Introduction
Lent originated in the early Church as a time of preparation for those seeking baptism. This preparation was not only about repentance and discipline, but about learning the story of salvation. The candidates for baptism were immersed in the history of God’s saving work, a tradition which the Church continues today.
For this reason, the first readings on the Sundays of Lent trace key moments in Israel’s history, highlighting God’s enduring faithfulness to his people. These readings remind us that our lives are part of the same story of covenant, mercy, and redemption.
The second readings, primarily from Saint Paul, help us understand that story in light of Christ. They emphasize grace, reconciliation, and new life, shaping our identity as God’s people before calling us to change. The Gospel readings then reveal Christ himself — through testing, healing, and the promise of resurrection — drawing us toward the Paschal Mystery.
Though Lent is a penitential season, any call for repentance in the Sunday readings is indirect. Instead, they reassure us of God’s immense love.
Their message is clear: Be grateful, trust in God, and if necessary, reform your life.
1st Reading – Genesis 2:7-9, 3:1-7
The LORD God formed man out of the clay of the ground
and blew into his nostrils the breath of life,
and so man became a living being.
Then the LORD God planted a garden in Eden, in the east,
and placed there the man whom he had formed.
Out of the ground the LORD God made various trees grow
that were delightful to look at and good for food,
with the tree of life in the middle of the garden
and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
Now the serpent was the most cunning of all the animals
that the LORD God had made.
The serpent asked the woman,
“Did God really tell you not to eat
from any of the trees in the garden?”
The woman answered the serpent:
“We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden;
it is only about the fruit of the tree
in the middle of the garden that God said,
‘You shall not eat it or even touch it, lest you die.’”
But the serpent said to the woman:
“You certainly will not die!
No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it
your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods
who know what is good and what is evil.”
The woman saw that the tree was good for food,
pleasing to the eyes, and desirable for gaining wisdom.
So she took some of its fruit and ate it;
and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her,
and he ate it.
Then the eyes of both of them were opened,
and they realized that they were naked;
so they sewed fig leaves together
and made loincloths for themselves.
On this First Sunday of Lent, we begin at the beginning, with Adam’s disobedience in the garden. Humanity’s rupture with God enters the world not through ignorance, but through mistrust — listening to the tempter and grasping autonomy rather than receiving life as a gift. Sin, separation, and death follow.
The LORD God formed man out of the clay of the ground
There is a deliberate wordplay here: the Hebrew ’ādām (man) comes from ’ădāmâ (ground). Humanity is both earthy and exalted — formed from the soil yet fashioned by God’s own hands.
and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being.
The Hebrew word for “breath” is rûah, which can also mean “spirit” or “wind.” Human life is unique because it is directly animated by God. Man does not merely live; he lives by God’s own gift of life.
Then the LORD God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and he placed there the man whom he had formed.
God prepares a world of beauty and abundance for humanity. Creation is presented as a gift, ordered toward human flourishing and communion with God.
Out of the ground the LORD God made various trees grow that were delightful to look at and good for food,
The trees arise from the same ground as man, underscoring humanity’s physical solidarity with creation. Yet man’s dignity remains distinct because his life comes from God’s breath.
with the tree of life in the middle of the garden and the tree of the knowledge of good and bad.
God grants Adam freedom but sets a single boundary (cf. Genesis 2:17, not included in this reading). Obedience is meant to preserve life, not restrict it.
Now the serpent was the most cunning of all the animals that the LORD God had made.
The serpent represents the devil, a real personal being who opposes God’s plan. Scripture and Tradition identify him as a fallen angel who seeks humanity’s ruin out of envy (CCC 391).
The serpent asked the woman, “Did God really tell you not to eat from any of the trees in the garden?”
The serpent subtly distorts God’s command, presenting it as unreasonable and restrictive. By framing the distortion as a question, he invites dialogue and sows doubt.
The woman answered the serpent: “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; it is only about the fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden that God said, ‘You shall not eat it or even touch it, lest you die.'”
The woman corrects the serpent’s exaggeration but introduces one of her own: God forbade eating from the tree, not touching it.
Rabbinic tradition suggests that Adam may have expanded God’s command when he relayed it to the woman, forbidding even touching the tree as a protective measure (Genesis Rabbah 19:3).
