Luke 4:1-13
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, "If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread."
Jesus answered him, "It is written, 'One does not live by bread alone.'"
Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, "To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours."
Jesus answered him, "It is written,'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.'"
Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written,'He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you, 'and On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'"
Jesus answered him, "It is said, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'" When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.
-----------When I read the writer of Luke's description of Jesus' temptations in the wilderness and the similar description in Matthew of Jesus' 40 days in the desert and his mountain top experience with Satan, I can't help but think of the Pecos Wilderness Area in northern New Mexico. Located in the Lower Rockies, a mountainous region abruptly rising from the high desert, its known as the Sangre de Cristo Range - the blood of Christ. It's been a spiritual homeland of mine since college. I often spent my spring breaks there. In April the reluctantly melting snow remains on the north face of the slopes and trout are easy prey in the remote headwaters of the Pecos. On crisp sunny days I'd hike on trails where it was unlikely that I would encounter a soul and at night I huddled against the cold in my down sleeping bag, beneath a galaxy that was more like heavy cream than a milky way.
Those of you who know me pretty well, know that I like to run. And my favorite running is on mountain trails. I like the irregularity of a packed dirt surface, the extra effort it takes to climb up a steep incline, the sense of flying that comes when you allow yourself to run downhill, with abandon - fearlessly and surrounded by wilderness. I'm a better runner than a walker and I often prefer to leave behind the burden of a backpack and enjoy the freedom that comes from being weighted down only by running shoes and shorts.
On this trip I had elected to stay at the Pecos Monastery, some distance from my usual more familiar trial head, choosing to spend the evenings in conversation with the Benedictine monks whose Lenten discipline extended throughout the year. I learned from a hobbit-like monk that behind the monastery lay a series of trails that would eventually lead me to a larger trail system that ran for hundreds of miles through the wilderness area. With no map and little guidance from the monk, who true to his hobbit nature seldom ventured out himself, I began to run. While still in sight of the monastery, a swinging rope bridge led me across the crystal clear stream that would eventually become the Pecos River, wind through Texas, and finally flow into the murky waters of the Rio Grande.
As the monastery receded into the distance, the trail climbed steeply. I breathed deeply, taking in the clean, thin air of the higher altitude. About an hour into the run, as I rounded a bend, I spotted the tawny hide of a large female mountain lion. Less than 15 yards ahead, she lazily crossed the trail, turned her head and glanced at me - her yellow brown eyes looking deeply into my own. I'm sure she heard the thumping of my heart. Deciding that I was neither food, nor foe, she averted her gaze and disappeared into the brush. I stopped long enough to marvel at her passing strength and beauty, to catch my breath, and allow her clear passage on her journey.
I ran for miles more, passing stalactite waterfalls, seeing ponderosa pines replaced by the pinons that prefer the higher reaches. Buzzards circled, hawks floated and rabbits scurried at my passing. The trail changed too. It intertwined with a series of logging trails, jeep roads, deer tracks, and washes. I began to fear that I might not recognize the way back. So I decided that when I passed a fork in the road, a place where I might not remember which way I should return, I would mark the proper path with two sticks. Thereafter, for the remainder of my run, whenever I came to a crossroad that looked potentially uncertain, I would find two twigs and lay them down in the middle of the preferred path.