Could it Be
Rev.
Jonathan Brown
02/22/2026
Wasn’t that nice story we just heard?
Jesus
is led by the Spirit into the wilderness.
He
has been there for forty days.
He
has not eaten.
He
is exhausted.
He
is alone.
And
in that moment of hunger and vulnerability, a figure comes to him.
“If
you are the Son of God, command these stones to become bread.”
It
sounds reasonable.
Practical.
Bread
for a starving person.
Then
he is taken to the highest point of the temple.
“Throw
yourself down,” the figure says. “God will protect you.”
Scripture
is quoted.
Promises
are invoked.
Faith
is encouraged.
And
finally, from a high mountain, he is shown all the kingdoms of the world.
Power.
Influence.
Authority.
Everything
he came to do, offered immediately.
No
delay.
No
suffering.
No
cross.
And
the whole time, this figure keeps speaking.
Offering.
Suggesting.
Advising.
Inviting.
And
at some point we have to ask:
Could
it be… Satan?
And
yes, that is exactly what the text says.
And
honestly, at that point it would be easy to treat this as a story that is
simply about how great Jesus is.
A
story about Jesus winning and us watching from the sidelines.
Because
if we are honest, none of this feels very relatable.
I
cannot turn stones into bread.
I
have made bread that was very much like stones, but that is different.
Angels
have never caught me when I fell.
And
no one has ever offered me all the kingdoms of the world.
So
it would be easy to keep a safe distance from this story.
To
admire Jesus’ strength.
To
celebrate his victory.
And
to assume it has very little to do with us.
But
that would miss the point entirely.
Because
the temptations Jesus faces are not really about bread, spectacle, or political
power. They are about control. They are about identity. They are about
shortcuts to good things.
And
that is where this story meets our lives.
Temptation
is the urge to grasp control instead of trusting God.
We
may not be offered miraculous power or global authority, but we are constantly
tempted to secure ourselves, protect our comfort, prove our worth, and take
control rather than trust God’s way.
And
when we see temptation this way, we begin to recognize that this struggle is
not only in Scripture. It appears wherever people must choose between
domination and trust, between control and costly love.
We
see it lived out in real history.
We
see it in the graphic novel trilogy March by John Lewis, created with Andrew
Aydin and illustrated by Nate Powell.
March
tells the story of the Civil Rights Movement through Lewis’s experience as a
young activist facing violence, hatred, and injustice, yet choosing a radically
different path. These were people who had every reason to grasp for power, to
retaliate, to dominate in return. They lived in a world structured to deny
their dignity and silence their voices.
But
again and again, they chose the long road of nonviolence.
When
survival was threatened, they refused domination.
When
dignity was denied, they claimed their identity as beloved.
When
power was offered through coercion, they chose costly love.
John
Lewis called this “good trouble.” Good trouble meant refusing silence,
disrupting injustice, risking security for communal healing. It meant trusting
that love, not domination, transforms the world.
That
was wilderness faithfulness.
Their
witness speaks directly to the life of the church. If we belong to one another,
silence in the face of suffering cannot be faithfulness. Healing requires
truth. Repair requires courage.
This
Lent at Foundry we are invited to live as people of God’s light in a world
marked by division and uncertainty. Ignite the Light calls us into spiritual
practices that renew our inner lives and inspire courageous, compassionate
action. Even a small spark can rekindle hope.
But
light requires honesty.
We
live in a season of polarization, fear, and fatigue. We are encouraged to
protect our own, secure ourselves first, distrust the other. When we are
afraid, shortcuts look holy. Control feels righteous. Winning feels necessary.
But
domination never heals. Control never reconciles. Grasping power deepens
division.
Black
History Month reminds us that division in this country was not accidental but
constructed through systems of power controlling bodies, labor, voice, and
story.
And
we must be honest about what constructed that division.
The
system that erected and sustained racial division in this country was white
supremacy, the belief made into law and practice that white lives carried
greater value and authority. This was not simply personal prejudice. It was a
structure of power organizing society around control and exclusion.