From the very beginning, truth is being blurred by both the tempter and humanity.
But the serpent said to the woman: “You certainly will not die! No, God knows well that the moment you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods who know what is good and what is bad.”
The serpent attacks God’s trustworthiness, implying that God withholds something good. He portrays God as a rival rather than a Father.
The deception is subtle. As we will see, physical death does not occur immediately, but spiritual death does: separation from God. And they will indeed gain knowledge of both good and evil — up until this point, they have only experienced good.
Temptation often mixes truth with falsehood. Usually, it’s only in hindsight that the tempted realize that they have been deceived.
The woman saw that the tree was good for food, pleasing to the eyes, and desirable for gaining wisdom.
As is always true when we sin, acting contrary to the moral order appears attractive at the time. It is admirable to desire wisdom and be like God, but it is sinful to seek a proud reliance on self rather than on God.
So she took some of its fruit and ate it;
This is a free and conscious act of disobedience.
Scripture has given us a deeply perceptive portrait of temptation: it begins with entertaining the tempter’s voice, moves into a doubt of God’s goodness and truth, and culminates in the surrender to desire.
and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it.
Notice that Eve does not go in search of Adam; he is standing beside her. The man who had been entrusted with guarding the garden (Genesis 2:15) remains silent, failing to protect the one given to him.
In this sense, Adam’s abdication of his divine duty is the first sin. Though both transgress, Adam’s failure to act as protector proves decisive, for through him sin enters the human family (cf. Romans 5:12).
What should Adam have done instead? He should have silenced the serpent’s lie, upheld God’s word, and led Eve away from danger.
Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized that they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.
The effects of their sin begin immediately. Where there was once innocence (Genesis 2:25), there is now shame in their nakedness.
Their “death” is not immediate physical death but spiritual death: alienation from God, from one another, and within themselves. As the narrative unfolds, this rupture spreads outward into all human relationships.
The account of the fall teaches that evil does not originate in God, who created humanity for life and friendship with him. Evil enters through sin, and sin always wounds. Succumbing to temptation never delivers what it promises; it leads instead to loss, disorder, and suffering.
2nd Reading – Romans 5:12-19
Brothers and sisters:
Through one man sin entered the world,
and through sin, death,
and thus death came to all men, inasmuch as all sinned—
for up to the time of the law, sin was in the world,
though sin is not accounted when there is no law.
But death reigned from Adam to Moses,
even over those who did not sin
after the pattern of the trespass of Adam,
who is the type of the one who was to come.
But the gift is not like the transgression.
For if by the transgression of the one, the many died,
how much more did the grace of God
and the gracious gift of the one man Jesus Christ
overflow for the many.
And the gift is not like the result of the one who sinned.
For after one sin there was the judgment that brought condemnation;
but the gift, after many transgressions, brought acquittal.
For if, by the transgression of the one,
death came to reign through that one,
how much more will those who receive the abundance of grace
and of the gift of justification
come to reign in life through the one Jesus Christ.
In conclusion, just as through one transgression
condemnation came upon all,
so, through one righteous act,
acquittal and life came to all.
For just as through the disobedience of the one man
the many were made sinners,
so, through the obedience of the one,
the many will be made righteous.
In our second reading, Saint Paul interprets the passage we just heard from Genesis. Adam stands for all humanity, and through his disobedience, sin and death entered the world.
Yet Paul reframes the fall through a Lenten lens of hope: just as sin entered through one man, salvation now enters through one man, Jesus Christ.
Brothers and sisters: Through one man sin entered the world,
Saint Paul begins by affirming the reality of original sin: through Adam, sin entered human history and affected all humanity.
The Church has consistently read this passage as foundational for the doctrine of original sin; its interpretation was confirmed in the early councils and later clarified by the Council of Trent.
The repeated emphasis on “one man” highlights both the historical origin of sin and its universal consequences.
“Everyone, even little children, have broken God’s covenant, not indeed in virtue of any personal action but in virtue of mankind’s common origin in that single ancestor in whom all have sinned.” [Saint Augustine of Hippo (413-426 AD), The City of God 16,27]
“When a man is born, he is already born with death, because he contracts sin from Adam.” [Saint Augustine of Hippo (416 AD), Homilies on the Gospel of John 49,12,2]
and through sin, death, and thus death came to all, inasmuch as all sinned —
Death here includes not only bodily death, but spiritual death — the rupture of humanity’s communion with God, the source of life.
