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Have you ever noticed how temptation rarely feels dramatic?
It does not usually arrive with red
lights flashing or ominous music playing.
It sounds reasonable. Harmless. Even
helpful.
“Just
this once.”
“You deserve this.”
“No one will know.”
“It’s not that serious.”
In the Garden of Eden, the serpent does
not shout. He suggests. He plants doubt. He reframes God’s command as a
restriction instead of a gift.
“Did God really say…?”
And with that subtle question,
everything changes.
We start this week’s readings with the
Breath and the Lie.
In Genesis, we hear something
extraordinary:
“The Lord God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his
nostrils the breath of life.”
You and I are not accidents. We are not
self-made. We are not random collections of cells. We are dust kissed by God.
Clay filled with divine breath.
And then, the serpent whispers a lie:
that God is holding something back. That obedience is limitation. That autonomy
is freedom.
The first sin is not merely eating the fruit.
It is believing that God cannot be trusted.
Adam and Eve reach for what they think
will make them more alive — and instead they experience shame, fear, and
hiding. The breath of God is still in them, but now it is choked out by
suspicion.
Sound familiar?
Every temptation still works the same
way. It begins by distorting who God is:
·
“God
doesn’t really care what you do.”
·
“God
is too strict.”
·
“God
just wants to control you.”
Temptation always questions God.
Now we turn to the New Adam in the
Desert.
Where Adam stood in a lush garden, Jesus
stands in a barren desert.
Where Adam was surrounded by abundance,
Jesus is fasting for forty days with nothing, but the clothes on his back.
Where Adam failed amid plenty, Jesus
remains faithful amid hunger and scarcity.
St. Paul tells us: “Through one man sin
entered the world… through one man righteousness.”
Jesus is the New Adam.
Notice something important: the devil
tempts Jesus in the same pattern as in the Garden of Eden.
“Command
that these stones become bread.”
(Questioning
trust in the Father’s provision.)
“Throw
yourself down.”
(Questioning trust in the Father’s protection.)
“All
these kingdoms I will give you.”
(Questioning trust in the Father’s plan.)
And each time, Jesus responds the same
way: not with argument, not with clever reasoning, but with Scripture. With
truth. With the Word of God.
Where
Adam grasped, Jesus surrenders.
Where Adam doubted, Jesus trusts.
Where Adam hid, Jesus stands firm.
The desert becomes the place of victory.
My sisters and brothers, Lent is never about
proving something to yourself. It’s about growing closer to God.
Every year Lent begins with Jesus in the
desert because the Church wants us to understand something essential: Lent is
not about proving how disciplined we are. Lent is about reclaiming trust in God.
The devil tempted Jesus when He was
hungry. He tempts us where we are weak — tired, lonely, stressed, hurt.
And here is the uncomfortable truth:
most of our sins are attempts to meet legitimate needs in illegitimate ways.
We hunger for love — we grasp at lust.
We hunger for security — we grasp at
greed.
We hunger for affirmation — we grasp at
pride.
We hunger for relief — we grasp at
escape.
The hunger is not the sin. The shortcut,
the grasping, is.
The devil tempts Jesus to turn stones
into bread — not because bread is evil, but because self-reliance without the
Father is.
“Man does not live on bread alone.”
In other words: you are more than your
appetites.
So, what is the real battle of Lent?
We often think the battle of Lent is
about chocolate, coffee, or social media.
But the real battle is much, much deeper.
It is the battle over who we believe God to be.
Do we believe He is generous — or
restrictive?
Do we believe He is near — or
indifferent?
Do we believe obedience to Him leads to
life — or limitation?
Adam and Eve believed the lie.
Jesus believed the Father.
And here is the astonishing part: the
same Spirit who led Jesus into the desert is given to each and every one of us
in Baptism.
The breath that animated Adam.
The
Spirit that strengthened Christ.
That same Spirit lives in you.
You are not fighting temptation alone.
Now let us see the desert as a gift.
We usually avoid deserts. They are
uncomfortable. Too hot. Too cold. Too exposing. Too quiet.
But notice: Jesus does not avoid the
desert. The Spirit leads Him there.
Why?
Because in the desert, illusions fall
away.
There are no distractions. No abundance.
No noise. Only hunger — and God.
Lent is the Church gently leading us
into the desert on purpose. Not to punish us. Not to deprive us. But to cleanse
us.
When we fast, we discover what controls
us.
When we pray, we discover who sustains
us.
When we give alms, we discover what
truly matters.
The desert reveals what the garden
concealed.
Now let’s talk about shame.
After Adam and Eve sin, they hide.
After Jesus resists temptation, angels
minister to Him.
One story ends in shame and exile.
The other begins the road to redemption.
St. Paul tells us that where sin
increased, grace abounded all the more.
That means your failures do not get the
last word.
The New Adam has entered the
battlefield. And He has already won.
When you fall this Lent — and at some
point, we all will fall — remember this: the goal is not perfection. The goal
is returning to God.
Adam hid.
Jesus restores.
The Father who formed you from dust
still breathes mercy into repentant hearts.
So, here is a question to carry into
this first week of Lent:
What lie about God have I quietly
believed?
That He is disappointed in me?
That He is distant?
That holiness is for someone else not me?
Bring that lie into the desert. Hold it
up to Christ. Let Him answer it with truth.
Because the same Jesus who stood in the
wilderness stands beside you now.
And when the whisper comes — “Did God
really say…?”
You can answer with confidence:
Yes.
He did.
And His word leads to everlasting life.
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