences?  Or is it a very subtle form of pride: not the kind that leads me to boast about my achievements, but the pride that drives me to instant gratification, to want to have it my way, to be right, to have it all, all the time.  Ultimately, it is the voice inside me that tells me: “You don’t really need God … or faith … or anyone else, for that matter.  You are entirely self-sufficient.  Independent.  Autonomous.  You deserve the best.  You need more.”  

In that respect, we are not so different from Adam and Eve.  We also want to be “like God,” to be the sole arbiters of what is right or wrong.  Yet when we try to assert that control, sooner or later, things begin to fall apart.  No matter how much we get, how many things we accumulate, it’s never quite enough.  The bounty of creation is not shared fairly with all, but leads to polarizations between rich and poor, the overfull and the undernourished, where obesity and anorexia co-exist in a strange alliance.  Our asserted independence  sours into isolation, a crushing loneliness.  Always needing to have the upper hand in relationship, to be in control, leads our marriages, families, friendships, communities to break down.  Living life in the fast lane, taking crazy risks – leads to tragedies that can affect us and those around us for generations.  

The irony is that deep down, we know that we don’t want to live in that way.  We know that there is a better way – another path to happiness, to genuine satisfaction, to a balanced and healthy life, to real freedom.  As St. Paul assures us in today’s second reading, there is an antidote to this vicious circle, this unhealthy pattern that we so easily slip into.  It undoes the disorder unleashed by human rebellion and pride, but it promises infinitely more: an abundance of grace, an outpouring of love, the promise of a salvation that begins right here and right now, leading us into the promise of eternal happiness.  It is the way of Christ, in whom perfect freedom and perfect obedience co-existed.  

We see this clearly in today’s Gospel.  In the desert, Jesus confronts the same temptations we do when we feel lonely, deprived, or vulnerable.  How tempting it is to fill our inner void, our spiritual hunger, our deepest desires, with that which does not satisfy: material possessions, food and drink, TV and Internet, Facebook and Twitter, mindless distractions!   To live mostly as if God does not exist, putting Him regularly to the test – and then expecting a “command performance” the moment we find ourselves in need.  To worship the idols of worldly power and prestige, seeking our identity in these, rather than trust in the living God who says to me what he said to Jesus: “You are my beloved child: in you I am well pleased.”  

Through it all, Jesus remembers who He is.  When hungry, or in danger, or tempted by worldly power, he remains secure in his identity.  Rooted in the word of God, Jesus the Incarnate Word knows the difference between the junk food offered by the Tempter – the desire to be relevant, spectacular, and powerful – and the simpler but far more substantial nourishment coming from God’s word, from his identity as Beloved Son.  Unfortunately, in our human weakness, our struggle with temptation does not always conclude so heroically or successfully.  But Jesus opens up for us the hope of hearing a voice even stronger than those of the many temptations that surround us.  With his help, we will pass the test, we will win the race, we will move beyond our restless pursuit of pleasure and security, so as to receive the gift of happiness and joy.

Where is the Spirit leading us as a community, in the time of Lent?  What personal wilderness do I need to face?  Which of the temptations Jesus faced speaks most directly to my experience at this point in my life?  Is it fame?  Power?  Fortune – or the lack thereof?  Vulnerability?  Doubts?  Sexual struggles?  Addiction? Self-esteem?  Difficult family relationships?   Whatever it is – and we all have our demons to face, every single one of us – none of us likes to feel hungry, vulnerable, or alone.  But we are not alone.  We walk this Lenten journey together.  We have one another.  We have our God.  We count on the friendship and prayers of our fellow travelers to sustain us.  

We all have people who inspire us on the journey of faith.  Although I had thought of completely switching off Facebook and e-mail for Lent, I soon realized that would not be realistic.  But I can be more deliberate about what links I click on, which posts I read, which e-mails I delete immediately.  Two things came in this week I though worthy of sharing today.

The first was very simple Lenten advice from one of my Facebook friends, Fr. Jim Martin.  When asked in an interview what he was giving up for Lent this year, he responded: “I am giving up saying anything uncharitable to anyone and about anyone. And that’s much harder than giving up chocolate.”  So the journalist followed up: “So how’s that going, Fr. Jim?”  He answered with a smile: “I’m working on it!”  (Be kind = “Don’t be a jerk; honour the absent; give people the benefit of the doubt.”) 

The other is a Lenten prayer from one of my spiritual mentors, the Dutch priest Fr. Henri Nouwen: 

“A Lenten Prayer: The Lenten season begins. It is a time to be with you, Lord, in a special way, a time to pray, to fast, and thus to follow you on your way to Jerusalem, to the Cross, to the final victory over death.  I am still so divided. I truly want to follow you, but I also want to follow my own desires, heed the voices that draw me to pursue prestige, success, pleasure, power, and influence. Help me to tune out these voices and become more attentive to your voice, which calls me to choose the road that leads to life.

I know that Lent is going to be hard for me. The choice for your way has to be made every moment of my life. I have to choose thoughts that are your thoughts, words that are your words, and actions that are your actions.  All times and places have choices. And I know how deeply I resist choosing you.  Please, Lord, be with me at every moment and in every place. Give me the strength and the courage to live this season faithfully, so that, when Easter comes, I will be able to taste with joy the new life that you have prepared for me. Amen.”