Undue significance a starving man attaches

To food

Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless

And therefore good.

Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us

That spices fly

In the receipt.  It was the distance

Was savory.

-XLV, Emily Dickinson

There are certain child’s books about animals that have always annoyed me immensely.  I have nothing against the genre in general (having taken some amount of flak from my more metrosexual friends for my sincere and lifelong appreciation of Ferdinand), so I am comfortable that there are legitimate reasons for my dislikes.  This is usually true in the context of a tale spun about the misadventures of some specimen of fauna who finds himself momentarily unable to function in the course of his normal life.  The problem would be understandable if one simply acknowledge that one was, in fact, an animal: and so that one could not be expected to walk upright and attend birthday-parties and prepare meals as humans do; but nothing will do the relentless female minority author with the hyphenated last name, but the luckless creature must mysteriously “snap out of it” at some point and be restored instantly to the chuckling good graces of his society friends.  Saved by the bell in a Faust-like moment of inexplicable redemption, the story barges to an ungraceful end in the ubiquitous ticker-tape celebration that characterizes the bliss of the injudicious.

Realizing that books do not make it onto the shelves of the library without some measure of public appeal (we will not speak of literary excellence), I concede that there must be a degree of value to be found in them; but it would perhaps appease my bloodthirsty conscience if the title  could at least reflect some shred of reality about the book, instead of misrepresenting the affront to the unsubsidized intellect that it is.  But practicality suggests that Hopscotch, the Tiny Bunny has been much more winsome to the 6-year-old’s eye than Hopscotch, the Manic-Depressive Emotional Mendicant ever would.  So I will acquiesce, and withdraw my speculations to the log in my own eye, and abandon my crusade to try to reform children’s literature up to an acceptable level of mediocrity.

In all seriousness, why is it that we set such a high store by the presentation of our lives as essentially happy narratives, beleaguered by a random mishap or two, that simply await that flick of the relational switch that will restore our lives to normalcy?  Why do we present our shortcomings as “light and momentary”, wrongly confusing them with the external afflictions of which the apostle truly spoke?  I will freely address my own wrongdoing here and not try to implicate another.  I am your most basic optimist, not only thinking of the glass as half full, but trying to tip it till it is obvious to all that it runneth over.  I see problems as opportunities, mistakes as intrinsically surmountable, the clash of conflict as our clarion call to unity, the field of wreckage as fertile ground for new growth.  I do not give up on my pursuit of the rectification of the problems I have declared unnecessary to solve.

The Scriptures teach us that these misguided attempts to cast my life as a success in every light must stem from my love of the world and of the things in the world, and this love is driven by my appetites that go continually unfulfilled.  John described them as the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life.  I can trace the source of every unlovely aberrance to these roots.  If I seek to convince others that I do not need to be continually filled with the bread of life, it comes from the underlying assumption that my real sustenance will come from physical fare.  If I seek to convince others that every situation that comes my way is but ready material for my will to be worked on it to my own advantage, it comes from the underlying assumption that I really am equal to any challenge.  If I seek to convince others that I have dominion over reality and can stipulate the possibility for success of my own volition, it comes from the underlying assumption that I stand above the brokenness of the world as ruler over it.

All these things may work to convince a few of my superiority, and probably to convince myself; but there is One who is not convinced.  He who made food for the stomach and the stomach for food, who cursed me to labor in futility because of my rebellion against him, who is mindful of mankind in our pitiful state of temporary vice-regents over Creation; he it is who laughs as he sits in the heavens, and holds me in derision.  Then he speaks to me in his wrath, and terrifies me in his fury, saying, I have installed my King on Zion, my holy hill.

This King was he who was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.  So far from being admired for his achievements, Christ Jesus endured the disrespect even of his own followers.  In a moment of recognition his Father declared him his beloved Son, but immediately afterward Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to fast and to be tempted of the devil.  And there the tempter came and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.”  But he answered, “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”

Then the devil took him to the holy city and set him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.’  But Jesus said to him, “Again it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory.  And he said to him, “All these I will give you, if you will fall down and worship me.”  Then Jesus said to him, “Begone, Satan!  For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.’”

By his sweat and blood and tears, Jesus had victory over the desires of his body, the selfish presumption of his human nature, and the vile ambition that afflicts every son of Adam.  He was manifested in the flesh, justified by the Spirit, seen of angels, preached among the Gentiles, believed on in the world, taken up into glory.  Because his victory is sure, his is a life on which a holy optimism can safely be placed.

And because of the finished work of Jesus, the wrath of God is not the last vision I have of him.  In the wilderness of my soul God speaks comfortably to me (where else would I stop to hear his voice?), and these are his words:  You are my son; today I have become your father.  Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession.  And a great hope rises up within me; and even as I follow Jesus every day in refusing to love the world and the things in it, I know that all things will be handed over to him in the day of the unveiling of his power, and I know that even as I am called to participate in his suffering, so I will receive his inheritance from the Lord as a reward.  The things I once loved are not so compelling now, and for a moment I am made to see that it was not the taste that was savory, but the distance; that it is not primarily my longings that are flawed, but their objects.  For the world passes away, and its desires; but he who does the will of God lives forever.

JV

Artwork: Jesus’ Temptation in the Wilderness, Dore

Author: Jeremy Vogan

My name is Jeremy Vogan. I live in Staunton, VA with my wife and four kids. I love to write, and seek to honestly explore the intellectual and emotional implications of following Jesus as a deeply broken person in a twisted, cruel world that is full of veiled beauty and meaning. Writing is part of how I faithfully look for Jesus Christ to someday make all things new. I'd enjoy hearing your feedback! JV