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Jesus in the Desert: A Midrash?

Jesus in the Desert

My community has been spending some time with Jesus in the desert for Lent.

We have relied upon Matthew’s recounting of the story in Matthew 4:1-11.  It is a powerful story of Jesus’ desert experience – fasting, hunger, spiritual experience, temptation.  I have tended to look at this story as a straightforward historical account, that Satan actually encountered Jesus in the desert in bodily form.  The more I study and meditate on the text, however, its story elements seem to point more toward parable or midrash.

Note the language: ‘Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple.’  Why not say Jerusalem?    Did Jesus and the devil hitchhike to Jerusalem from the desert?  I can imagine Satan getting to ride the camel while Jesus is forced to lead it along.

Notice the final temptation: ‘Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor.’  The language sounds very much like tale – ‘a very high mountain from which you could see the whole world’.  Did Jesus and Satan go mountain climbing together?  Is there a mountain anywhere with such a sweeping view?

NT Wright notes that he likes to think of these temptations as voices Jesus encountered during a very real (historic) desert experience.  In other words, temptations very much like you and I experience.  I tend to resonate with that.  (see the first sentence in this post – you probably didn’t take it literally, but that doesn’t make it untrue).

I pulled the following from an article about gospel and midrash:

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The temptation story: a midrash used by Matthew and Luke

The temptations of Jesus rank among the most puzzling and inspiring stories of the Gospels. What do they mean? Did the devil literally appear to Jesus and talk to him? Did he physically lift Jesus up onto the outside wall of the Temple and transport him later to the top of a high mountain?

To understand the story, we have to know that it is a “narrative reflection” -a form of instruction the Jews called midrash. midrash is constructed by weaving a story around a historical fact. It is such an unusual form of teaching that we had better stick to its Jewish name, in spite of it sounding so foreign.

The temptations of Abraham

One famous midrash used by Jewish teachers described the three temptations of Abraham. You will remember how God had commanded Abraham to offer up his son Isaac as a sacrifice on Mount Moriah. It is true that when Abraham lifted his knife to kill Isaac, God stopped him just in the nick of time. But Abraham did not know this in advance. He had travelled for three days to Mount Moriah believing that God expected him to sacrifice his son (read Genesis 22; 1-19).

The Jewish rabbis reflected on this. They asked themselves, “What went through Abraham’s mind during those three long terrible days while he was escorting his beloved son Isaac to the mountain of sacrifice?”

Would Abraham not be tempted to rebel against God’s command with thoughts such as, “Did not God himself forbid us to kill? How can he now expect me to kill my son? Did not God promise that I would have innumerable offspring through Isaac?” and so on.

To make the temptations even more dramatic, the story was turned into a midrash. That is: it was re-told as a threefold encounter between Abraham and Satan. “Satan” actually means “tempter” and each time Satan or Abraham spoke, their words were phrased as quotations from Scripture.

The midrash of Abraham’s temptations ran something like this:

While Abraham was on his way, Satan met him and said: “You’ve always been so faithful to God. Why has this unfair burden been laid upon you?” (Job 4:2-5).
Abraham answered, “I will walk in my integrity” (Psalm 26:11).

The second day Satan appeared again and said, “God told you, You shall not kill (Exodus 20:13). Tomorrow he will blame you for having shed Isaac’s blood.” Abraham replied, “All the same I have to obey” (Samuel 13:13).

On the third day Satan said, “Did not God promise ‘In Isaac shall your offspring be called’?” (Genesis 17:19). Abraham simply said, “I am like a dumb man who opens not his mouth” (Psalm 38:13).

Now no Jew who heard this story would ever think that Satan had actually appeared to Abraham and made those remarks. They knew that the meaning of the midrash lay in bringing out Abraham’s unwavering commitment to God, in spite of the natural turmoil he must have felt in his mind and heart.

The midrash of Abraham’s temptations became so well known and had so many forms that soon similar temptation stories arose about other saints and heroes of the past – the three temptations of Moses, David, Samson and others. The midrash always reflected on people who achieved great things despite natural objections.

The midrash of Jesus’ temptations

The story of Jesus’ temptations has the same origin. The temptation story had Jesus relive the experience of Moses and the Hebrew people in the wilderness.  Before Moses received the law, he fasted forty days and forty nights (Ex 34:28).  So Jesus, before delivering the new law (on the Mount), underwent a similar fast.  The story line follows the adventures of Moses in the wilderness.  The manna story (Ex 16) found expression in the temptation to turn stones into bread.  The story of Moses striking the rock in the wilderness at Massah/Meribah (Ex 17) was told as an act in which Moses put God to the test.  (You can hear the echoes in Jesus’ response: “You shall not tempt the Lord your God”).  The story of the Israelites building and worshiping the golden calf (Ex 32) in the desert is echoed in Jesus’ words “You shall worship the Lord your God and serve him only.”

