Tempted Like as We Are

To be like him; to keep

Unspotted from the world; to reap But where he leads; to think, To dream, to hope as one who would but drink

Of purity, and grow

More like the Christ; to go Through time’s sweet labyrinths pure, and brave, and true; To stand sin’s tests; to dare, to do

For him though all the price

Be stained in dye of sacrifice.

This were to be

Sustained by his infinity,

And given

A foretaste of the ecstasy of heaven.

George Klingle.

No human soul has ever escaped temptation. There have been fierce and terrific assaults before which the noblest natures have quailed, and the bravest, strongest hearts have trembled. Earth’s battle-fields are not all marked out on the school-boy’s maps. The stories of the world’s great battles are not all told in our histories. It was just after his baptism and his

48 consecration to his work as the Messiah that Jesus went to his temptation. An old writer says: “All the while our Saviour stayed in his father’s shop and meddled only with carpenter’s chips, the devil troubled him not; now that he is to enter more publicly upon his mediatorship, the tempter pierceth his tender soul with many sorrows by solicitation to sin.”

For forty days Jesus had been fasting. “If thou be the Son of God,” said the tempter, “command that these stones be made bread.” There is no harm in eating when one is hungry. There would seem to have been nothing wrong in Jesus’ turning a few stones into loaves of bread. “Man doth not live by bread alone,” said he, “but by every word of God.” It is a great deal more important that 1 shall obey God’s commandments than that I shall get bread to eat. My duty is to do God’s will first, last, always; the matter of bread is secondary.

“Throw thyself down,” said the tempter, “from yonder lofty pinnacle, into the crowded street, and let God keep thee from being hurt. He has promised to give his angels charge over thee.” Why would it have been wrong for Jesus to do this? He said it would have been tempting God, claiming his promise in needless danger. When you rush into peril without the d 49 divine bidding, you can claim no shelter, no protection. You are tempting God.

Satan then gave Jesus a vision of universal power, all lands at his feet — Greece, Rome, the great Orient, the broad West. “All this is yours if you will worship me.” Already there was in the soul of Jesus another vision of universal power, all the world his kingdom; but it was spiritual power and the way to it led by a cross. The tempter suggested power of this world, with pomp and splendor, and the cross avoided. But think of the price: “Fall down and worship me.”

It is said that a little daughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s had a wonderful faculty for inventing stories. One day she was overheard telling her brother about a very naughty child, who grew naughtier and naughtier, till at last she struck God. As we read the story of these temptations, coming to the last one, in which the tempter asks the Son of God to fall down and worship him, is it not the child’s fancy realized — naughtier and naughtier till at last he struck God?

Why was Jesus tempted of the devil? We are told that he was led — Mark says driven — by the Spirit, into the wilderness, to be tempted by the devil. It was not, therefore, an accident;

5° it was part of his preparation. He came from Nazareth, after thirty years of quiet life, and was baptized, and thus set apart for his mission of redeeming the world. But before he begins his work, he must be tried. Adam was tried, and he failed. The second Adam must be tried too, to prove that he is able to save men. If he had not been successful in his conflicts, how could he have delivered any others from the tempter’s power?

Long, long ago, — the legend runs, — in a far-distant land, dwelt a giant — OfFero. He had wonderful power. He had a strange desire to serve the mightiest king in the world. He found one who seemed great, and entered his service. Together with his king he fought many battles. One day a minstrel came to the king’s court and sang, and OfFero noticed that every time the name of Satan was mentioned, the king grew pale and trembled, and bent his knee and crossed himself. “Ah,” said OfFero, “he who is to be my master must quail at nothing. There must be a greater king than thou, this Satan whom thou dost dread. I leave thy service and I will journey till I find this mightier monarch, and I will give him my sword.”

So he wandered, seeking Satan, up and down

5i the mountain steep, far across the trackless desert, through deep forests, resting not until he had found the arch-fiend. Before him he bowed, crying:

“I lie before thee, prostrate in the very dust;

May my right hand fail if ever it prove recreant to its trust.”

