Gospel Commentary from the Irish Dominicans

A First Communicant, hands joined, white prayer-book, rosette, no front teeth: a very image of innocence. But it is only a moment, soon past. They grow teeth, in every sense. They become teenagers and adults. Yet somehow that early image persists, as if it represented some ideal state of humanity, and to grow up were to fall away from perfection. Whole civilisations have similar dreams of a past Golden Age, but it is never more than a dream.

“People who have not suffered, what do they know?” said Henry Suso in the 14th century. Suffering, in a broad sense, is just experience: in that sense, life is suffering. Life is a crucible of experience in which everything that is not real is burnt away. If Jesus was to be credibly human he had to suffer like us. He was not an eternal First Communicant; he was “made perfect through suffering” (Hebrews 2:1). The words of the Lord, the Psalm says, are “silver from the furnace, seven times refined” (Psalm 11); the Word made flesh was put to the test (“tempted”, in Scriptural language) in the fiery Judean desert.

Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to find out what he was made of. Mark’s gospel puts it more strongly: “the Spirit drove him out into the desert” (1:12). The first temptation was “to turn these stones into loaves of bread.” A hungry man sees bread everywhere. A Hindu poet who used to write beautiful poems about the moon lost all his talent when he became impoverished. He saw nothing but chapatti whenever he looked at the moon. Jesus was hungry, but he saw beyond his own hunger; he would become a provider of food for the hungry. (A good man is not tempted by evil but by goodness.) Soon however he saw that this was not exactly what God was asking of him.

The second temptation was to fame. Many false prophets had attempted to attract notice by doing spectacular feats. Jesus countered this by saying, equivalently, “One doesn’t play games with God.”

The third temptation was power. As a Jew he knew what power did to people; every day of his life he saw the Roman Empire at work. He knew that Roman emperors were ‘deified’ - proclaimed gods - after their death; to Jews, who had a profound sense of the unity of God, this practice was an abomination.

Jesus rejected all these possibilities. The gospel text doesn’t tell us at that point what he chose to do, but the rest of his life made it plain. He chose the way of love, which is deep, unspectacular, and powerless.

Every First Communicant is driven into the desert sooner or later and has to face these temptations. The Church at large has to face them and be tested by them. “In the evening of life”, wrote St John of the Cross, “you will be tested in love.” --- Donagh O’Shea, for Today’s Good News, the website of the Dominicans of Ireland___________________________________________________________________________________

Whether we gaze with longing into the garden or with fear and trembling into the desert, of this we can be sure – God walked there first! And when we who have sinned and despoiled the garden are challenged now to face the desert, we do not face it alone; Jesus has gone there before us to struggle with every demon that has ever plagued a human heart. Face the desert we must if we would reach the garden, but Jesus has gone there before us. – James Healy

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

– Thomas Merton

FROM “EAST COKER” IN THE FOUR QUARTETS

You say I am repeating

Something I have said before. I shall say it again.

Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,

You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstacy.

In order to arrive at what you do not know

You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

In order to possess what you do not possess

You must go by the way of dispossession.

In order to arrive at what you are not

You must go through the way in which you are not.

And what you do not know is the only thing you know

And what you own is what you do not own

And where you are is where you are not.

– T.S. Eliot

There is a really deep well inside me.

And in it dwells God. Sometimes I am there, too.

But more often stones and grit block the well,

and God is buried beneath.

Then God must be dug out again.

– Etty Hillesum

Reflection for March 9, 2014: TEMPTATION

Satan is working overtime in today’s Gospel reading, lurking out in the desert determined to try to get the theological drop on Jesus. I have always loved the matter-of-fact tone of the Gospels, the way Matthew begins today’s reading, for example, simply by saying: Jesus fasted for forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was hungry. Well, yeah, I guess he would be. I’m peckish myself, just thinking about it.