Adam may have been the first to sin, but subsequently, all have sinned.
for up to the time of the law, sin was in the world, though sin is not accounted when there is no law.
Paul is not saying that moral responsibility didn’t exist before Moses. Sin existed before the Mosaic Law, but was not accounted for according to that revealed standard.
Earlier in Romans, Paul explained that even without the Mosaic Law, humanity is morally responsible because of the natural law — the moral law inscribed on the human heart (cf. Romans 2:14-15).
But death reigned from Adam to Moses, even over those who did not sin after the pattern of the trespass of Adam, who is the type of the one who was to come.
The verb basileuō (“to reign as king”) portrays death as a tyrant ruling over humanity. This sets up the contrast with Christ, through whom grace reigns (v. 21).
This reign of death confirms the ongoing effects of Adam’s sin, even among those who did not sin in the same manner.
Paul explicitly calls Adam a “type” of Christ — not an equal counterpart, but a figure whose role is reversed and surpassed by Christ’s saving obedience. This is one of the clearest statements of typology in the New Testament.
But the gift is not like the transgression. For if by that one person’s transgression the many died, how much more did the grace of God and the gracious gift of the one person Jesus Christ overflow for the many.
Paul now unfolds the decisive contrast. Using an a fortiori argument, he insists that if one man’s sin had universal consequences, how much more powerful is the grace given through Jesus Christ.
Grace does not merely offset sin; it superabounds beyond it.
And the gift is not like the result of the one person’s sinning. For after one sin there was the judgment that brought condemnation; but the gift, after many transgressions, brought acquittal.
One act of disobedience brought condemnation upon all, but Christ’s saving work addresses not only Adam’s sin but the countless sins that followed.
Justification in Christ is thus far greater in scope than the fall in Adam.
In other words, grace does not merely acquit the sin of Adam, it acquits all sin. Through Jesus Christ, salvation is offered to the whole human race.
For if, by the transgression of one person, death came to reign through that one, how much more will those who receive the abundance of grace and of the gift of justification come to reign in life through the one person Jesus Christ.
Death reigns through Adam; life reigns through Christ. Yet Paul stresses that this new reign is received — it is not automatic.
Participation in Christ’s life comes through the gift of grace, culminating in justification.
In conclusion, just as through one transgression condemnation came upon all, so through one righteous act acquittal and life came to all. For just as through the disobedience of one person the many were made sinners, so through the obedience of one the many will be made righteous.
Adam’s disobedience rendered humanity sinners — not merely liable to punishment, but wounded in nature and estranged from God.
Christ’s obedience, by contrast, opens the way to righteousness and life. The phrase “the many will be made righteous” points toward the full realization of justification, completed in glory at the final judgment.
From Adam we inherit a fallen nature; from Christ we receive a new one, restored by grace.
Gospel – Matthew 4:1-11
At that time Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert
to be tempted by the devil.
He fasted for forty days and forty nights,
and afterwards he was hungry.
The tempter approached and said to him,
“If you are the Son of God,
command that these stones become loaves of bread.”
He said in reply,
“It is written:
One does not live on bread alone,
but on every word that comes forth
from the mouth of God.”
Then the devil took him to the holy city,
and made him stand on the parapet of the temple,
and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down.
For it is written:
He will command his angels concerning you
and with their hands they will support you,
lest you dash your foot against a stone.”
Jesus answered him,
“Again it is written,
You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.”
Then the devil took him up to a very high mountain,
and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence,
and he said to him, “All these I shall give to you,
if you will prostrate yourself and worship me.”
At this, Jesus said to him,
“Get away, Satan!
It is written:
The Lord, your God, shall you worship
and him alone shall you serve.”
Then the devil left him and, behold,
angels came and ministered to him.
On this First Sunday of Lent, the Church proclaims the account of Jesus’ temptation in the desert. This reading sets the tone for the Lenten season, inviting us to follow Christ into the desert through prayer, self-denial, and trust in God’s word, confident that grace is stronger than temptation.
At that time Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil.
The temptations Jesus faces are not arbitrary or fantastic; each echoes a failure of Israel during its forty years in the wilderness. Matthew thus presents Jesus as reliving Israel’s history and succeeding where Israel failed.