For long years Offero stayed with Satan. Many were the battles they fought. Offero was a brave champion. But one day, near an ancient city, they paused to rest and to drink from a wayside fountain. Beside the fountain stood a little cross, with a figure carved upon it. Satan shrank back, and would not drink. He began to tremble, too, before the cross. Offero saw it. “Ah,” he said, “thou tremblest. Why is it?” Satan answered, “On this cross the Saviour died — he, Lord of heaven and earth, greater than all kings besides, crowned now with glory. It is he I dread.”

“Then I leave thee,” said the giant. “I will serve none but the mightiest. I will seek this mightier king and will serve him.”

So again he went forth and wandered far and wide, asking everywhere for this Saviour who on the cross had died. One day he met an ancient hermit, who taught him the gospel story,

52 and told him how to find the Saviour. Offero was filled with love for the Christ, the mightiest of all kings, and longed to do brave and noble things for this new Master.

“Knowest thou a deep, wide river,” asked the hermit, “rushing down between dark chasms? Strong and rapid is its current, and many shrink to cross it. Thou canst aid them, mighty giant. Thou canst lend a helping hand, guiding them through the rushing floods. Thus thou canst serve the Saviour.”

With joy in his heart, OfFero went and crossed the foaming river, built a simple hut of branches, and became the pilgrim’s guide. He strengthened many fainting souls. He saved many from death. Always, while he did his noble deeds, there arose before his eyes that figure on the cross — fair and saintly, with deep wounds on hands and feet, with a face of wondrous beauty, wearing a smile of love and peace.

One night, the great giant was sleeping in his hut, when he heard, faintly calling, a childish voice, “Offero, good OfFero, wake at once, and carry me over the river.” It was a wild night. The floods ran high and the winds were fierce. Through the darkness and the storm still wailed the child’s voice, “Come quickly, Offero. I am weary; bear me over the river.” The giant

53 hastened to answer the call. Through a rift in the clouds a moonbeam streamed down upon the waters, and he saw a child struggling there alone. He caught the littl’e one in his arms and bravelyset out to carry him across the stream. But at every step the child’s weight increased, until the giant felt that he must sink under his load. Yet he struggled on, praying for strength, and safely reached the shore.

“Whom have I borne?” he murmured. “It is thy Lord,” answered the child. “Long hast thou desired to see me. Thou thoughtest to help one of my little ones, through love for me,, and thou hast borne me, thy Lord, across the waters. He who has carried the Saviour must henceforth be called Christ-Offero.”

It is but a legend, and yet its teaching is beautiful. We want for our soul’s Master one who fears no enemy, who trembles and quails before no power, who is matchless in his strength. We want one for our Saviour who never can be overcome. We are immortal. Not for to-day only, but through eternal years, we shall need a friendship that is not tender only, but also strong and secure. No earthly power meets this condition. The sweetest human love is but trembling weakness before the world’s mighty forces. We cannot worship one who fears any foe. We

54 cannot trust ourselves absolutely and forever in the hands of one who is not stronger than the strongest.

Here, emerging from the wilderness, with the light of victory in his face, comes the Lord Christ. He has met the very concentration of all the world’s evil and has vanquished it. We need never be afraid to trust him. There are no chains he cannot break. He is a tried Saviour. In all our struggles and temptations, we may turn to him for help and deliverance.

Jesus was tempted, too, that he might understand our experiences of temptation. “It behoved him in all things to be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and faithful high priest.... For in that he himself hath suffered being tempted, he is able to succor them that are tempted.” These words assure us that the temptations of Christ were not mere empty forms, mere simulacra of temptations, but intense realities. He suffered, being tempted. It cost him anguish to resist. He resisted unto blood.

Power is not enough in him whom your soul craves to have for Saviour, Helper, Friend. Power alone is cold. He may be the all-conqueror. It may be that he has vanquished every energy of evil and bound the strong one in his own house. He may be resistless in his might,

55 and you may be secure in the shelter of his strength. But your heart craves tenderness. You must have sympathy. The one to whom you will turn as your Lord and Master must be able to enter into all the experiences of your life. This, too, we have in Jesus Christ. He is not only God, with all power; he is also man, with all human feelings, affections, emotions, sympathies. Having been tempted in all points, like as we are, he can be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.