In all three episodes, Jesus is portrayed as quoting Deuteronomy (8:3, 5:16, 6:13), and each quotation reflected the Exodus desert experience of Israel.  The midrashic ability of the scribe who authored the Gospel of Matthew is clearly revealed in this episode.

It is also quite possible that the earliest version of the story was an instruction Jesus gave to his disciples. Jesus was going to bring salvation through laying down his life. This was a decision he had taken during his retreat in the desert when he had started his mission. But the disciples would have preferred Jesus to further his cause by using human tools – money, influence and power.

by Duccio, ca. 1310

Jesus conceivably took his disciples aside and told them a midrash of three temptations he experienced:

“When I was preparing myself for my mission,” he may have said, “I was wondering how I could save the world. And the Tempter came and advised me to accumulate material goods (“turn stones into bread”), to grab publicity through miracles (“throw yourself down from the Temple”) and to acquire political power (“See these many nations? I will give you all this power”). But I decided against it”, Jesus said.

By narrating the midrash story about himself, Jesus may well have told his disciples,

“I have a very difficult task! Do not put obstacles to the purity of my mission by trying to make me use worldly means, such as money, publicity and political power. Like Abraham I received a difficult mission from my Father and like Abraham I must be faithful to it.”

The disciples would have understood the meaning of the midrash. They did not take the Tempter’s words or deeds literally. They knew the story brought out Jesus’ reliance on his Father’s word and Jesus’ total commitment to the Father’s work (me:  isn’t this really the point?). It is only later when the story was translated into Greek for the Greek speaking readers of the Gospels that it began to be misunderstood. For the Greeks, like ourselves, had never heard of a midrash.

sources:  Handbook to the Gospels: A Guide to the Gospel Writings and the Life and Times of Jesus; Liberating the Gospels: Reading the Bible with Jewish Eyes
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My sense is that it is a powerful and true story either way, just as the parables Jesus himself told.  The point is that Jesus never compromised in the face of very real temptations that he experienced in his life, even if some of those are reflected back to us in apocryphal form.  In either case, Jesus succeeds where we fail, he gets it right where we get it wrong, and he invites us to begin experiencing the freedom to choose the path of the kingdom rather than our proclivity to seek power, pride and possessions.

What do you think? Was this a literal, historical experience?  A midrash?  A mix of the two?  Does it matter?

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Peace, Victory, and the Gospel

A Reflection for Independence Day

Last July 4 weekend I came across the following church announcement:

“Our Verse of the Day is Psalm 33:12: Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord, the people he chose for his inheritance. Let’s thank God for our freedom today, and pray for the safety and success for the mission of our soldiers around the world as they bring justice to the terrorists so that we can be safe and free from tyranny, here on our country’s soil.”

Typical Independence Day language, but it started me thinking: Is this the kind of language we should be speaking in the church? Is our confidence for well-being based on our military might? What about the remaining words of the same psalm?:

No king is saved by the size of his army; no warrior escapes by his great strength. A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save. But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him. . . . We wait in hope for the Lord; he is our help and our shield (33:16-20).

I noticed that the church announcement and suggested prayer lacked an important word: peace.

Shouldn’t our prayers go out for peace rather than victory (which equals peace at the cost of more deaths)? Certainly we should pray for the safety of our soldiers, but what about prayers for Iraqi and Afghani civilians? Many more of them are dying every day. What is Jesus’ message to us in all this?

A Thin Line

Approximately 100,000 Iraqi civilians have died since the U.S.-led invasion in 2003 (see iraqbodycount.org). And experts agree that is a conservative estimate. One 2006 study showed the number of civilians dead at that time to already be between 400,000 and 600,000 (Lancet study, as covered in the New York Times).

Those are startling numbers. On Sept. 11, 2001, when nearly 3,000 civilians died in the United States, we appropriately reacted with outrage. But somehow our outrage subsides when the innocent dead are farther away both geographically and culturally.

