Sermon by The Very Rev Chris Yaw, 2/22/2026, Lent 1
Lessons: Matthew 4: 1-11
Good morning Saints!
If you have ever tried to eat healthy in the State of Michigan, you know that temptation is not theoretical.
You can have a noble plan.
You can meal prep.
You can buy spinach.
You can wash kale...
And then someone brings pierogies.
Or Bumpy Cake.
Or Buddy's pizza that arrives at the table still bubbling like it was forged in the center of the earth.
Temptation rarely announces itself as sabotage.
It presents itself as a shortcut to something good.
That is what makes the story of Jesus in the wilderness so important.
It speaks to us about our shortcuts - quick fixes - and immediate remedies - when we know the spiritual path is one of long obedience in the same direction.
We know very well the impediments we encounter as we seek to follow the Path - the Way - the Light - and we get as stumped as Oscar Wilde who said, "I can resist anything - except temptation..."
Luke tells us that Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, was led into the wilderness.
That detail matters.
The Spirit leads him there.
This is not accidental suffering.
This is not punishment.
This is formation.
Forty days.
Hungry.
Alone.
No applause.
No miracles.
No crowds chanting his name.
Just wind and sand, heat and fatigue, parched throat, rumbling stomach, and the sound of his own breathing. This is when temptation comes.
The first one sounds practical. “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.”
Notice what is being offered.
Not evil.
Not cruelty.
Bread.
Food.
Relief.
Immediate comfort.
No harvesting, chaffing, grinding, forming, baking - it is there - stones into sourdough - in an instant.
The Devil says:
You have power.
Solve the problem.
Fix it fast.
Feed yourself.
Why wait?
Why suffer?
Why endure when you can solve it right now?
It is the temptation of comfort and convenience. And it is not about bread.
It is the voice that says to Jesus -
"You want to start a movement - you want people to pay attention to the arrival of the Kingdom of God - everyone will follow the guy with the Insta-bread,
“You deserve ease. You deserve relief. You deserve to skip the hard part.”
It is the voice that whispers to a marriage, “This is harder than you thought.
There are easier options.”
It is the voice that whispers to a calling,
“This feels slow. Maybe there is a faster way.”
It is the voice that says,
“Turn stones into bread. You do not have to wait on God.”
Jesus answers,
“One does not live by bread alone!
My life is not sustained by immediate relief.
My life is sustained by trust.
By long obedience in the same direction.
By something deeper than comfort and convenience.
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Then comes the next temptation.
Jesus is taken to the pinnacle of the temple.
“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down. Surely God will catch you.”
And this one is not about parkour - it's about safety.
In a capricious, violent, raw and biting world - it's about protection, following the guy who can call on the angels to fend off every threat.
The devil says
'Surely you'll attract followers when you show them that you can lick every army - the divine power to ward off every danger.'
You can build a religion on safety.
You can build a following on safety.
You can gather a crowd by selling guarantees.
And we are surrounded by that sales pitch.
Buy this and you’ll be safe.
Vote for this and you’ll be safe.
Follow this plan and you’ll be safe.
Believe this formula and you’ll be safe.
And sometimes the promise is even spiritualized:
“If you just have enough faith, nothing bad will happen.”
But that is not Christianity.
That is superstition with a cross necklace.
Because the God revealed in Jesus does not promise us a life with no suffering.
God promises us presence in suffering.
The temptation of safety wrapped in spiritual language that we hear when we avoid risk, avoid vulnerability, avoid anything that might bruise our ego or our reputation.
Jesus replies, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
My life is not sustained by guarantees of divine protection.
My life is sustained by trust.
By faith. By long obedience in the same direction.
By something deeper than my need to feel safe and secure.
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Then comes the final temptation.
The devil shows him all the kingdoms of the world and says,
“To you I will give their glory and all this authority.”
You get all the real estate, splendor, and riches - all the control, ownership, and envy of the masses who will line the red carpet when you get off your jet.
This temptation is about how attracted we've always been to wealth and its power.
About FOMO.
About YOLO.
About impressing.
This is the temptation to be somebody.
This is the temptation to matter.
And here’s the seduction: popularity feels guaranteed when you’re rich.
When you have authority.
When you are loaded.
When you have the kind of life people envy.
Everybody wants to be your friend.
Everybody will follow you.
And if you don’t think this is a temptation for religious leaders, just look around.
The lure of platform.
The lure of influence.
The lure of being impressive.
We start confusing faithfulness with visibility.
We start thinking the goal is being liked.
We start trimming the Gospel so it fits into what can be applauded.
We start living for the crowd, even when we’re preaching against it.
The devil’s offer is not subtle: “Worship me, and it will all be yours.”
That’s the price.
Not just success.
Allegiance.
Because popularity always demands worship.
It always asks you to serve something.
If you serve money, money will make you bow.
If you serve image, image will make you bow.
If you serve the crowd, the crowd will make you bow.
And Jesus refuses.
“Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”
Meaning: I will not gain the world by losing my soul.
I will not build the kingdom of God by kneeling to the kingdoms of this world.
My life is not sustained by popularity and the envy of the masses.
My life is sustained by trust.
By faith.
By long obedience in the same direction.
By something deeper than my need for approval and acceptance.
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So in order: comfort, safety, popularity.