We
can hear the echo of the wilderness in that history — the temptation to grasp
power, the temptation to secure identity through domination, the temptation to
build a world through control rather than trust in God’s justice.
And
we should also be honest about something else.
Allowing
that system to remain in place can be deeply tempting — especially for those of
us who benefit from it.
Because
systems that advantage us feel normal.
They
feel stable.
They
feel safe.
They
promise order without disruption, comfort without change, security without
sacrifice.
Resisting
that temptation is costly.
It
asks us to listen when it is uncomfortable.
It
asks us to surrender advantages we did not earn.
It
asks us to choose justice over ease, repair over comfort, truth over control.
That
is wilderness work.
That
is spiritual testing.
And
it is precisely the kind of testing Jesus faces — the temptation to grasp what
benefits him rather than trust God’s way of justice and love.
Naming
this truth is not about shame. It is about clarity. Repair cannot begin where
truth is denied. Healing cannot happen where history is ignored. Reconciliation
cannot grow where harm is unnamed.
And
here the church must confront an uncomfortable truth. Too often we have
confused reconciliation with comfort.
Scholar
Jennifer Harvey, in her book Dear White Christians: For Those Still Longing for
Racial Reconciliation, argues that the church must move beyond a shallow focus
on reconciliation toward the deeper work of repair and justice, because
reconciliation without repair preserves harm and protects existing power.
What
passes for reconciliation can preserve relationships without transforming them,
maintain unity without addressing injustice, and seek peace without repair.
But
Scripture shows another way.
Zacchaeus
restores what he has taken.
The
prophets demand justice.
The
cross reveals that reconciliation is costly.
Reconciliation
without repair preserves the wound.
Repair
makes reconciliation real.
Repair
tells the truth about harm.
Repair
restores what has been taken.
Repair
reshapes relationships so belonging can flourish.
This
work is slow. It is uncomfortable. But it is spiritual formation. It renews our
inner lives and forms courageous action.
Every
time we listen deeply.
Every
time we break silence.
Every
time we choose curiosity over defensiveness.
Every
time we risk love over comfort.
This
is how the light is ignited.
Because
healing does not happen through ideas alone. It happens through relationships,
through truth, through shared life.
The
way of Christ is different.
He
refuses power without faithfulness.
He
refuses control without trust.
He
refuses victory without love.
The
cross releases what fear tries to grasp.
The
cross reconciles what division tears apart.
The
cross reveals love where power seeks control.
If
we are to live as people of God’s light, something must loosen in our grip. We
cannot cling to control and expect communion. We cannot protect comfort and
expect healing. We cannot remain silent and expect transformation.
The
Spirit’s work of mending requires courage, humility, and trust that God’s way,
though slower, leads to life.
So
the question is not simply what we believe. The question is what we will
release.
Name
what you are grasping.
Break
a silence.
Choose
courageous compassion.
Because
the gospel is not simply about avoiding evil. It is about trusting God enough
to let go of control.
And
here is the good news.
We
are not left alone in the wilderness. When the temptations pass, angels come
and minister. Provision follows trust. Life follows surrender.
God
is the one who binds the brokenhearted and heals the wounded. God is mending
what has been torn, restoring what has been fractured, healing a body that has
learned to live divided from itself.
When
one part of the body suffers, all share in that suffering.
When
one part is honored, all share in that joy.
This
is what repair looks like.
This
is what reconciliation becomes.
This
is what it means to walk in the light.
And
in a world that pulls us apart, Christ is still healing what history has
wounded. Christ is still forming a people who tell the truth, practice repair,
and let their light shine.
May
we release what we are grasping.
May
we tell the truth where silence has lived.
May
we choose costly love over comfortable control.
May
we become people who mend what division has torn,
who
practice good trouble rooted in grace,
who
carry Christ’s light into the places fear has made dark.
And
may we ignite the light —
in
our hearts,
in
our community,
and
in the world God so loves.
Amen.
