Luke 4:1-13
Year C
First Sunday in Lent
During one of my January terms at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, I had the chance to take a class at St. Meinrad School of Theology, one of our consortium partners. The course title caught my eye: “Satanism, Sorcery, and the Occult.” I paused, reread it, and then noticed something in the description — it involved watching and analyzing horror movies. That sealed the deal.
I’ve always enjoyed horror movies, not so much for the fright but for the way they wrestle with good and evil, fear and faith. And this? It sounded like a break from my usual coursework, a bit of movie-watching, maybe popcorn, and discussion in the quiet, beautiful surroundings of southwest Indiana. I signed up, not giving it much more thought.
It wasn’t until the first day of class that I realized what I had walked into.
Our professor, Rev. Cyprian Davis, was not just a theologian. He was one of the leading scholars in American Catholicism on the occult and exorcisms. (Yes, real exorcisms — complete with the Latin rite.)
The movies we watched have mostly faded from memory, except for “The Exorcist.” Davis told us it came the closest (though still not very close) to depicting an actual exorcism according to Catholic practice. He spoke about Hollywood’s exaggerations while drawing on good humor to remind the whole class to have measured sobriety when it came to pop culture’s horror narratives.
Then, in the middle of a discussion, he turned serious saying, “Whatever conjures or attributes power to humans rather than God is the occult.”
I hadn’t expected that definition. I had assumed “the occult” meant dark rituals, spell books and demonic forces. But Davis conveyed it differently. From that moment on, I have never read today’s gospel text the same way.
At first glance, none of the devil’s temptations seem that sinister. Turning stones into bread? That could feed the hungry. Authority over the kingdoms of the world? That sounds like a shortcut to justice. Even throwing himself from the temple could be seen as a dramatic act of faith. Yet in each case, the devil invites Jesus to center power on himself rather than on God.
It makes me wonder: how often do we accept the invitation Jesus refused?
How often do we accept the invitation Jesus refused?
We hear it all the time: If you pray hard enough, God will bless you. Some theologies go further, promising that faithfulness will bring success — wealth, influence, or security. If we’re not careful, we start treating faith like a formula, a way to access power for ourselves rather than to glorify God.
That’s where we get into trouble, isn’t it? When faith becomes transactional – when God becomes a means to an end – our focus shifts. We turn inward, obsessed with profit, prestige, and control, forgetting the heart of God and the needs of our neighbor.
Of course, power itself is not the defining problem. I’ve seen power wielded for good. We hear a lot about billionaires clinging to their wealth, but I’ve also heard of others giving away vast amounts for the good of others. What’s the difference?
Perhaps it comes down to where their heart truly rests.
Jesus later speaks to this very question in Luke 12: “Sell your possessions and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Luke 12:33-34).
That is power rightly placed — not centered in self but surrendered to God. I imagine Davis would approve. For that kind of power system is not the occult. That is true and faithful worship of God.
Questions for reflection on Luke 4:1-13
- Can profit, power, and prestige be good if God’s heart is at the center of our own?
- Where are you sensing temptation away from God in your wilderness?
- What forces, represented here by the devil, do you see pulling our communal motives and loyalties away from God’s heart?
View the corresponding Order of Worship for the First Sunday in Lent
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