The following message was presented to the Rocheport Christian Church (Missouri) on February 15, 2026.
Every so often we are cast into the wilderness, a wild time on the other side of some threshold. Sometimes we choose to jump into the void and sometimes we are pushed from behind and tumble there. But regardless, we find ourselves in some strange landscape we’ve never seen before, a state of being that is perplexing, uncanny, unfamiliar, and uncertain. All the landmarks seem absent. The path we came in on has washed away and the new one has not yet arrived. Individuals sojourn there for sure. But so do groups of people, large and small. We get lost out there in the wilderness.
When we find ourselves in that wilderness one of our frequent reactions is flight, attempting an escape. This is such a natural human response. Indeed, there are times when flight is important and necessary, part of survival. But in most cases when wilderness comes our way, voluntarily or involuntarily, it is important to stand in the trial, to make something of it or be made by it. It is the kind of task that can create a larger, more resilient life.
The thing about wilderness is that it strips us down, like a snake shedding its skin. The wilderness frees us from distraction and provides enough stillness and solitude to visit the inner spaces, so that a better version of us can emerge. It peels off all the old layers of paint, all the masks, all the props, every defense mechanism we’ve employed to create some kind of order. It strips us down to the basics. It deconstructs the little worlds we’ve created and shows us the source of all our self-inflicted wounds. A kind of dying and rising takes place. There are no shortcuts around wilderness, only a pathway through it, and every spiritual journey follows this similar pattern through the refiner’s fire.
Something else that the wilderness reveals is the wild and untamable God that is not under our control. In our world people are inclined to create controllable gods, tribal gods, domesticated gods, gods kept in the back pocket, gods we summon to do our dirty work, gods created in the image of ourselves that have our same values and priorities. In the wilderness all those false gods collapse, and we meet the holy on its own wild terms.
As our spiritual ancestor Jacob discovered, we never win a wrestling match with an angel. We might limp away with a blessing, but its not because we prevailed.
This past summer, I took a pilgrimage to a wilderness of my own. Following Kathy’s death I headed to Costa Rica for ten days of solitude and discovery. I was accompanied by all that was lost and searched for all that could be found. I traveled solo, made my own arrangements, walked the cities and towns, drove to beautiful places, and bathed in beauty and solitude. Days went by with barely conversing with anyone, except in a perfunctory way. It’s exactly what I needed.
On Sunday I decided to drive to the old Spanish capital of Costa Rica, Cartago, to attend the cathedral. I made it and parked my car. The cathedral was built in the old Spanish style with exposed wooden beams, colorfully painted. I arrived after the service had begun and I could hear the singing from outside. I slipped in a side door, and the place was packed with locals, individuals and families. I tried to be inconspicuous and slide into a pew, but … being 6’3” and the only gringo in the place made that difficult. I threw my backpack under a pew and settled in. The music included a solo cantor accompanied by a Spanish style acoustic guitar.
When it came time for communion we went through the liturgy and prayers and finally the moment came when the priest elevated the host and the chancel bells jingled – the highest, holiest moment of the mass.
He held the bread aloft for the longest time, waiting on the Spirit. And then I heard it – a voice. I kid you not. It was an audible voice like my voice now, a human sounding voice. And it said, “Approaching Railroad Crossing.”
I had forgotten to turn off the Mapquest on my phone. I quickly fished into my pocket to turn it off, hoping no one around me knew English. But, too late, busted.
After mass I walked across the plaza in front of the cathedral and settled in for lunch in a little café. And I thought about that serendipity of the voice in my pocket: Approaching Railroad Crossing. At the holiest possible moment in the service the Mapquest voice spoke about crossings, and crossings are most surely where some of the holiest moments in our lives materialize – there at the crossroads between here and there. The wilderness between where we were and are yet to be.
To say that Jesus was at a crossroads is an understatement. After Jesus was baptized by John in the Jordan River he was led by the Spirit to the wilderness where he fasted for forty days. There he was tested to the core of his being.
His temptations were three and they are universal for all of us:
The first temptation was this:
“If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.”
This is the temptation to false security, to choose the safe way rather than the hard one placed before us. What do we depend on? Today we might use the language of attachment. When we attach to things that inevitably pass away, we always experience the collapse of false security.
Jesus recognized that we need our daily bread, in fact, it was included in the Lord’s Prayer: Give us this day our daily bread. We are creatures who need to survive. Just try living food insecure, or unable to pay your rent, or unable to get health care for your baby, or having to choose between buying food or buying the medicine you need. No, we need our daily bread.
But this temptation is about the other side of the coin, when we attach to material possessions like a life preserver, like a child’s pacifier. That kind of security is very precarious, which is why Jesus knows he shouldn’t turn the scarcity of the stone into the satiation of bread. We can’t depend on it that way.
Of course, it’s a relevant word for us in our society. So much of the messaging we receive from every quarter is oriented to buying, selling, consuming, possessing, marketing, owning and protecting.
The subliminal and overt messaging is that all this acquiring and consuming will make us happy and secure. When you are anxious, depressed or empty, go online and order something. I know how that is. Lord Amazon shows up on my porch, too. Attachment to material things can be very seductive.
At its worst this becomes unbridled greed, an insatiable appetite that strives for more and more. There is never enough to satisfy. When you’ve got one yacht, maybe two yachts would be better.
