Gen. 2:7-9; 16-18, 25, 3:1-7; Rom. 5:12-19; Mt. 4:1-11
The first temptation comes at the most vulnerable moment: “He was famished.” Hunger is real. Jesus does not pretend otherwise. The devil’s suggestion is subtle and seemingly reasonable: “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to
become loaves of bread.” There is nothing immoral about bread. Feeding the hungry is later central to Jesus’ ministry. Yet here the temptation is about using power to satisfy oneself apart from trust in the Father. It is the ancient echo of the garden, where the first humans grasped rather than received. Jesus responds not with argument but with Scripture, drawing from Deuteronomy: “One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” Life, he insists, is more than consumption, more than immediate gratification.This temptation is as old as humanity and as modern as today’s advertisements. It is the temptation to reduce life to material satisfaction, to believe that if our needs and desires are met, we will be fulfilled. The Israelites, newly freed from slavery, fell into this temptation when they murmured for food and longed to return to Egypt, forgetting the God who had liberated them (Exod. 16). In the Christian tradition, the desert father Anthony of the Desert confronted the same struggle. Retreating into solitude, he experienced intense hunger and visions urging him to abandon his discipline. His victory did not lie in denying the body but in ordering desire toward God. He learned, like Jesus, that the human heart starves when it feeds only on bread.
In more recent history, we see similar resistance in figures like Francis of Assisi, who came from wealth but freely embraced poverty. Francis understood that possessions can quietly possess us, that bread can become an idol when it replaces trust. By choosing simplicity, he discovered a freedom that allowed him to sing even in hunger. Today this temptation appears when success, salary, comfort, or constant entertainment becomes the measure of life. We resist it by learning disciplines of fasting and gratitude, by allowing moments of hunger—physical or spiritual—to remind us that our deepest nourishment comes from God’s word, prayer, and sacramental life.
The second temptation moves from hunger to spectacle. The devil takes Jesus to the pinnacle of the temple, the very heart of religious life, and quotes Scripture itself: “He will command his angels concerning you.” This is a dangerous temptation because it cloaks itself in piety. It invites Jesus to force God’s hand, to demand protection, to turn faith into a public performance. If Jesus were to leap and be saved dramatically, the crowds would surely believe. But belief founded on spectacle is fragile. Jesus replies again from Deuteronomy: “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” Faith is trust, not manipulation; obedience, not theatrics.
This temptation has deep biblical roots. At Massah, Israel tested God, demanding water and signs, asking, “Is the Lord among us or not?” (Exod. 17). They wanted proof on their own terms. In contrast, Jesus refuses to make God serve his agenda. A powerful example from the lives of the saints is Teresa of Calcutta, who lived decades in interior darkness without dramatic consolation. She did not test God by demanding signs or feelings. She trusted in fidelity, choosing daily acts of love without assurance or applause. Her faith was quiet, hidden, and therefore strong.
In contemporary history, we see this temptation when religion is reduced to performance, when faith is measured by emotional highs, miracles on demand, or public recognition. Leaders may be tempted to use God-language to gain followers, power, or admiration. Even ordinary believers face it when they pray conditionally: “If God does this, then I will believe.” Jesus teaches us another way. We resist this temptation by cultivating humble faith, by praying even when God feels silent, by serving without expecting recognition, and by grounding our trust not in extraordinary signs but in the steady presence of God revealed in Scripture and community.
The third temptation is the most sweeping and the most revealing. From a high mountain, Jesus is shown “all the kingdoms of the world and their splendour.” The offer is clear: power, influence, control—if only Jesus will worship the devil. This is the temptation to achieve good ends through compromised means, to rule the world by bowing to its false gods. Jesus’ response is sharp and final: “Away with you, Satan! Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.” Here Jesus decisively rejects domination in favor of service, the cross instead of the throne.
This temptation echoes the warning given to Israel as they prepared to enter the promised land: do not bow to the gods of power and prosperity (Deut. 6). History shows how often this temptation returns, even within religious contexts. The church herself has sometimes stumbled when she sought influence through coercion rather than witness. Yet there are luminous examples of resistance. Oscar Romero, living amid political violence, refused the protection and privileges offered to silence him. He chose fidelity to God and the poor over safety and influence, knowing it might cost his life. His martyrdom reveals the power of worship directed to God alone.
In our own time, this temptation appears whenever success justifies unethical choices, when careers are built by compromising conscience, when truth is sacrificed for popularity, or when faith is subordinated to ideology. We resist it by daily choices of integrity, by examining whose approval we truly seek, and by remembering that the kingdom Jesus proclaims grows not through domination but through love, sacrifice, and truth.
After the temptations, the Gospel tells us simply: “Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.” Temptation does not last forever. Faithfulness opens space for consolation, though often in God’s time and manner, not ours. The angels do not come before the struggle but after it. This assures us that resistance is not in vain. God’s grace sustains those who endure.
As we hear this Gospel, especially in the season of Lent, we recognize our own deserts. We face hunger for security, recognition, and control. These temptations come in countless disguises, often reasonable, sometimes even religious. Jesus does not overcome them with spectacular power but with rootedness in God’s word, clarity of identity, and unwavering trust in the Father. He shows us that temptation is not a sign of failure but a place of decision.
The wilderness does not have the final word. From this desert, Jesus emerges ready to proclaim good news to the poor, freedom to captives, and sight to the blind. Our own faithfulness in temptation, however small it may seem, participates in that same victory. When we choose trust over bread alone, humility over spectacle, and worship of God over power, we discover that angels still come and minister, and that the path through the desert leads, always, toward life.
Satish