Given such statistics, you wonder what makes terrorism so terrible and war so legitimate. In reality, the line between terrorism and war is a thin one, as Wendell Berry notes: “The National Security Strategy defines terrorism as ‘premeditated, politically motivated violence perpetrated against innocents.’ This is truly a distinct kind of violence, but to imply by the word ‘terrorism’ that this sort of terror is the work exclusively of ‘terrorists’ is misleading. The ‘legitimate’ warfare of technologically advanced nations likewise is premeditated, politically motivated violence perpetrated against innocents. The distinction between the intention to perpetrate violence against innocents, as in ‘terrorism,’ and the willingness to do so, as in ‘war,’ is not a source of comfort” (“A Citizen’s Response to the National Security Strategy of the United States”).

Jesus as an Iraqi?

I find it alarming to see many Christians so supportive of such revenge-motivated foreign policy. In our patriotic fervor, we seem to forget Jesus’ call for us to love our enemies, not destroy them with the largest and wealthiest army the world has ever known.

“But,” we say, “Jesus was just talking about interpersonal relationships, not national politics.” Was he? The world Jesus lived in was in some ways very different from our own, but in other ways he was on the other end of a very similar context. His Middle Eastern nation was occupied by the largest superpower in the world at that time. And that empire claimed to spread peace, freedom, civilization, and security. We like to imagine Jesus as an American wearing a “God Bless America” T-shirt. In fact, we’d do better to imagine him as an Iraqi.

Many in Jesus’ audience were eager for armed revolt against Rome. It was to them that Jesus said, “If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. . . . If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles” (Matt. 5:39, 41). Roman soldiers felt free to remind the occupied Jewish people who was in charge with a physical blow.  Roman law required people living under Roman rule to carry a soldier’s gear one mile if requested. Jesus addresses people involved in real conflicts with real governments and real soldiers, not simply interpersonal relationships.

Jesus’ entire life and ministry could be viewed as a contrast to what the world offers. In the end, about to face the might of Rome, Jesus told Pilate (Rome’s local representative), “My kingdom is not of this world; if it were, my servants would fight . . .” (John 18:36). He wasn’t saying that his kingdom is apolitical; rather, he was saying how his kingdom is political: “the essential difference is that in my kingdom, we do not fight to maintain the kingdom” (Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw, Jesus for President, p. 110).

New Testament scholar Marcus Borg notes that Jesus’ words would have had an unmistakable meaning in the politically violent situation of first-century Palestine: “For a public figure to speak of loving one’s enemies in such a setting would unambiguously mean to disavow the path of violence and war” (Jesus: A New Vision, p. 139). The church for its first 300 years understood this and maintained a path of nonviolence. It was only when the church went from being a minority in the Roman Empire to the official religion of the empire under Constantine that it began to endorse warfare as sometimes legitimate—indeed, even necessary.

Biblical Ambiguity

Some will say that we can support war because in the Bible it is sometimes even sanctioned by God. John Dominic Crossan addresses this ambiguity: “The ambiguity of divine power suffuses the Christian Bible in both its Testaments and therefore presses this question for us Christians: how do we reconcile the ambiguity of our Bible’s violent and/or nonviolent God? The Bible forces us to witness the struggles of these two transcendental visions within its own pages and to ask ourselves as Christians how we decide between them. My answer is that we are bound to whichever of these visions was incarnated by and in the historical Jesus. It is not the violent but the nonviolent God who is revealed to Christian faith in Jesus of Nazareth and announced to Christian faith by Paul of Tarsus. That is how we Christians decide between a violent and nonviolent God in the Bible: Christ is the norm of the Bible, the criterion of the New Testament, the incarnation of the Gospel” (God and Empire: Jesus Against Rome, Then and Now, pp. 94-95).

Are we to blame for not taking Jesus at his word? Marcus Borg notes that it is understandable that the church has largely denied the political thrust of Jesus’ words: “Through time the church became enculturated, and it is very difficult for an enculturated religion to stand in tension with culture. For the church to have said that following Jesus meant nonviolence would have made the church into a counterculture. Only occasionally has it been willing to be so since the time of Jesus and his earliest followers” (Jesus: A New Vision, p. 139).

Perhaps it is time for a countercultural church and message to re-emerge. In this day of multibillion-dollar war budgets, may we remember that the Bible from its very beginning calls us to bless the world, rather than rid the world of evil. The latter is God’s business, as Paul reminds us in Romans 12: “Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord. On the contrary . . . do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (vv. 19-21).

In that light, may the words of this old hymn guide us forward:
“Lead on, O King eternal, till sin’s fierce war shall cease,
and holiness shall whisper the sweet amen of peace.
For not with swords’ loud clashing or roll of stirring drums-
[but] with deeds of love and mercy the heavenly kingdom comes.”

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This article originally appeared in The Banner entitled Reflections for Independence Day.

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