The Rev. Brandon C. Ashcraft
Trinity Church in the City of Boston
Genesis 2:15-17; Matthew 4:1-11
1 Lent A (February 22, 2026)
Delivered by His Refusal
At least once a week, I check the balance of my retirement account. My mind is prone to catastrophize all that could go wrong in the future. Laying eyes on my little nest egg slows down that tape and offers some reassurance. It’s human nature to look for signs that we are safe. To try and secure our lives with what we can see and hold. It’s what led our first parents Adam and Eve to reach for what was not theirs to take. This compulsion for control, this striving for safety, is as old as the garden itself.
The Gospel story we just heard immediately follows Jesus’ baptism. He emerges from the waters of the Jordan, and the Spirit leads him into the wilderness. After a 40-day fast, the devil makes Jesus three tantalizing offers. Physical nourishment. Divine protection. Worldly power. It’s easy to assume there’s something evil about these offers. They are coming from Satan, after all. But would we fault a famished Jesus for turning a few rocks into bread? And isn’t the Son of God entitled to some protection and prestige? So why does Jesus refuse each path the devil offers him?
These refusal by Jesus disclose something we cannot afford to miss. They reveal what kind of Messiah he will be. The nature of his kingship, the quality of his sonship, this is what’s at stake. The devil isn’t pressuring Jesus to doubt his identity as the Son of God. He’s asking him to secure it. To prove it. To seize it. To claim it on his own terms. And Jesus refuses.
From a young age, most of us learn that we are responsible for our own lives. That our security is up to us. So we plan within an inch of our lives because we are terrified to entrust. We live with an undercurrent of anxiety that everything could fall apart. Fear becomes the engine of our lives. We send one more email. We replay conversations over and over. We check the balance one more time. Because if we can just keep all the plates spinning, nothing will come crashing down. And while the plates may indeed keep spinning, it will never be enough. We try so hard to carry what was never ours to carry. We work so hard to wrestle control, while Jesus refuses to grasp at all. Jesus refuses bread on his own terms. He refuses to seize power. He refuses every shortcut.
We have a tendency to make this a story about us. To reduce it to a morality tale about being like Jesus and resisting temptation. But this story isn’t calling us to be stronger. Instead, it reveals the Savior who stands strong in the wilderness for us. In the year 2026, the wilderness does not feel imaginary. We’ve been living for some time now in a place of desolation. A place where hope often feels in short supply. We fear for the future of our nation, and for the safety of our neighbors. We wonder what kind of world our children are going to grow up in. And in moments like this, we can convince ourselves it’s all up to us. But the wilderness strips us of this illusion.
Here on the First Sunday in Lent, Jesus shows us the kind of life he will live. Before he heals, teaches, or calls disciples, he reveals a life marked not by self-striving or self-reliance, but by trust in God the Father. A trust that will lead him all the way to Calvary. Where he refuses to save himself, and in so doing, saves us.