To this, Jesus gives us a cold shower: “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”
Decide what you are ultimately going to depend on.
The second temptation turns a different direction:
“Then the devil took him to the holy city and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, ‘If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”
First, the obvious: The tempter is quoting scripture to him. If there is anything more persuasive to a religiously oriented person, it is the authority of scripture. But just remember who’s doing the quoting. That’s right, scripture can be used by anyone to justify anything.
So what is the temptation? He takes him to the temple in Jerusalem, a place where the worship of God should take place, and says that Jesus could throw himself off the parapet of the temple and angels would swoop in at the last moment to break his fall. Go ahead, the tempter says, don’t you have enough faith? Don’t you believe God can do it?
That’s a tricky one. But there is more at work in this temple jumping that meets the eye. Jesus quotes scripture back and says, “Again it is written, ‘Do not tempt (or test) the Lord your God.’” In other words, don’t you go trying to test God. And how would he test God? By calling for a special miracle. What’s wrong with that? It defines the relationship with the holy incorrectly. It’s upside down. We are not to test God, rather, God is to test us.
This temptation goes to the root of our desire to somehow control God. We carry a notion of some cosmic bubblegum machine; put in the quarter and turn the crank. That, of course, creates a way of things in which God is put at our disposal, like an errand boy, a tribal mascot. We try to domesticate God, housebreak God, keep God tucked away in our god box, stored in our back pocket to pull out when convenient.
What this encourages is a kind of spiritual narcissism: I am at the center of the universe, and this kept God is at my beck and call. We know how dangerous that can become.
Every totalitarian movement in the history of the world has used God and religion in exactly that way. God exists to prop up my ideology and enable my cause. Whether it is the Church and the crusades, or Hitler’s Germany, or Pinochet’s Chile, or slaveholder religion in the Missouri River Valley, the temptation is to use religion to justify what we want, what we believe, to own and control a god we want to have at our disposal.
Go ahead, says the tempter, quoting scripture, throw yourself from temple and call upon God to complete your magic act. How famous you will be! What a celebrity! With that demonstration of power you’ll no doubt gather a crowd. Just imagine what other rabbits you can pull out of your hat. All for 15 minutes of fame!
If I can control God, that god is too small. That is not the mystery of the Cosmos. That’s some little tribal deity I conjured up for my purposes.
Jesus said, “You shall not tempt the Lord your God.” Get the relationship right. Discard that narcissistic manipulation of faith. And start asking what it takes for me to be in harmony with God, not what God must do to be aligned with my plans.
The final temptation is a doosey.
“The devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor; and he said to him, ‘All these are yours!’”
Remember: Jesus is not a part of the religious establishment or of the Roman empire. He stands outside of those. He is a wandering peasant mystic from the sticks of Galilee. Why would such a temptation to power come to him as he’s outside of all those power structures?
The temptation to power is endemic to those who practice religious faith. Why? Because they may feel authorized by some sense of divine decree to control others, to take what they want, all for the sake of the kingdom.
Consider Medieval Europe and the domination system of the Church. The power of the Church was woven into the fabric of empire in such a way that the two were barely indistinguishable. And so the Church could mount inquisitions and crusades, take what they wanted, torture who they wanted, control who they wanted, all under the banner of the cross. Divine decree. Manifest destiny. We always say these kinds of things to justify what we want to do. To even feel authorized to spill blood because of it. Whenever church and state get too intertwined, bad things happen.
We have that going on today. And it’s also directly related to the quest for power and domination.
The most obvious example in our time is the rise of Christian Nationalism, something like a Christian Taliban. Christian Nationalism hates democracy and religious freedom. It wants to tear down a pluralistic society and replace with a theocracy – a church/state hybrid comprised of one variant of Christianity with an autocratic state. Through its campaign of the “Seven Mountains” it is attempting to dominate all aspects of society to make it comply by force and law with its religious values and worldview. The mountains to be dominated include the press, education, the arts, private corporations, every branch of government. All under the umbrella of their religious ideology.
The goal is the establishment of a theocratic state that controls citizens in every way with its domination system. It especially attempts to control women, minorities, and the LGBTQ community by systematically stripping away rights and freedoms. That’s the plan.
But you object: “Nothing they say or do has anything to do with Jesus.” You would be right. It doesn’t have anything to do with Jesus. It is the most conspicuous heresy of our time, and it is directly related to this third temptation of Jesus, the temptation to power.
All these kingdoms can be yours – to control, dominate, possess. How seductive that power can be.
What does Jesus have to do to get all this? Well, the text tells us: “’All these are yours … if you will fall down and worship me.’” Ah, let’s make a deal. The deal is you’ve got to sell your soul.
How does Jesus respond to this temptation? Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! for it is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”
Do you notice what happened at the end of all the temptations? After Jesus resisted them, the tempter went away. Interesting, isn’t it? If you feed the wolf, he keeps coming back for more. If you ignore him, he goes away.
It was only after Jesus refused to turn stone into bread by attaching to false security, refused to put God at his disposal by temple jumping, and refused to pursue his own power rather than the power of God, that consolation came. The text says that angels came and ministered to him.
In the quiet place on the other side of the struggle we often discover a deep-down presence that is waiting for us.
It is the consolation of the Spirit that comes when we let go and trust the untamable God of the wilderness, the wild God, the God utterly beyond our control. Only that God can help. Amen.
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