A reflection on Jesus’ time of testing for the beginning of Lent, shared with Westgate Baptist Community. (Listen here.)
If. It’s a very small word with a very big weight. If only I were a better person … If I just prayed more … If I tried a bit harder … If I really trusted God … Again and again I hear some version of this, sometimes from other people, sometimes from the voices in my head.
If I just did this, prayed that, and were a perfect Chrisian, then everything would be okay. My mental health would be great and my chronic condition might clear up and my relationships would all be wonderful. I’d be so much more loving and patient and happy and wise and kind. I’d never be lonely and I’d never be angry and I’d never be sad. I’d be the epitome of calm, fully accepting all life’s ups and downs, and I’d never hunger or thirst or fear or worry or doubt again.
These ‘ifs’ can be very persuasive, and they end with us blaming ourselves. For making foolish choices. For not coping too well. For being afraid all the time. For struggling to get out of bed. For being an ordinary person and a mediocre parent and a limited friend and not good enough in anything we do.
It’s a diluted version of the narrative we often hear from megachurches and, in slightly different forms, from trickle down politicians and major corporations and the wellness industry. It’s the story which suggests that wellness, prosperity and social capital are evidence of blessing, that good people attract only good things to themselves, and that suffering is proof of inadequacy.
But I’m here to remind you that this is wrong, wrong, wrong: for the Bible tells me so. Even Jesus struggled; even Jesus wrestled; even Jesus was hungry, and suffering, and powerless, and ineffective. To see, let’s turn to the gospel according to Luke.
As you might remember, in chapter 3 of Luke’s story, Jesus was baptised with all the people: in the crowd, among us. Then ‘heaven was opened, and the Holy Breath descended in bodily form like a dove, and a voice came from heaven: “You are my son, the beloved; I am delighted with you.”’ (Luke 3:21-22).
This all happened before Jesus had done anything much. That is, he’d been born and circumcised and presented and blessed at the Temple: all things which happened to him, none of which demanded anything from him. A few years later, he’d debated with rabbis in Jerusalem, which tells us that he was growing up in an observant household and learning scripture and tossing around some ideas of his own. But then he’d gone home with his parents and grown up some more. Meanwhile, around him his family was doing stuff, and his cousin John was doing stuff, but Jesus wasn’t doing anything worth reporting. There was no teaching, no healing, no miracles. And yet at his baptism, a heavenly voice thunders out, “You are my son, the beloved; I am delighted with you.”
Then this: baptised, filled with the Holy Breath and the assurance of being beloved, Jesus is led by the Spirit into the wilderness. And it is then, beloved by God and filled with the Holy Spirit, that he is tested.
“If you are the Son of God …,” says the devil: and Jesus wonders. Am I really the Son of God? How can I prove it? What will it take? If I were really God’s child, would I be so famished: for food, for love, for companionship? Would I hunger so much for healing, for acceptance, for physical touch? Would I pray more, work harder, do more with my life? Would I have more friends?
And he wrestles. Jesus Christ, Son of God, baptised and beloved, wrestles. Because this is not a quick multiple-choice test, over in an instant. This is the test that comes during forty days of struggle, prayer and fasting, as he wonders “if …”.
If you are the Son of God, turn these stones into bread. If you are the Son of God, satisfy yourself through your own efforts. Pray harder, and see the results. Change your own thinking, and you’ll be fine.
But then Jesus sees the trap. He remembers that there is no “if.” Already, he is God’s son. He did not earn it. He doesn’t need prove it. And he realises that it doesn’t provide a safety net. He might be hungry, but he’s still God’s beloved; still filled with the Holy Breath. And so he steps away from the trap.
But the devil tries again. “If you are the Son of God,” says the devil, “throw yourself down; God’s angels will protect you.” Again Jesus wrestles. If I am God’s child … am I God’s child? How do I prove it? Surely I have power. Surely I am called to have a serious impact on the world. I might need to cut a few corners, take a few risks, sacrifice a few poeple along the way, but God will protect me. I’m here to have an effect.
But again Jesus remembers: there is no “if.” Already, he is God’s son. He did not earn it. He doesn’t need to prove it. And it doesn’t provide a safety net. He might be suffering and powerless, but he’s still God’s beloved; still filled with the Holy Breath. Again, he sidesteps the trap.
Friends, we are in the season of Lent, a forty-day period which recalls Jesus’ time of testing in the wilderness. During this season, many of us engage more intentionally with prayer, reflection, fasting, acts of mercy and justice, and meditation on the scriptures. We seek to strip away that which turns us from God; and we seek to follow Jesus ever more closely. And these are all good things to do.
But as we do them, let us not make the mistake of striving for our own salvation; and let us not blame ourselves for our hunger, our suffering, our powerlessness and ineffectiveness: because these were Jesus’ realities, too. He was hungry and thirsty. He was persecuted and he suffered. He was rejected and denied; and his power was ultimately known in the weakness of self-giving love as he was raised up on the cross.
So this Lent, let us lay down all our “ifs” and all our attempts to show ourselves worthy, and let us take up our identity as beloved children of God. For we have entered into Jesus’ baptism, and we have been raised with him into God’s love and delight. Right here, right now, before we’ve ever done anything much. Like Jesus, we didn’t earn it. Like him, we don’t need to prove it. And as it was for him, it doesn’t provide a safety net. God’s children can be hungry, suffering, powerless and ineffective: but they are still God’s beloved; still filled with the Holy Breath.
So let us bring our ordinary selves to this wilderness time. Let us sit in our fears and our failures and our shame. Let us sit in our faith and in our unfaith; in our exhaustion and in our confusion; in our hunger and in our tears. For we have nothing to prove. God’s love is a gift and God already delights in us and the Holy Spirit already fills us. Let us be still these forty days, and remember these things.
Above us, a mother eagle hovering. Beside us, brother Jesus and his community. Within us, the Holy Breath. It is a long forty days, no ifs about it. Breathe in, breathe out: and sit. Ω
Reflect: When do you try to prove that you are God’s beloved? How do you act? What do you do? What fears or demons drive you? On the flip side, if you accepted without doubt that you are God’s beloved, would you live differently? What would you let go of? What risks would you take? Are you being called to something now?
Reflection on Luke 4:1-13 shared with Westgate Baptist Community Church on 9 March 2025 (Lent 1 Year C) © Alison Sampson, 2025, based on a reflection shared with Sanctuary in 2022. Photo by Melody Ayres-Griffiths on Unsplash (edited).
Alison and the whale 