Commentary on Luke 4:1-13

Before anything else, we must get clear about the characters in this scene. There is Jesus, and in Luke’s story we have just seen him baptized and identified as God’s Son, the Beloved. We have also seen him woven into a genealogy that begins with characters that could be anybody and continues to the great figures of Jewish history: David, Abraham, Adam, and finally God.

And there is the devil, whoever he is. 

We are part of a long popular theological history that is very sure it knows what it means for Jesus to be the Son of God. This history is also sure it knows what it means to be the devil. The tradition might be wrong.

First of all, when Jesus is first identified as the Son of God, it marks him as Messiah, the Anointed One (see Psalm 2). But at the end of the genealogy, another character, Adam, is given the same identity. Adam is not the Messiah; not a transcendent figure, not even quasi-divine. He is the first human, the being into whom God blew the breath of life. If Adam is filled with the breath of God, so is Jesus, who was led into the wilderness where the scene for this Sunday takes place. Whoever Jesus is in this scene, his identity is a bit more complicated than traditional theology generally acknowledges. 

And the devil is similarly complicated. Traditional popular theology knows him as the one who tempts human beings to sin. Many translations (including the New Revised Standard Version) have had him doing that to Jesus in this scene. They translated peirazomenos as “tempt,” rather than “test,” as the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition renders the word. The more recent translation is better. 

But who is this tester? In Greek he is the diabolos, which sounds diabolical, and this fits into popular theology with its notion of a devil, a power who stands over against God. While such dualistic notions are not entirely foreign to Jewish thought, there is an older, more interesting tradition. If behind the diabolos is the satan, this character is the Cosmic Building Inspector (see the book of Job), not a diabolical opponent of God’s rule. 

If the diabolos in this scene is doing what the satan does in Job, then he is carrying out his divinely ordained role by testing the durability of God’s creation. In this case, it is the Son of God who is being tested to see if he holds true. If the Son of God is the Messiah, the testing is powerful and interesting. If the son of God is Adam, the testing becomes perhaps even more intriguing. 

The first test seems simple. Jesus is fasting for a very long time. He is famished. The tester offers him a release: Since you are “Son of God,” make these stones into bread and break your fast. We, of course, do not know if Jesus had the power to make the stones into bread. He does not perform any similar miracle in Luke’s story (nor in any of the canonical gospels). So perhaps the tester is simply toying with Jesus: “You must be hungry,” he says, “hungry enough to dream of eating anything, even these stones …”

Jesus’ answer is interesting. It reminds me of the experience of a friend of mine. My friend’s daughter was approaching the time for her bat mitzvah. One day she asked her father what was wrong about eating pepperoni pizza. She had encountered that particular delicacy at slumber parties in the homes of non-Jewish friends. “God made pigs just like God made sheep. What’s so wrong about eating pork?” She loved arguments. So did my friend. 

“That’s a good question,” he told his daughter. “You’ll have to find an answer.”

His daughter had hoped for an argument, and she got a research project. She went to slumber party after slumber party, and came home smelling of pepperoni, pulled pork, and bacon. Especially bacon. 

One day (about when she should have been beginning to learn her Torah portion for the bat mitzvah service), she came to her father and announced her results. “I have concluded that there is nothing wrong with pork,” she said. “God made it, and it tastes wonderful.”

My friend was not surprised, but he was a bit nervous. Perhaps his daughter would be non-observant. This would not be a catastrophe. Not all faithful Jews keep kosher. But perhaps she would decide that she was not Jewish, not in any form. Again, this would not be a catastrophe. Such things happen, and God understands. But it would be at least awkward.

“There is nothing bad about pork,” she repeated, “but there is a great deal that is good about learning to control yourself. When I smell pepperoni pizza, I will remember that I am a Jew, and I will control myself.” 

That is essentially what Jesus says to the tester. “Of course I am famished. I am fasting, after all. There is more to life than food.” Such self-control is important in a human being, more so in a messiah.

Then comes the second test. “In a world full of enemies and danger,” says the tester, “what you need is the power to control them. Bow down to power, and I will give that power to you.” 

This is a stronger test. If the Messiah has the task of turning the world right-side-up, surely that task will require power. Just listen to the hymns we sing; listen to the worship songs. Jesus will reign, rule, conquer, control. All of those accomplishments require power.  

Listen to the political fantasies that attend any election cycle. Candidates offer power and call their opponents weak. They do this predictably because they know we imagine that we will be safe if only we have enough power. 

Jesus picks up on a subtle flaw in the test. The test is about the desire for power, but the tester disguises this behind a call for Jesus to bow down. Jesus notes that worship is to be directed only toward God. But his response is more than just a dodge. “You are to worship,” he notes, “the LORD your God.” The word “LORD” signals the presence of the unpronounceable divine Name, YHWH, which the rabbis note names the mercy attribute of God. The other name for God, Elohim (translated as “God”), names the justice attribute. But that means that Jesus just accomplished what Jewish tradition calls “the unification of the Name.” Both attributes are brought together, and it is made clear that the justice of God is lived out in acts of mercy, not power. This is a marvelous rejection of our love of power. This rejection makes it possible for any human being (even the Messiah) to participate in the reign of God. 

The final test sounds like a circus trick. “Since you are the Son of God, let’s see you fly.” Again, Jesus never does anything remotely like flying. He does not do circus tricks. 

But the test is again more subtle. The tester is offering him a chance to be above it all, above all restraints, above all law, even the law of gravity. This test offers the Messiah (and every human being) the chance to be absolutely free. And if the Messiah is free even from the law of gravity, then the Messiah is invulnerable. 

Which, of course, is precisely what it does not mean to be Messiah. Or human. Every parent learns the radical vulnerability that comes with attempting to raise children. You can do everything right and still have everything go wrong. Likewise, every child learns the radical vulnerability that comes with having parents. They are flawed, all of them, and their flaws leave marks. They grow old and become increasingly vulnerable so that finally the parent we understood to be the strongest, smartest, bestest in the world becomes frail and confused. 

And the Messiah must suffer and die, says Luke at the climax of the Gospel. Messiah must be subject not only to gravity, but to the Roman power to torture and kill. Otherwise, Messiah is not one of us at all, not a son of God like every child of Adam, the son of God.