Temptation always seems to come out of the blue, attacking you when you’re emotionally weakened at your most susceptible, but it’s especially hard when you’re physically exhausted and sun-blasted and hungry and thirsty to boot. Edgar in King Lear, acting the part of poor mad Tom, says: “The prince of darkness is a gentleman,” but I think we can all agree that Satan does not behave like a gentleman, certainly not in his encounter today with Jesus. There’s a long-established cultural tendency to more or less romanticize Satan and a certain kind of sleek and stylish and smiling nastiness – what our church so aptly describes as the glamour of Evil. Most of us know enough to run away from your average cartoon bogeyman decked out in bright-red horns and a tail, but the suave and smiling fellow in the well-cut suit and the glittering limousine, the one who offers you whatever it is your heart desires, as long as you just, well, you know, “go along to get along” – cooperate politely with whatever it is he wants and do your part because the ends justify the means. Nowadays, the devil is much too sophisticated to ask you to bow down in front of some kind of tasteless gold-plated statue; no, all you have to do is more or less bow down in your heart and offer your time and energy to, well, do what you have to; we are much too genteel to call it “worshiping Mammon” nowadays; no, we’re just practical, looking after Number One and all that. How can you denounce something that obviously practical? Especially since Satan never, ever gives you a chance to read the fine print. (Not that you’d ask that many questions, if the benefits were good enough, would you? Now, be honest. This is Lent, after all. And the devil knows us, at least as well as we know ourselves.) And it’s not that big a deal, is it? He just smiles at you and buys you a fabulous dinner and flashes his cash around and charms you into thinking “That’s not so bad after all . … I mean, other people do much worse things. … Besides, the ends justify the means, and I know I mean well. … Why shouldn’t I cut a few corners if the cause is worthwhile and do what’s good for me and my family and my company and my country? Who else is going to look after number one here, if I don’t do it? And the benefits --- well! Beats the heck out of hanging on a cross, right? Not that we’d ever put at that bluntly. … such bad taste, after all. …. “

Oh, the glossy, insidious, smiling, photo-shopped, shining glamour of evil! John Milton was a devout Christian, but most readers will agree that the Lucifer he created in Paradise Lost is the most fascinating character in the poem. And performers like Mick Jagger love to strut around on stage in black and bestow on themselves self-consciously shocking titles like “his Satanic majesty.” None of this nonsense ought to be taken seriously. We need to rely on more than kneejerk emotion in order to fight temptation; it’s dangerously evil to go in the other direction, so afraid of “the Devil” that we forget who runs the Universe. A devout evangelical friend of my mother’s was so afraid of Satan that she was horrified to learn that my mother had adopted a shelter cat named “Dante” – only because all Laura knew about the person named “Dante” was that he had written something about “The Devil” (i.e., The Divine Comedy, one of the greatest poetic & theologically inspired works of art ever produced) – but all Laura could see was that my mother was endangering her soul by merely using the name of a great Italian poet who’s written about him. Never mind that the cat turned out to be named after a baseball player; Laura refused to enter the house when “Dante” was around. ) So yes, we need to keep our wits about us; I can imagine how much any demon must have enjoyed sending two middle-aged Christian friends into a tizzy over something started by an out-of-control sense of demonic paranoia. Arggh.)

I suspect there’s nothing more amusing to Satan than our readiness to be distracted – to start looking for the Devil everywhere and in everyone, except, of course, inside our own hearts. But you can’t see your enemies unless you’re willing to pay attention and use your head as well as your heart.

Because, O Lord, it is so hard to realize that we’re choosing sin even at the moment that we’re doing just that. “The devil made me do it….” Oh, it’s so much more comforting than saying, “Um, I did a bad thing because I thought it would make me happy or rich or powerful or just a bit more comfy and safe.” It is so easy to justify the sins we commit, whatever they are. How often have I been asked, well after the fact, why I did some spectacularly stupid, ugly, unpleasant, boneheaded thing, and found myself with no real explanation, simply shrugging ruefully and saying weakly, “Well, um, I guess I did that because it seemed to me like a good idea at the time”? That doesn’t cut it, really. A person needs to pay attention in order to not fall for the devil’s tricks – whatever you might conceive the devil to be. That means it’s necessary to open our eyes to the reality of our lives -- to see beyond sin’s glittery, glamorous surface.

The Gospel description of Satan is not romantic. Instead, it reveals a picture of concentrated, clever, but extremely petty meanness – nothing grand or heroic about it at all. Here’s somebody trying to tempt an exhausted sun-struck thirsty starving man with the prospect of sweet-smelling yummy fresh bread -- and using wonderfully well-chosen scriptural phrases to justify it. In Luke, when the devil tempts Jesus, he even tries to claim he’s doing the will of God, boasting that all this power and glory … has been handed over to me, and I may give it to whomever I wish. Ultimately, of course, the devil tempts Jesus to possible self-destruction for the sake of self-aggrandizement – with his “Throw yourself down from the temple parapet – just so you can get caught by angels!” What a great way to get your video to go viral on YouTube. It’s all nasty, silly, childish behavior – not much different, really, from one kid tempting another to put his tongue on a frozen flagpole. Except, of course, for the consequences. Which are huge.

