The Desert of Our Decisions
Gospel: Matthew 4:1-11
Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF
Claretian Missionaries
There is a geography to the soul that mirrors the geography of the land. There are fertile valleys of consolation, high mountains of transfiguration, and then there is the desert. The Spirit, Matthew tells us, led Jesus into the desert. Not pushed, not tricked, but led. This is our first great lesson of Lent: the desert is not a place of punishment; it is a place of preparation. It is not where God abandons us; it is where God meets us, stripped of all distraction.
Imagine the silence. Forty days of it. The wind over the stones, the scorching heat of the day, the biting cold of the night. In that silence, the only voice left to hear is the voice of the Enemy—and the faint, persistent echo of the Father’s voice at the Jordan: “This is my beloved Son.”
And it is precisely that identity that the devil attacks. Notice how every temptation begins: “If you are the Son of God…”
The tempter does not bother trying to convince Jesus he is a nobody. The attack is always on the truth of who we are. He whispers, “If you are really loved by God, why are you so hungry? Why are you so alone in this wasteland? Prove it. Use your power. Grab something for yourself.”
The first seduction was on our need for the immediate, the tangible, the physical. Jesus is hungry. The need is real. The stones look like little loaves. The devil’s logic is so practical, so reasonable: “You have the power. Feed yourself. What’s the harm? Your ministry will need a strong body. Your hunger is a problem—solve it.”
How often do we live by this logic? We want the solution now, the comfort now, the gratification now. We reduce our deepest hunger—the hunger for meaning, for love, for God—to a hunger that we think can be satisfied with something we can hold, buy, or consume.
Jesus answers from a deeper place. He reaches back to Deuteronomy, to the memory of Israel wandering in the desert. “One does not live on bread alone.” There is a hunger that bread cannot touch. There is a life that is not sustained by solving every problem immediately. True life comes from trust, from waiting, from listening for the word that comes from the mouth of God. He refuses to turn the stone of his trial into the bread of self-sufficiency. He will wait for the Father’s provision, not grab his own.
The second temptation was to be Spectacular. Defeated on the level of the body, the devil tries the level of the spirit. He takes Jesus to the pinnacle of the Temple—the very place where God is supposed to dwell. And now the devil quotes Scripture! “If you trust the Father so much, prove it. Jump. Make God catch you. Force his hand. Do something spectacular so everyone will believe.”
This is the temptation to manipulate God. To treat faith like a magic trick. To demand a sign. How often do we do this? “God, if you are real, fix this situation exactly the way I want.” “God, if you love me, show me by giving me this job, this healing, this outcome.” We want to put God to the test, to make him dance to the tune of our expectations.
Jesus refuses to audition for the Father. He refuses to force God’s hand. “You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.” Trust does not demand proof. Love does not set traps. Jesus will not jump, because he does not need to see the angels to know the Father is there. He will walk the long road of trust, even if that road leads not to a soft landing, but to a cross.
The third temptation was to worship evil. Finally, the mask comes off. The devil takes Jesus to a high mountain and shows him all the kingdoms of the world. “Skip the suffering,” he says. “Skip the cross. Skip the slow, painful work of redemption. Bow to me, just this once, and I will give you everything now. Take the shortcut.”
This is the deepest temptation of all. The temptation to achieve a good end through a corrupt means. To build the Kingdom of God with the tools of the world: power, compromise, domination. To settle for the kingdoms of the world when we are meant to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven.
Jesus sees through it. He sees that to worship the power of the world is to become a slave to it. The ends do not justify the means; the means shape the ends. He will not bow. He will not take the shortcut. He will take the long road of obedience, the road of love, the road that leads through Gethsemane and Golgotha, because that is the only road that leads to Easter.
And then, the devil left him. And behold, angels came and ministered to him. Notice: the angels did not come during the temptation to rescue him from it. They came after. The strength to endure the trial came from within, from the Word hidden in his heart. The consolation came after the combat.
This Lent, we are led into the desert. Not to be destroyed, but to be defined. The desert is the place where we face our own temptations—the lure of the immediate, the demand for the spectacular, the seduction of the shortcut. It is the place where we are asked the same question the devil asked Jesus: “Who are you? And whose are you?”
If we are the beloved, we do not need to prove anything by grabbing. If we are the beloved, we do not need to test God with demands. If we are the beloved, we do not need to worship false powers to feel secure.
The desert is empty so that we might be filled. It is silent so that we might hear. And when the testing is over, when we have chosen the Father’s word over the world’s bread, the angels will come. They always do. And they will minister to us in ways we cannot yet imagine.
© Claretian Publications, Macau
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