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[v.2] 2026-February-22, 1st Sunday Lent ●● _ Genesis 2:7-9, 3:1-7 ●● _ Psalm 51 ●● _ Romans 5:12-19 ●● +Matthew 4:1-11●●
1. We Fall, We Rise — The Pattern of Lent
There is a story about someone who visited a monastery and asked the abbot, “What do the monks do all day?”
The abbot replied,
“We fall down. We get up. We fall down again. And we get up again.”
This is Lent.
This is the Christian life.
Adam fell.
David fell.
We fall.
But today, in the desert, Jesus does not fall.
And the question is: Why?
2. The First Temptation: Trust or Control
The first temptation seems almost harmless.
Jesus has been fasting for forty days. He is hungry. The devil says to Him,
“If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become bread.”
There is nothing sinful about bread.
There is nothing sinful about hunger.
There is nothing sinful about wanting relief.
In the Garden of Eden, the fruit was described as “good for food.”
Bread is good for food.
The problem is not the object.
The problem is this:
Will I trust God — or take matters into my own hands?
The devil does not tempt Jesus with something obviously evil. He tempts Him with something reasonable.
“You’re hungry. Fix it.”
And Jesus replies,
“Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
Jesus is hungry — but He wants something more than bread.
He wants the Father’s will.
3. Original Sin: The Wound of Distrust
This is where the doctrine of original sin helps us.
Original sin is not just Adam’s mistake long ago. It is the wound we inherit — a weakness in trust, a tendency to grasp rather than receive, to control rather than surrender.
Adam and Eve did not want to rebel.
They wanted wisdom.
They wanted fullness.
But they did not trust God’s plan. They trusted what looked good in the moment — what they could measure and control. That wound — reaching for what is tangible instead of trusting what is true — still lives in us.
It explains why we struggle.
It explains why we reach for comfort.
It explains why we isolate ourselves.
It explains why we fall.
But it also prepares us to understand why we need grace.
4. David: When the Wound Becomes a Fall
Think of King David.
David did not fall in the heat of battle.
He fell when he stayed behind.
While his army was at war, David was alone on his rooftop — comfortable, idle, disconnected.
He saw Bathsheba.
He liked what he saw.
And he took her.
David did not wake up wanting to betray God.
But the wound of original sin — that weakness in trust — was still in him.
He grasped instead of receiving.
He fed a hunger the wrong way.
He turned a person into nourishment.
And it nearly destroyed him.
But David did not remain in isolation.
When confronted, he repented.
In Psalm 51 he cries out,
“Have mercy on me, O God…
Create in me a clean heart.”
David fell.
But he got up — not by his own strength — by grace.
5. Grace: Why We Can Rise Again
This is the difference between despair and hope.
If original sin were the end of the story, we would be stuck.
But it is not the end.
We are wounded — yes.
But we are not abandoned.
In Baptism, we are claimed.
In confession, we are restored.
In absolution, we are lifted up again.
We fall.
We get up.
Because grace lifts us.
6. Fasting: Not Proof, But Love
Lent is not a solitary self-improvement project.
It is not about proving something to God.
Sometimes in ordinary life we fast to get a result — before a blood test, before surgery, to improve our health numbers. We fast to prove something measurable.
But Lenten fasting is different.
It is not about proving our worth.
We already have worth.
It is about love.
In the past, Catholics used to say, “Offer it up.”
Offer your fast for someone who is hungry.
Offer your inconvenience for someone who is lonely.
Offer your sacrifice for someone who is suffering.
We believe suffering has value — not because pain is good, but because love is good.
A parent would rather suffer than see their child suffer.
We instinctively know that love is willing to bear pain for another.
When we fast in Lent, we are choosing small sacrifices in union with Christ — not to prove ourselves, but to grow in communion: communion with God, and communion with one another.
7. Fasting From Control: A Modern Desert
And fasting is not only about food.
I have realized that sometimes what I hunger for is accomplishment and control.
Part of my fasting is learning to stop working at a certain hour.
Part of my fasting is delegating instead of doing everything myself.
Part of my fasting is letting go of control.
That is uncomfortable.
It feels like hunger.
But that is the desert.
And we were never meant to walk it alone.
What helped me once overcome my dislike of studying was not suddenly liking it. It was going to the library — surrounding myself with others who were doing the same hard thing.
No one forced me.
But community strengthened my desire.
The monastery image matters:
We fall down.
We get up.
We fall down again.
Not “I,” but “we.”
Isolation weakens desire.
Communion strengthens it.
David fell in isolation.
Jesus stood firm in communion with the Father.
8. Jesus: Freedom Through Communion
Jesus is alone in the desert — but He is not isolated.
He remains in communion with the Father.
He refuses to turn stones into bread because He refuses to step outside that communion.
He wants the Father more than relief.
He wants obedience more than comfort.
Freedom is not satisfying every appetite.
Freedom is the strength to choose the good — even when it is uncomfortable.
9. Conclusion: Bread for the Journey
So this Lent, when you feel the small hungers —
for food,
for comfort,
for distraction,
for control —
ask yourself one question:
What do I truly want?
Original sin explains why we struggle to answer that.
Grace gives us the strength to answer it well.
Adam liked the fruit.
David liked the moment.
But neither truly wanted separation from God.
Jesus shows us another way.
He refuses the bread in the desert
so that He can become Bread for us.
He denies Himself
so that He can feed us with His very life.
And here is our hope:
Because He stood,
because He trusted,
because He obeyed,
we can rise again.
“Create in me a clean heart, O God.”
This is Lent.
We fall.
We rise.
Not alone — but together.
And the One who refused the bread in the desert
now feeds us with Himself
so that one day we may stand with Him forever.
