As far as I know, the devil told the truth only once, centuries ago in the dark deserts of Egypt.
The story goes like this: Saint Antony heard a knock at the door of his cell one night, and when he opened it, he beheld a figure “massive and tall.” “Who are you?” Antony asked. “I am Satan,” was the reply. “What are you doing here?” Antony calmly asked. Invited to speak, the devil proceeded to file his complaint. “Why do the monks and all the other Christians accuse me without a cause? Why do they curse me every hour?” “Well,” Antony answered, “why do you torment them?” To this the devil replied,
I am not the one tormenting them, but they disturb themselves, for I have become weak. Haven’t they read that the swords of the enemy have failed utterly…? I no longer have a place—no weapon, no city. There are Christians everywhere, and even the desert is filled with monks. Let them watch after themselves and stop accusing me for no reason!
Amazed by his complaint, Antony said to the devil, “Even though you are always a liar, and never tell the truth, nevertheless this time, even if you did not intend to, you have spoken truly. For Christ in his coming reduced you to weakness…” And there, the story abruptly ends, for upon “hearing the Saviour’s name,” the devil vanished, the text says, unable to stand even the sound of it.[1]
It is an ancient principle of spiritual wisdom that the devil doesn’t waste his time on those who can sin well enough on their own. When Christians poured into the Egyptian deserts in the fourth century, the demons followed them. Few demonic operatives were needed in Alexandria, so the story goes, because the city held out enough temptation to occupy the ordinary soul just fine, the soul not enough in fear of God or enough in love with him to be really any sort of meaningful trophy for the devil. The demons instead hounded Christians serious about perfection, not the tepid and indifferent. Such is why (by the way) I’ve long thought that today we’re usually a bit too quick to blame the devil. When someone blames the devil for his or her behavior, I usually answer back, “I doubt you’re holy enough for that.” Speaking for myself, they are the less spectacular temptations which haunt me; I doubt the devil has much to do with it at all. I’m no spiritual hero. I mean, I wish I had the sort of soul that would provoke the devil.
We see this in the story of Jesus’ temptation. It was only after his baptism, after the Father spoke from heaven, “You are my beloved Son,”[2] that Jesus was driven—by the Spirit, Luke tells us—into the desert to be tempted. Only after his baptism, and the loving word of his Father, and the work of the Holy Spirit did Jesus encounter the devil. Jesus was now about his Father’s work, and it’s at this point that the devil took notice. As John saw in his vision, like a mystery, “the dragon stood before the woman about to give birth.”[3] The devil stood waiting for the child to appear, and then he took chase. The devil is a strategist, a deceiver. He waits to make his move.
And this is true for the followers of Jesus as well, as borne out in the other gospels. There were certainly garden-variety cases of the demonic which were healed by Jesus. However, cases of the truly satanic are very few in the gospels, reserved it seems for deliberate attacks upon Jesus and his disciples. John and Luke, for example, are blunt and clear. Judas did what he did because “Satan entered him.”[4] In Capernaum, equally haunting and sharp, Jesus turned to his disciples and said, “one of you is a devil.”[5] And on the night of Jesus’ arrest, Luke tells us the disciples were sifted by Satan “like wheat.”[6] Again, as John saw in his vision: the dragon made war on the woman’s other children too—“those who keep God’s commandments and bear witness to Jesus.”[7] The point is they are the holy, those on mission, that are hounded by hell, not the lukewarm and spiritually sedate—those of “contented subhumanity,” whom that wickedly famous tempter, C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape, thought “hardly worth damning.”[8]
So, when we hear of the temptation of Jesus, what do we learn? What do we see with our grace-touched intellects? Why does the Church ask us to reflect on this story at the beginning of Lent?
The answer is simple. As Jesus was tested when he went about his Father’s work, so too will we be tested if and when we go about the work of the Father in the fellowship of Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. If you are only at the beginning of your Christian life, not yet washed in the saving waters of baptism; or, if you have returned to Christ after years of separation; or, if you are that faithful struggler daring to be holy; any of you: if you take a step in the direction of Jesus, know that you will be tested. You will find yourself in a wilderness built just for you. If you follow Christ, the devil will take notice. Souls illumined by the word of the Father and overshadowed by the dove of the Spirit are souls which provoke the devil. Peter wasn’t exaggerating. Your adversary “the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour.”[9] The Church recalls the story of Jesus’ temptation so that we’ll be sober and vigilant, alert to the tricks of the tempter.
But notice Peter’s advice. He said, “Be sober, be vigilant.” He didn’t say be afraid. In the stories of the desert monks of Egypt, filled with tales of countless demonic tricks, we don’t find any horror stories. We do, however, find numerous accounts of laughter. The monks weren’t afraid of the devil, they laughed at him. This is what’s so unreal in modern movies about exorcisms and other silly things like that—you see, Christians don’t fear the devil. We know where the devil comes from. We know his weakness, and we know where he’s going. We fear God and nothing else.
In each person’s spiritual journey, the testing time will come. And it will come, as it did with Jesus, when you are tired, “hungry” as Luke says.[10] You will advance in your spiritual life, learning how to hope, trust, and love in the ways of grace, but then in the perfecting dryness of the soul’s progress, the world’s satanic logic will present itself in all its gilded appeal. Instead of loving the poor and delighting in being poor for the Lord, greed will make sense again. Instead of fearing nothing on this earth because of faith in the resurrection and the forever of heaven, fear of death and of bodily welfare will once again try to overwhelm the risky behavior of love. And instead of rejoicing in humiliations and persecutions which should be the glory of every Christian, the apparent good of pride and the usefulness of power will seem again altogether sensible. Perhaps you see some sense in world’s satanic logic even now. Perhaps you don’t see the good of Christian poverty and powerlessness. Perhaps you think humiliation and suffering are intolerably bad things. If so, be sober and vigilant, for you adversary walketh about.
So, in this season of testing and perfection, do what Jesus did. Rely on the word of God, and don’t dare test the Lord. That will not go well for you. Renounce your reliance upon the selfish, greedy, violent, and satanic logic of this world. Embrace the hungry ways of Jesus. Don’t run away from the desert—Jesus didn’t. Rather, remain in the wilderness of your soul’s perfection; and when you have given up everything so that you may trust God with real and holy trust, then you will find what God wants to give you in the freedom of perfect friendship. Then you will find angels and the communion of the blessed and victorious, the reward of your weary labors. Amen.
[1] Athanasius, The Life of Antony 41
[2] Luke 3:22
[3] Revelation 12:4
[4] John 13:27; Luke 22:3
[5] John 6:70
[6] Luke 22:31
[7] Revelation 12:17
[8] C.S. Lewis, Screwtape Letters, 155-156
[9] 1 Peter 5:8
[10] Luke 4:2
[1] Athanasius, The Life of Antony 41
[2] Luke 3:22
[3] Revelation 12:4
[4] John 13:27; Luke 22:3
[5] John 6:70
[6] Luke 22:31
[7] Revelation 12:17
[8] C.S. Lewis, Screwtape Letters, 155-156
[9] 1 Peter 5:8
[10] Luke 4:2
© 2022 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield
