Christ raises us to be who were created to be – Gen 2:7-9, Matt 4:1-11

1st Sunday of Lent, Year A; Holy Infant parish.

I have to admit that whenever I’m bored, one of my go-to “this’ll-distract-me” instincts is to pull out my phone. Of course, it doesn’t always work, and I have at times caught myself looking at something on my phone, still being bored at it, or frustrated at how slowly something’s loading, and realizing that my left hand is instinctively reaching down to my pocket to take out my phone. Forgetting what I’m doing makes me think that something’s going to satisfy me that isn’t, in this case that isn’t even there.  What’s much more dangerous though than forgetting what you’re doing is forgetting who you are.

That’s what happened to Eve and Adam.  That’s what happened when they got ensnared by the voice that said: “you need this fruit.  This is what’ll satisfy you; you need this fruit to become like God.”  The serpent’s voice could only have triggered action if they’d already forgotten who they were, forgotten that they were created in the image and likeness of God, that God’s own breath had been breathed into their nostrils in a life-giving loving act of messy intimacy.  They were like God!  They were created as the glory of creation, as the ones who were to tend the good garden God had made to nourish them, the co-workers in God’s creative action, walking in unquestioned harmony with each other, with creation and with God, always dependent, always delighting in their dependence (on each other, on God), always trusting, never anxious.

The serpent sows a seed of worry, the first such seed in this good garden.  And they forget who they are: “you’re not like God, not yet!  You’re dependent, go on, take your life into your own hands, take this fruit… that’s what you need, that’s what’ll satisfy you.”  It’s a lying voice.   The serpent is the first figure in all of scripture to talk about God in the third person, rather than to God or with God.  He’s the first person to do God-talk, to do theology, absent a posture of prayer.  He creates this anxiety, this worry, the creatures begin to doubt their true identity, their likeness to God, and then the serpent offers the fruit that seeks to overcome worry about self by undermining God, when only God can truly handle our worries and fears.  That’s the true sin here: to doubt our likeness to God, and to try to take our lives, our worries into our hands and seek a way out of them through a quick fix, a distracting phone or some forbidden fruit. 

Jesus shows us there’s another way. He shows us what it looks like be a human who remembers who he is. And St. Paul is clear here: the legacy of Christ outweighs that of Adam.  Justification and life triumph over sin and death.  Adam need not drag us down; Christ can lift us up.

Satan tempts Jesus. “You say you’re the son of God, that you’re beloved, that you’re so powerful, yet here you are, on your own, hungry in a desert. I can make you much more god-like, just worship me and you’ll have power over every kingdom in the world, you’ll be magnificent.” But, Jesus remembers who he is, remembers his true sonship. He certainly remembers his dependency on God, his trust that God will feed him, that there’s no need for a showy miracle that only feeds himself and delights Satan. No, Jesus trusts in his divine sonship enough to be ready to hunger with us at that time, and perform a miracle to feed us later. He remembers what the Temple is for, the place of praise and worship and sacrifice to God, and refuses to use it to aggrandize himself at that time. Later, he’ll go there to drive out the money-changers and invite all to pray there. Later still, the Spirit he sends will dwell in us and make us that Temple. He remembers what authority has been given him, to teach, to heal, to judge; the freedom to shun magnificence, at least in its earthly sense.

At the end of the Gospel, Jesus will tell his disciples that all authority is his and use that to send them out to baptize and teach all people in his name; not to dominate them in power, but lead them into the true freedom of messy loving intimacy. That’s after he’s shown his kingship on a donkey, after he’s shown his love on a cross. After he’s shown his divine sonship in remembering who he is, resisting all distractions, all temptations, remembering that he is like God, and so (even if only in a different sense) are we, who he was sent to love, to teach, to guide, to heal and to save.

In Lent, our fasting and self-denial can teach us that being like God doesn’t mean having the power to meet every little nagging voice of a need that distracts. Our prayer and our almsgiving, our service of and love for God and for neighbor, remind us that we are made like our God, not to exert our power, but to love like him. And Jesus raises us to be who we are.