[Version_02] 2026-February-22, 1st Sunday Lent
●● _ Genesis 2:7-9, 3:1-7 ●● _ Psalm 51 ●● _ Romans 5:12-19 ●● +Matthew 4:1-11●●
1. We Fall, We Rise — The Pattern of Lent
There is a story about someone who visited a monastery and asked the abbot, “What do the monks do all day?”
The abbot replied,
“We fall down. We get up. We fall down again. And we get up again.”
This is Lent.
This is the Christian life.
Adam fell.
David fell.
We fall.
But today, in the desert, Jesus does not fall.
And the question is: Why?
2. The First Temptation: Trust or Control
The first temptation seems almost harmless.
Jesus has been fasting for forty days. He is hungry. The devil says to Him,
“If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become bread.”
There is nothing sinful about bread.
There is nothing sinful about hunger.
There is nothing sinful about wanting relief.
In the Garden of Eden, the fruit was described as “good for food.”
Bread is good for food.
The problem is not the object.
The problem is this:
Will I trust God — or take matters into my own hands?
The devil does not tempt Jesus with something obviously evil. He tempts Him with something reasonable.
“You’re hungry. Fix it.”
And Jesus replies,
“Man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.”
Jesus is hungry — but He wants something more than bread.
He wants the Father’s will.
3. Original Sin: The Wound of Distrust
This is where the doctrine of original sin helps us.
Original sin is not just Adam’s mistake long ago. It is the wound we inherit — a weakness in trust, a tendency to grasp rather than receive, to control rather than surrender.
Adam and Eve did not want to rebel.
They wanted wisdom.
They wanted fullness.
But they did not trust God’s plan. They trusted what looked good in the moment — what they could measure and control. That wound — reaching for what is tangible instead of trusting what is true — still lives in us.
It explains why we struggle.
It explains why we reach for comfort.
It explains why we isolate ourselves.
It explains why we fall.
But it also prepares us to understand why we need grace.
4. David: When the Wound Becomes a Fall
Think of King David.
David did not fall in the heat of battle.
He fell when he stayed behind.
While his army was at war, David was alone on his rooftop — comfortable, idle, disconnected.
He saw Bathsheba.
He liked what he saw.
And he took her.
David did not wake up wanting to betray God.
But the wound of original sin — that weakness in trust — was still in him.
He grasped instead of receiving.
He fed a hunger the wrong way.
He turned a person into nourishment.
And it nearly destroyed him.
But David did not remain in isolation.
When confronted, he repented.
In Psalm 51 he cries out,
“Have mercy on me, O God…
Create in me a clean heart.”
David fell.
But he got up — not by his own strength — by grace.
5. Grace: Why We Can Rise Again
This is the difference between despair and hope.
If original sin were the end of the story, we would be stuck.
But it is not the end.
We are wounded — yes.
But we are not abandoned.
In Baptism, we are claimed.
In confession, we are restored.
In absolution, we are lifted up again.
We fall.
We get up.
Because grace lifts us.
6. Fasting: Not Proof, But Love
Lent is not a solitary self-improvement project.
It is not about proving something to God.
Sometimes in ordinary life we fast to get a result — before a blood test, before surgery, to improve our health numbers. We fast to prove something measurable.
But Lenten fasting is different.
It is not about proving our worth.
We already have worth.
It is about love.
In the past, Catholics used to say, “Offer it up.”
Offer your fast for someone who is hungry.
Offer your inconvenience for someone who is lonely.
Offer your sacrifice for someone who is suffering.
We believe suffering has value — not because pain is good, but because love is good.
A parent would rather suffer than see their child suffer.
We instinctively know that love is willing to bear pain for another.
When we fast in Lent, we are choosing small sacrifices in union with Christ — not to prove ourselves, but to grow in communion: communion with God, and communion with one another.
7. Fasting From Control: A Modern Desert
And fasting is not only about food.
I have realized that sometimes what I hunger for is accomplishment and control.
Part of my fasting is learning to stop working at a certain hour.
Part of my fasting is delegating instead of doing everything myself.
Part of my fasting is letting go of control.
That is uncomfortable.
It feels like hunger.
But that is the desert.
And we were never meant to walk it alone.
What helped me once overcome my dislike of studying was not suddenly liking it. It was going to the library — surrounding myself with others who were doing the same hard thing.
No one forced me.
But community strengthened my desire.
The monastery image matters:
We fall down.
We get up.
We fall down again.
Not “I,” but “we.”
Isolation weakens desire.
Communion strengthens it.
David fell in isolation.
Jesus stood firm in communion with the Father.
8. Jesus: Freedom Through Communion
Jesus is alone in the desert — but He is not isolated.
He remains in communion with the Father.
He refuses to turn stones into bread because He refuses to step outside that communion.
He wants the Father more than relief.
He wants obedience more than comfort.
Freedom is not satisfying every appetite.
Freedom is the strength to choose the good — even when it is uncomfortable.
9. Conclusion: Bread for the Journey
So this Lent, when you feel the small hungers —
for food,
for comfort,
for distraction,
for control —
ask yourself one question:
What do I truly want?
Original sin explains why we struggle to answer that.
Grace gives us the strength to answer it well.
Adam liked the fruit.
David liked the moment.
But neither truly wanted separation from God.
Jesus shows us another way.
He refuses the bread in the desert
so that He can become Bread for us.
He denies Himself
so that He can feed us with His very life.
And here is our hope:
Because He stood,
because He trusted,
because He obeyed,
we can rise again.
“Create in me a clean heart, O God.”
This is Lent.
We fall.
We rise.
Not alone — but together.
And the One who refused the bread in the desert
now feeds us with Himself
so that one day we may stand with Him forever.
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