In today’s Gospel, Jesus “filled with the Holy Spirit” (and having just come from His baptism), goes to the desert for 40 days. We as a universal Church have followed Him there in this season of Lent. We hear that Jesus goes into the desert very specifically “to be tempted by the devil” (Luke 4:2). Perhaps that wasn’t your intention exactly this Lenten season, but you’re in the desert now, and the message is clear: if the Son of God, filled with the Holy Spirit, faces temptation by the devil, so then will you. Be prepared.
Perhaps this Lent we will be tempted with our bodily comforts. Jesus certainly was. He was hungry, and the devil said to Him “if you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.” I, not at all being the Son of God, may or may not have briefly wished for that ability this past Ash Wednesday, as I whined like a small child about not having eaten breakfast. We hear constantly the voice of temptation telling us that denying ourselves is the absurd choice. And if we can’t deny ourselves in the small things, we will never win against temptation in the large things. If we’re used to indulging the flesh with whatever we want, whenever we want, we tend to have a really hard time discerning what is actually good for us. The response to this temptation is taking opportunities to mortify our flesh, to temper our bodily appetites, and firm up our will. This is why we embrace the Lenten practice of fasting.
We must understand that there are lots of reasons why a fast from food might not be prudent for a person: various forms of physical or mental illness, pregnancy, breastfeeding, blood sugar issues, hard physical labor, just to name a few. And that’s okay, and people should never feel guilt or shame about the legitimate need to be excused from the obligation to observe the traditional Lenten days of fasting. But if a food fast is not prudent, perhaps we might look at another way to mortify the senses: Fast from music. Fast from social media. Fast from Netflix. Training ourselves to be at peace when we are denied a luxury allows us to strengthen our will, so that in facing temptation in the small things head-on, we are better prepared to face larger temptations when they come.
But perhaps that’s not an issue for you. Your will is strong; your passions are rightly ordered. Perhaps another temptation might take its place: comparison. The temptation that the devil tries to fling at Jesus next is a more extreme form of this when he attempts to tempt Him with power. “You know you want all these kingdoms,” says the devil to Jesus. “You won’t ever have what they have,” he says to me. How often do we fall into the sin of envy because it seems like someone’s life is going better than ours (thanks, Instagram)? How often are we tempted to abandon our spiritual pursuits because our neighbor is doing more, and we’ll “never get there?” When we face this temptation, it’s important for us to turn our eyes to the Lord alone. “Comparison is the thief of joy,” says Theodore Roosevelt, and he is right. This is where we might benefit from the Lenten practice of almsgiving. Rather than focus on what someone else has, that we do not have, almsgiving allows us to divest ourselves of the need to “measure up.” A spirit of generosity does wonders to defeat the temptation to envy.
Maybe this isn’t you either. Maybe you’ve tempered your bodily appetites and are well versed in keeping your eyes on the prize (that is, Heaven). Beware too, though, that you don’t fall prey to one of the greatest temptations there is: doubting God’s providence. This is the oldest temptation in the book - the literal book, the Bible, the book of Genesis, chapter 3. This is the temptation of original sin. God says to Adam and Eve, “I will provide for you.” The serpent, that is, the devil, comes to Eve with the question of “but will He really? What if you just ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil? Then you’d become like Him.” Rather than trust that God’s desire for Adam and Eve is their ultimate good, they take that choice into their own hands. The devil tempts Jesus in a similar way, although He of course rises above it where Adam and Eve fell. “Didn’t God say He would protect you? Fling yourself off this ledge and see.” This is the temptation that sneaks into the lives of all of us, even when we’re striving for holiness. Will God really provide for me? Can I really trust Him in this? What if I just took care of it myself? Is His will really better than what I thought I wanted?
The response to this temptation is bolstered by the Lenten practice of prayer. If we’re going to trust that God’s plan is enough for us, that we don’t need to “test” Him, or “check” Him, or worse, wrest the planning from His hands and keep it for ourselves, we need to make sure we know Him well. We need to make sure we know what His voice sounds like, and how to distinguish it from our own voice, the voices of the world, and the voice of the evil one. Making intentional and extra time for prayer in the Lenten season allows us to grow in the knowledge of who He is, and who He is for us: Father, protector, steward of our hearts.
We shouldn’t be surprised that we face temptations in the quest for holiness. Jesus promised us lots of things, but He didn’t promise that holiness would be easy. The world is loud and noisy and complicated, and the voice of the Lord is still and small (1 Kings 19:12). But perhaps that’s one of the many great graces of the season of Lent. The desert is simple. It’s quiet. Distractions are stripped away. And that allows us to face our temptations head-on, to build up the skills we need to withstand them, with the grace of God. So be at peace in the desert. And if you fail, if the temptations are too much for you and you find yourself sliding away from who you want to be, do not despair. Rise up, begin again. God loves you with a Father’s love - He loves you despite your shortcomings and at the same time He believes in your potential to choose the good. Lean into the desert - don’t fear the temptations in it. Pray, fast, give, and allow it to transform you.