Sermon: Temptation and the first commandment

Lent 1A – Temptation and the first commandment

March 5, 2017

Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7

Matthew 4:1-11

            I recently took an online quiz to see what kind of millennial I am. (I’m an “engaged idealist,” if you wondered…) One of the questions showed a picture of a very cool looking guy in front of a hot car, and asked if I thought what car you drive is a way to project to the world what kind of person you are. I scoffed and quickly marked no. The quiz gave me a chance to explain my answer, and as I did, I discovered that my quick, judgey answer wasn’t exactly true. While I’d like to think I choose my vehicles not for the image they project, but rather, for their environmental friendliness and how well it suits my lifestyle and needs, I also recognize that that is a sort of image I want to project: I want to be “the kind of person who would drive a Prius.” That is, I want people to see what I drive, and be able to discern my values based on that impression. I now drive a Subaru Outback, and I like that it says, “I’ve got a family whose safety I care about, and an interest in loading up the car and going places!” (even though I don’t like that also says, “And I only get half as many miles to a gallon as someone in Prius…”).

The point is this: we sometimes do wrap our identity up in the things we own, the clothes we wear, the job we have, or the activities we participate in.

Now that, in itself, is not a bad thing. I recently visited my best friend in Cleveland and met one of her local friends. They became friends originally because they discovered that not only do they have kids of similar age, they also both have a strangely deep passion for guinea pigs. In fact, her friend had a picture of her guinea pig tattooed on her chest! I remember my friend told me about that tattoo, and said, “I knew we would be great friends!” That’s how we make friends, right? We find people with similar interests and values. That is not a bad thing.

When it becomes a bad thing is when we are tempted, first, to find our primary identity there, and second, when we are tempted to make those interests, people, items, even values into our primary source of comfort, providence, and refuge – that is, when we make them into a sort of god, or idol.

Let’s look at that second temptation first, the one about finding comfort and refuge in our people, interests, and things. I think this is exactly what is at play in two of our scripture readings today. First, we have this famous story about Adam and Eve. Adam and Eve are happy in the garden. It is just them, and God, and God’s beautiful creation. Until the serpent comes along and convinces them that they are unsatisfied, that they need more in life, that indeed it is possible for them to have so much more that they would actually be like God. And here we have the first temptation: the temptation to make our own gods, even, to make ourselves and our opinions and our desires into our god, placing it higher in importance than other people and ideas, even, maybe, higher than God.

I suppose that’s why God made the first commandment a counter to this, original sin: I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me. Like so many of the commandments, I think at first that I’m fine on this one – I am a Christian, and I don’t worship any other god. But then you start exploring what constitutes as a “god,” and things get a little more complicated. Luther describes this in his Large Catechism: “A ‘god,’” he says, “is the term for that to which we are to look for all good and in which we are to find refuge in all need. Therefore, to have a god is nothing else than to trust and believe in that one with your whole heart… Anything on which your heart relies and depends, I say, that is really your God.”

Suddenly, with this broader definition of god, we are in trouble. For we look all kinds of places to find those things – comfort, goodness, trust. I mean, I think God is certainly in the mix for all of us, but not the only source. We depend on world leaders to promise us safety and security, we lean on our spouse for comfort, we look to children to bring meaning to life, we rely on our possessions and our jobs to provide identity and projection of that identity to the world. Can God work through all of those things? Sure, of course. But also sometimes God does not work through those things, and we still look to them as if they can provide us with what only God can provide.

            “Anything on which your heart relies and depends,” Luther says, “that is really your God.” And this is what Jesus shows us today in our Gospel lesson, totally countering what we see from Adam and Eve and in our own lives. Jesus has just fasted for forty days and nights and is, Matthew tells us, famished. In his weakened state, the devil thinks he will surely be easy to persuade, and so he gives it a try, playing to all of Jesus’ weakest points and greatest needs. First, he

goes for the low-hanging fruit: Jesus’ hunger, the most pressing, physical need that Jesus has in that moment. Then he takes aim at Jesus’ ego, inviting him to show off a little. Finally he goes for that oh-so-familiar human taste for power. Any one of us would gladly have given in (perhaps, we have given in, in our own ways, at some point in our lives!), but not Jesus. In each case, Jesus points not to himself and his abilities, not to his high moral and ethical standards, not to anyone or anything around him – no, he points again and again to God.  “Anything on which your heart relies and depends,” Luther says, “that is really your God.” And Jesus shows us this in spades, as he again and again turns and clings to the power of God.

            “I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me.” The first commandment. And it is first for a reason: because all the rest of the commandments show us what it looks like when God is, in fact, that on which your heart relies and depends, over all else. In other words, all the rest of the commandments are an expression of having a core identity based not on external things, but on the fact that you are a child of God. How tempting, and how initially easy, it is to base our identity on the things of this world – possessions, jobs, friends, where you live, what you drive, the size of your bank account, your affinity for animals or the outdoors, even family. But all of these things, in the end, are passing. They are ephemeral. They are not, finally, who you are.

            Someone told me this week that her company had been hacked, and all the W-2s of the employees had been stolen. She said, with sadness, “So, my identity was stolen.” But then smiled slightly and added, “But, my identity in Christ was untouched.”

            And that’s really it, isn’t it? Who you are is not defined by the world, and it cannot be stolen or changed by the world – no matter what temptations you might face, or even, what temptations you might give into. Who you are is defined by whose you are: you are a baptized and beloved child of God. That is not ephemeral. It doesn’t come and go with the times or the stock market or whoever occupies the Oval Office or what car or outfit or gadget is hip right now. It cannot be stolen by hackers, or by bullies, or by cheating partners or misbehaving kids, or by devastating illness. Our God, and God’s promise to us that we are beloved children, stands – no matter what.

            Let us pray… God, you are our one and only God. Help us look to you for all good; when we are in need, help us to find refuge in you; help us to trust and believe in you with our whole hearts, to rely and depend on you whatever temptations may come our way. And may we always know that our identity is and always will be that we are yours. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.