There is a picture which represents an angel standing by the empty cross of our Saviour. It is in the evening, after the crucifixion. The body has been taken down and laid to rest in the grave. The crowd has dispersed. Desolation and loneliness reign about the place. There stands the angel, touching with his fingers the sharp points of the thorns in the crown which Jesus had worn. The artist’s thought is that the angel looked with wonder and awe on the sufferings of Christ. He could not understand them, for angels have never suffered, and hence there is nothing in the angel-nature or experience to interpret suffering, He is trying to make out what pain is, and he cannot understand the mystery.

There are people among our friends who come

56 and stand beside us in our sorrow or suffering, and yet understand nothing of what we are experiencing. Their hearts are tender and their love is deep and strong, but they have never suffered, and therefore there is nothing in them to interpret to them what is going on in us. Then there comes another friend, and in his face and eye we catch at once the revealing of sympathy. He understands what is passing in our soul. He enters into our experience. Every struggle or pain in our heart finds an answering chord in his. He has suffered, himself, and his nature has thus been prepared for sympathy.

Wonderful is this power of sympathy. Wonderful is the help that passes from the sympathetic heart to other lives. It is this which gives to certain great preachers their power to help others by their words; those who listen to them hear the heart-beat in their sermons, and feel instinctively that they understand what they are saying, because they have experienced it. It is this that makes certain books so welcome to the weary, the sorrowing and the struggling; their pages breathe sympathy in every line. You can understand in others only what you have learned for yourself in your own living. If you have not suffered being tempted,

57 there is nothing in you to interpret to your heart what I am suffering while passing through my struggles and conflicts. But if you have fought the battles yourself, you understand what is going on in me when I am fighting them.

These are hints of what Christ brought from the wilderness in the way of preparation for his great work of priestly help. Nor are we to suppose that it was only in the wilderness that he learned life’s lessons. All his years were filled with human experiences — childhood’s, young manhood’s, the poor man’s, the working-man’s, the experiences of ingratitude, of weak friendship, of false friendship, of unkind treatment, of rejection, of bitter sorrow, of death, of lying in the grave. So he stands to-day in the midst of the world of struggling humanity, and there is nothing in any heart’s cry that he does not understand. It matters not what your peculiar experience may be, in him your soul finds the answering chord.

It is this that makes Jesus Christ such a real friend to those who come to him. They are sure always of perfect sympathy. He knows how hard it is for us to be good, true and patient, for he has passed through life before us. He knows how the world tempts the young man who is ambitious to succeed. He knows

58 how the temptation to be dishonest tries the soul of the man who is hungry. He knows all the temptations that come to us, and looks upon us in loving sympathy as we endure them. Men seem cold and indifferent, as they hurry along in their diverse ways, casting no thought upon us in our heart-hunger, in our longing, in our need; but there is One who is never indifferent. He hears the plash of every tear that falls in secret. His heart is thrilled with every feeling of pain or pleasure, of hope or fear, of joy or sorrow, that sweeps through our heart.

Yet sympathy is not all of the blessing. There are those who sympathize but give no help. Their feeling is only a feeble echo of ours. They sit down beside us in our sorrow and their hearts beat with ours, but there is no uplift in their tenderness. They put no new strength into our heart, no new courage or cheer. But Christ sympathizes and then helps. He has learned life’s ways, and he guides us in them. He carried the world’s sorrows, and when we are in sorrow he can give us true comfort. He knows what comes out of sorrow sweetly borne, and he can strengthen us to endure.

One of the beautiful legends of Brittany tells of a town called Is, which long since was swallowed up by the sea. The fishermen relate

59 strange things of this legendary city. They say that sometimes the tops of the church-spires may be seen in the hollow of the waves, when the storms rage wildly, and that during a calm the music of the buried bells is heard ringing out in sweetest notes.

It is only a legend. But in the world’s great sea there are countless lives that have been buried — some in sin’s floods, some in sorrow’s depths. As we listen, we hear the bells ringing down in the dark waters. Some ring plaintively — the cry of pain, suffering and despair. Some ring yearningly — the longings, desires and aspirations of human souls for better life.

There is One who hears all this music, all these notes of pain and longing. The Lord Jesus Christ hears every human heart’s cry, whatever its tone. It is but little that the best human love can do; but here is One who knows all, who loves better than he knows, who is able to help and to save unto the uttermost. Who would not take this all-conquering, allsympathizing, all-helping Christ into his life as Saviour, Master and Friend?