The Lure: A Reflection on the Temptations of Jesus

Adapted from a chapter in The Hidden Jesus by Donald Spoto:

In addition to the stormy seas of Galilee, other storms troubled Jesus during his ministry, for he had to deal continually with a singular risky result of his activity. He spoke with such authority and dealt with people so directly and compassionately that often people hailed him as a specific kind of messiah—indeed a king. They wanted him to be the deliverer whom popular sentiment longed for, one who would lift up Israel from political subordination and establish its prominence among the nations. But such earthly aspirations were never his—hence his persistent and determined rejection of the celebrity, the pomp and the temporal supremacy that public zeal might have secured for him. Woven into the gospel tradition is a poignant theme in the life of Jesus: the constant temptation to take the easy way out, to give in to the cry of the crowd, to accept adulation as a king. As Jesus saw it, this would have been infidelity to his mission, which was something more spiritual: the proclamation and inauguration of the kingdom of God—the good news that God is indeed at work in the human sphere, drawing to himself and saving what He has made. Of this deliverance and salvation, the liberating message of Jesus and the wonderful deeds God performed through him were the establishing signs. God’s domain has nothing to do with and kind of temporal power or supremacy….

Jesus must have been particularly tempted to yield to popular flattery when he met opposition from religious leaders and interference from enemies, and in this regard the tradition behind the gospels has been preserved in a singly brilliantly concise episode—the motif of the perilous lure of renown and power. The so-called temptation narrative is nothing like reportage; rather an essentially interior struggle has been artfully rendered in a classic rabbinic dialogue. In the wilderness forty and nights [recall Moses’ forty day fast on Mt. Sinai and the Israel’s forty year trek in the desert]….Jesus begins to consummate the destiny of his people.

Now comes the first enticement: Make it easy on yourself—stop fasting and praying and turn stones into bread. Behind this is the popular notion that the Messiah-king would wondrously provide food in abundance for everyone. For some who want to do good and alleviate suffering, this motivation is more important than the means by which money is obtained to help the poor: getting in bed with corporations which harm the environment or employ child labor and other abusive labor practices; taking a few moral short-cuts here and there as long as the end goals of helping others are achieved; cutting deals which defy the laws but put more money in our charitable coffers. When the needs are so great and our causes are so desperate, cutting moral corners doesn’t seem so bad, does it?

The second enticement (the third enticement in Matthew) is the great offer of secular messianism, the temptation to use worldly power to accomplish a political goal. In a culture where power is simply way to get important things done, this may not strike us as inherently a bad thing. Until we remember the adage that “power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely”, we are caught in the seductive siren call to make a difference, to matter, to leave our mark on the world. Jesus’ answer that all power belongs only to God may strike us as naïve or romantic, but the gospel writers are telling us that renunciation of power is how the kingdom of God works. This flies in the face of our individual Darwinian tendencies and is so ingrained in our cultural milieu, that Jesus answer seems naive at best and suicidal at the worst.

The last enticement is much more subtle: it asks Jesus to demand proof from God that what he is doing matters, that he matters. Even at the end of his life, according to two gospel accounts, Jesus felt abandoned by his creator and Father. Faith in God is not just belief in credal concepts, it is trust that we are loved and cared for by God. We humans have also asked God to prove that we matter in the divine scheme of things and to God personally. Many good and religious people unconsciously think that we have to earn God’s love, or that God’s love for us is manifested in the good things that happen to us. One of the dangers of spiritual life is the sense that because we are good, religious, prayerful people, we are entitled to have nothing bad happen to us. Some have even been known to try to bribe God with a promise to do or renounce something in return for a favor or for escaping some catastrophe (oh please, oh please, I will do whatever you want, God). What is prayer for?

The gospels reiterate that the entire ministry of Jesus was hedged round with inducements to ease instead of sacrifice, to power instead of poverty of spirit. As late as his last meal, Jesus spoke with weary gratitude to his closest disciples: “You are those who have stood by me in my trials.” Those trials and temptations virtually defined the entire arc of his life—not only the lure of social-political power, but also the occasional efforts even by his friends to deter Jesus from his difficult but destined road, to encourage him to seek comfort over commitment.

To all who have felt, or feel, or fear feeling lost, Jesus came with the announcement of God’s infinite compassion. In Jesus’ words and actions, God was drawing near to everyone without exception.

The commission given to those who follow Jesus of Nazareth was to announce that compassion, to proclaim God’s infinite attention to human need.

But just as he did, the disciples of Jesus—and all those wo later so identify themselves—had to renounce, wherever it appears and however one is tempted to it, the precarious lure of power.