H
ungry, Son of God?” It was not a disembodied voice that Jesus heard. The question a mockery. The title a derision, spoken by the source of evil incarnate. A man stood there dressed in expensive clothes, serene, intellectual in appearance and calm. A man that would stand out in a crowd as someone to respect and to whom others gave deference. “If you are the . . . ah, Son of God, then speak to these stones. Tell them to become bread. Surely God would not object it you took the edge off this insufferable hunger.” He spoke in a manner matter-of-fact cultured and self-assured. The words were spoken philosophically, detached yet hanging cold and demeaning. He seemed refined, polished and in command of himself. Not a man to be trifled with. Accustomed to respect.
Jesus, his body trembling, making irresistible commands of him, his mind aware of something hard and unrelenting in the deepest corner of his spirit considered the man without fear. On the surface of it, he was thirty years old — young and inexperienced. This fortyish man had an intimidating presence, a polished professional. Yet there was something in Jesus that reached back in time beyond his years. While his physical eyes had never seen this man before, he knew him. The memory however dim, he recalled encountering him. Things were different then. At that time, this man was not a man but what . . ? An authority? It was difficult to remember . . .
Jesus heard himself speak, “You know well that I could command anything I wish. But I am human now.” A very hungry human. He put that thought aside. “Let me remind you, ‘Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’“
The man seemed amused. He wished to appear tolerant, not insensitive to the younger man’s obvious discomfort. There was however, a flash of calculated cruelty in his eye.
Their transport something ethereal, transcendent. For in the next instant, they were no longer on the mountain, but in the city of Jerusalem, standing at the highest point of the temple. It was not an accident that this particular city and this temple tower was chosen. Jerusalem, the City of God! What better place to discredit his “Son!” The temple tower, overlooking the Holy of Holies! What better place to desecrate the Holy One!
“If you are the Son of God,” the man said, “Jump. You no doubt know, the Scripture: “‘He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’” Here in the holy city on the pinnacle of the temple, could there be a better venue for a divine demonstration? “Show your credentials, Son of God.”
On the surface of it, the challenge seemed rational enough. If the words of the psalmist were true, then there was nothing to fear. Clearly, he was the Son of God. But if not, he would die, and of course, the “Son of God” thing would become moot.
Jesus answered him confidently, “I do know the Scripture. And I remind you also of the word, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”
The man was no longer amused. The evil fire in his eye flashed even more brilliantly. He knew then that he would not distract this young man with tricks. Does he really believe that he is . . ? They transported again, this time to the highest mountain. From here, the rim of the world could be seen. The man swept his arm toward the horizon and displayed to Jesus all the realms of the world and their splendor — as far as eye could see. “All this is mine, you know. It was accorded to me and me alone. I will give it to you,” he said, “if you will bow down and worship me.”
The absurdity of such an offer apparently had never entered the man’s mind. How does one offer the Creator that which he already possesses? How does the Creator worship the created?
Nonetheless, it was out. The real reason for this encounter. This man, this devil knew when to strike. Strike at human weakness. Strike at the point of doubt. Sometime during the last forty days, angels could have come. They did not. Why? Had God the Holy Father deserted him? His cheeks had gone sallow. His tongue swollen. His body had lost substance of tissue and he was dying. Yet, he could not stop himself. He knew that he must do this. But the tempter? And this offer of satiety. I am, after all, human.
But worship this, this thing?
Finding the strength of his integrity, Jesus said to him, “Away from me, Satan! You know what is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him alone.’ Something, I might add, that you seem to have discarded.”
The man gazed at him in accomplished contempt. And then he was gone. Was there a question left hanging? Were there threatening words somewhere in the churning mists of violent hunger that said, “You will regret this?” Would there be another time of great suffering where he might hear the mockery, “I gave you a chance in the desert, on the temple pinnacle and yet again on a mountain high. Now look at you. You were dying then. You are dying now, and this time . . .”