Jesus doesn’t miss a beat, however: No matter how tired and hungry he is, the man can think on his barefoot, dusty feet. He answers each of Satan’s challenges with his own perfectly chosen scriptural quote, and otherwise he pretty much ignores him. This whole encounter is worth reflecting on for a lot reasons. One is that it reminds us – as we constantly need to be reminded– that the devil can quote scripture for his own purposes. We are all too easily dazzled by fancy religious-sounding words and the holy imposters who use them so well – which can, alas, at times include ourselves. We might not talk about “Pharisees” now, but religious hypocrites still do a thriving business --- in every religion.

I’ve been thinking about temptation and sin, as I guess a person ought to do now that Lent has started. And it’s occurred to me that I sometimes privately give myself credit for showing spiritual strength against temptation when the fact is that the real true reason I haven’t sinned in certain ways is that I haven’t been seriously tempted lately. I have no right to clap myself on the back for not smoking or gambling my savings away, for example; I’ve never had the slightest desire to do either. I was feeling slightly smug about the celibate life I lead these days – and then it occurred to me that perhaps it’s less because I’m more virtuous now than that I’m edging past my sell-by date. Yes, I live a more restrained life than I did 20 years ago – but what would I do if, say, Bruce Springsteen or George Clooney or, more recently, Benedict Cumberbatch (yes, I know he’s too young, but honestly, Sherlock is incredible!) appeared at my door tonight and offered to sweep me off to a Greek island somewhere? Most of the temptations I wrestle with might be invisible, although I guarantee they’re not imaginary -- sometimes I spend half the day muttering to myself: Get thee behind me, Satan! I’m not trying to make light of sin here; I’m reminding myself yet again that it’s easy to resist things that you’re not really tempted to do. And only you know, in the depths of your heart, where your own weaknesses lie. The Pharisee Jesus scolds in the Gospel is not a bad man; technically, he’s completely faithful to his religious duties. It’s just that it’s not enough. He’s so proud of technically ticking off each item on his “religious behavior” checklist that he’s lost all sight of his lack of humility and compassion. And he never even notices that he’s fallen into the sin of spiritual pride. That might be partly what T.S. Eliot means in his verse drama Choruses from the Rock, when Thomas a Becket realizes right before his martyrdom: “The last temptation is the greatest treason / to do the right deed for the wrong reason.”

Well, dealing honestly with sin requires confession, which requires repentance. Which requires admitting we did something wrong. If there’s one thing our culture has perfected, it’s the art of the “non-apology apology.” We no longer sin or do wrong ourselves; our “mistakes” are shifted carefully into the diplomatic third person, using the passive voice where possible, so that we put on our serious-grownup-frowny faces and cough genteelly and shrug and obliquely acknowledge that “Mistakes were made” (which is not remotely the same as saying “I am the one who actually made those mistakes,” or, even more honestly, “Actually I deliberately did a very bad thing, and if I hadn’t been caught I’m afraid I’d still be doing it”). Basically, we’re still using the dodges we learned as kindergartners: “It’s not my fault, the other guy started it, I couldn’t help it, mistakes were made, everybody else does it, it’s not that big a deal, why are you making a fuss” – et cetera, et cetera. I’ve used all these excuses myself, I’m afraid, trying to justify myself to others and God. But I know I can’t fool Jesus, so why do I bother? We cannot repent until we admit that we’re sinners and quit making excuses. So as I start this Lent, I need to acknowledge the basic truth of my life: Mistakes have definitely been made here – but that is because I am the one who made them, and I am still making them. I am not immune to temptation; my temptations just change a bit, as I have changed.

And so I am trying to learn from Jesus, who was so much braver than I could ever be: After all, he went into the desert alone, unprotected except by his love and trust in his Father. I might feel alone, as I tiptoe into the desert, but I’m not. Jesus has already pioneered the way, and given me a guidebook. Better yet, I know he is here to answer my prayer – one of the most honest prayers I can make: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” That’s a prayer I can say every day and night and mean with complete sincerity, because it’s always true. I hope, with Jesus’ help, to make m y way through the desert of Lent, and come out the other side, refreshed and reclaimed by God. In Jesus’ name . --Diane Sylvain