And Jesus did not fall for any of it.
And here is the part that matters most:
Jesus did not reject them because they were obviously bad.
He rejected them because they were shortcuts.
Because he understands something we often forget:
The kingdom of God grows slowly.
Like seeds.
Like yeast.
Like mustard shrubs that start tiny and end up sheltering birds.
The desert reveals what kind of Messiah Jesus will be.
Not the flashy one.
Not the shortcut king.
Not the miracle-on-demand celebrity.
He will be the Messiah of long obedience in the same direction.
Not emotional spikes.
Not viral moments.
Not spiritual fireworks.
Long obedience.
The kind that shows up to pray when you do not feel inspired.
The kind that forgives when your pride wants revenge.
The kind that keeps loving when the feeling has cooled.
The kind that keeps serving when no one notices.
And here is the part that challenges us:
The temptations Jesus faced are the same ones that haunt us.
We want comfort.
We want safety.
We want popularity.
We want to be well regarded.
We want to avoid pain.
And none of those desires are evil in themselves.
But when they become the compass, they lead us off the path.
Maybe you are facing something right now that feels like a wilderness.
A decision about your future.
A strained relationship.
A calling that feels bigger than your capacity.
A health challenge that has not resolved as quickly as you hoped.
And the temptation is to look for the shortcut.
To numb the discomfort instead of growing through it.
To demand guarantees instead of walking by trust.
To chase applause instead of faithfulness.
The wilderness strips us of illusions.
It reveals what we really rely on.
In the desert, there is no crowd to impress.
No stage to perform on.
Just the question:
Who will you trust?
Jesus chooses trust – trust in God.
He does not deny his hunger.
He does not deny his power.
He does not deny his infinite wealth.
But he refuses to define himself by immediate relief, immediate power, or immediate popularity.
Instead, he chooses the cross-shaped path.
And that path is not glamorous.
It leads you and me through misunderstanding.
Through rejection.
Through betrayal.
Through suffering.
But it also leads to resurrection.
Here is the paradox at the heart of our faith: the slow road works.
The daily prayer works.
The steady kindness works.
The small acts of courage work.
The patient endurance works.
They do not trend.
They transform.
There is a reason Jesus compares discipleship to taking up a cross daily.
Daily is not dramatic.
Daily is repetitive.
Daily is ordinary.
But daily obedience builds something extraordinary over time.
Think of one of the most boring presidents we've ever had - Jimmy Carter.
Think of the most extraordinary presidents we've ever had - Jimmy Carter.
Long obedience in the same direction - Dick Van Dyke, Warren Buffett, Matthew Stafford – think of your own.
Think about the people you most respect.
The ones whose lives radiate integrity and depth.
They probably did not arrive there through a single grand gesture.
They arrived there through thousands of quiet choices.
Choices to tell the truth.
Choices to stay.
Choices to forgive.
Choices to show up.
Choices to pray.
Choices to trust.
Long obedience in the same direction.
We live in a culture that prizes acceleration.
Faster growth.
Faster results.
Faster gratification.
But the soul does not mature at the speed of Wi Fi.
The soul grows at the pace of surrender.
So here is the invitation:
When you are tempted to trade your calling for comfort, pause.
When you are tempted to trade your trust for control, pause.
When you are tempted to trade your integrity for influence, pause.
Remember the wilderness.
Remember that the Son of God chose hunger over shortcuts.
Chose vulnerability over spectacle.
Chose obedience over applause.
And because he did, we have a Savior who understands our deserts.
Where we are tested.
Not cushioned.
Not insulated.
Tested.
Which means when you are tired of the long road, he understands.
When you are weary of doing the right thing with little recognition, he understands.
When you are tempted to give up on the slow work of love, he understands.
And he walks with you.
Lent is not about proving how spiritual we are.
It is about training our hearts to prefer obedience over ease.
It is about saying, in small ways, “I will not be ruled by my impulses.”
It is about practicing trust.
Fasting is not about punishing the body.
It is about reminding the soul that bread is not enough.
Prayer is not about performing for God.
It is about aligning our will with God’s.
Almsgiving is not about checking a box.
It is about loosening our grip on power and possession.
All of it is training in long obedience.
You may not feel heroic.
You may not feel powerful.
You may not feel certain.
That is okay.
Faithfulness rarely feels cinematic.
It feels like choosing patience again.
It feels like showing up again.
It feels like praying again.
It feels like loving again.
And again. And again.
But over time, those "again and again" form a life.
Jesus walked out of the wilderness not with a magic trick, not with a political alliance, not with a viral moment.
He walked out ready.
Ready to heal.
Ready to teach.
Ready to suffer.
Ready to save.
Not because he chose the easy road.
Because he chose the faithful one.
So whatever wilderness you find yourself in today, do not assume you are lost.
You are being formed.
Do not assume the slow road is a failure.
It may be the very place where your character is being shaped into something durable and beautiful.
Choose the long obedience.
Choose the steady “yes.”
Choose the path that forms your soul, even if it does not inflate your ego.
Comfort will call.
Safety will call.
Popularity will call.
But so will Christ.
In your soul.
In your spirit.
And his voice is quieter.
Stronger.
Truer.
Follow that voice.
Through the wilderness.
To the cross.
And, by the great and tender mercies of God, to resurrection.
Amen.