We were camping. My neighbor Joe and I didn’t want to be camping – that night or ever, really – but our ten-year-old sons begged and pleaded and even did extra chores, so we had to take them camping.
Overnight. In the mountains. Sleeping in tents. But not really sleeping. Trying to sleep.
It wasn’t all bad. The moonless night was warm and clear, and the thick blanket of stars we saw above us between the treetops was amazing. But for me – apart from the disorientation of being off the grid, with no Internet and no cell service – it was all about the fire.
The fire kept the animals away, or so I supposed – bears, coyotes, whatever. Somebody said there weren’t any wolves, but there were bobcats and mountain lions here and there. Eventually we’d have to put the fire out. I was more than nervous about that, but only a little afraid.
Joe was a different matter altogether. He was paranoid, neurotic – not in a clinical sense, perhaps, but not in a particularly manly sense either. Park him in front of a computer or hand him a golf club or make him give a speech in front of 5,000 people, and he was right at home. Take him into the mountains or onto a body of water, and he turned to pudding. Not one of your quieter puddings.
When Mr. Bingham asked, “Why did Nixon go to China?” I kept a straight face and raised my hand.
He nodded to me. “Ms. Morgenstern?”
“To make American Chinese food great again?”
Others laughed, but he didn’t. “After class, please. Now, serious answer, anyone?”
I raised my hand. When no one else did, he nodded to me again.
“Why am I in trouble, but Mark isn’t? His jokes haven’t even been funny lately.”
I knew the reason. Mark Williams was the teacher’s pet.
Morons hooted behind me. Bingham pursed his lips. “Everyone, Monday will now feature a quiz. Fifty words on the significance of Nixon in China.”
I met Marie in the hallway after school. “The race is tomorrow,” I said. “We should sign up.”
“The three-legged race?”
Running the three-legged race together was what seventh-grade couples did on the next-to-last day of school, at the Outdoor Games.
For two months Marie and I had sat together at lunch, in assemblies, and on field trips. Being a couple was way better than her poking me in the back with her pencil in Algebra. I’d never been so happy. I had already prepared something to write in her yearbook on the last day of school – right after the morning movie, where I hoped to hold her hand for the first time.
“I’m sorry, Kenny.” Her big, brown eyes matched her words.
“You don’t want to race?”
“No, I do.”
“I don’t understand.”
I thought I saw her chin quiver, and she looked down. “I already signed up.”
“Oh, good. I didn’t know. Think we’ll win?”
I liked her blond curls, her sprinkling of freckles, and her smile, but she wasn’t smiling now.
“Not with you. With Bobby.”
Maybe my heart didn’t stop, but it started to hurt – for two reasons. The second one was, Bobby was my best friend.
The man that feareth, Lord, to doubt,
In that fear doubteth thee.George MacDonald, The Disciple, 1867
I accept the truth of John’s statement about perfect love. I think my made-up version about perfect faith is probably true as well. But to date I have found neither perfect love nor perfect faith in myself. Maybe there have been a few exceptional moments of fleeting near-perfection scattered through the decades of my life, but I wouldn’t bet money on it. Yet I have some faith, and I do love — amid my doubts and fears.
You and I live our lives in imperfect love and imperfect faith. We hope both virtues are maturing in us, but perfection is a distant goal, and our progress depends utterly on abundant grace from a Source outside ourselves.
Meanwhile, remember that “grain of mustard seed”? (See Matthew 17:20.) Our faith doesn’t have to be perfect to be real. A small amount, amid our doubts, can be enough for today.
This week’s reading is John 2-4. Jesus attends a wedding at Cana in Galilee, goes briefly to Capernaum, then heads south to Jerusalem for Passover, after which he preaches in Judea and briefly in Samaria on his way back to Galilee to preach.
Chronologically this period comes after Jesus returns to Galilee after his baptism and temptations, and ends as he preaches throughout Galilee, of which we read last week in Luke 4-5.
Temptations in the Desert
Matthew 4:1-11 and Luke 4:1-13
We begin with three approaches to Matthew’s and Luke’s accounts of Jesus’ temptations: the logistics, which have theological implications; the temptations themselves and their relevance to us ordinary mortals; and Jesus’ scriptural responses, which, taken in context, emphasize a certain theme. Then we’ll briefly note some parallel events and passages in scripture.
Logistics: The Devil’s Role
The King James Version (KJV) and the Joseph Smith Translation (JST) differ on key points, where Jesus’ sojourn in the wilderness and his temptations are concerned. The KJV accounts raise some concerns.