The first similarity between Jesus and the ancient Israelites in the wilderness is having the desert as the place of testing. In biblical tradition, it is a place of deprivation, dependence, and encounter with evil. With normal supports stripped away, one must rely entirely on God.
The specific setting is likely the Judean desert, the stark region descending from the central highlands toward the Jordan Valley and the Dead Sea.
He fasted for forty days and forty nights, and afterwards he was hungry.
Jesus prepares for his public ministry through prayer and fasting. Moses fasted forty days before receiving the Law on Sinai (Exodus 34:28), and Elijah journeyed forty days in the desert as he was renewed for his prophetic mission (1 Kings 19:5-8). Jesus stands in continuity with both figures.
The Church follows Jesus’ footsteps by prescribing the yearly Lenten fast.
“It can be said that Christ introduced the tradition of forty days fast into the Church’s liturgical year, because he himself ‘fasted forty days and forty nights’ before beginning to teach. By this Lenten fast the Church is in a certain sense called every year to follow her Master and Lord if she wishes to preach his Gospel effectively” (Pope Saint John Paul II, General Audience, February 28, 1979).
Jesus’ withdrawal into the desert also teaches that prayer and penance rightly precede decisive moments in the life of faith.
The tempter approached and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command that these stones become loaves of bread.”
Jesus is naturally very hungry after fasting for forty days, and the devil makes use of this opportunity to tempt him. He encourages Jesus to perform a private miracle; that is, to use his power to serve himself and no one else.
Miracles in the Bible are extraordinary deeds done by God to make his words or actions understood, not displays of power for their own sake. What the devil proposes here would be a self-serving act for Jesus’ benefit only, disconnected from the Father’s will and the redemption of humanity.
He said in reply, “It is written: ‘One does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes forth from the mouth of God.'”
Jesus responds with Deuteronomy 8:3. Moses spoke these words to teach Israel that God allowed hunger in the desert so that the people might learn trust, obedience, and reliance on divine providence.
Where Israel failed, Jesus remains faithful. He refuses to act outside the Father’s plan, trusting that the God who led him into the desert will sustain him. Indeed, later in this passage, angels will come and minister to him.
Then the devil took him to the holy city, and made him stand on the parapet of the temple, and said to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down. For it is written: ‘He will command his angels concerning you and ‘with their hands they will support you, lest you dash your foot against a stone.'”
Next the devil quotes Psalm 91, urging Jesus to force God’s hand and publicly demonstrate divine protection. Whereas the first temptation was to distrust divine providence, here the temptation is to presume divine providence.
Notice how the devil has set himself up as an interpreter of Scripture, quoting it to suit himself. Christians must remain vigilant, recognizing that arguments claiming to be grounded in Scripture may still be profoundly untrue.
“Holy Scripture is good, but heresies arise through its not being understood properly” (Saint Augustine, In Ioann. Evang., 18, 1).
As Catholics, we are aided in this through the tremendous grace God gives us in the Church. Any interpretation of Scripture that departs from the teaching handed down in the Church’s Tradition must therefore be set aside. The error of heresy typically arises from elevating certain passages while ignoring others, interpreting them in isolation, and losing sight of both the unity of Scripture and the coherence of the faith as a whole.
Jesus answered him, “Again it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test.’”
By quoting Deuteronomy 6:16, Jesus recalls Israel’s demand for a miracle from Moses in the desert (Exodus 17).
To test God is the very opposite of trusting him. Jesus refuses to manipulate divine power for proof or acclaim; such self‑display is not the Father’s will.
Then the devil took him up to a very high mountain, and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in their magnificence, and he said to him, “All these I shall give to you, if you will prostrate yourself and worship me.”
The third and final temptation is overtly pseudo‑messianic. In a moment of deep vulnerability, Jesus is offered an earthly kingship that bypasses the Cross, enticing him to seize the role of the triumphant Messiah-king that so many expected.
At its core, the temptation is for Jesus to compromise his divine mission in exchange for worldly power.
At this, Jesus said to him, “Get away, Satan!
Jesus’ vigorous reply and dismissal of Satan is a decisive rejection of every form of false messianism. His mission cannot be reduced to political power or worldly success.
It is written: ‘The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.'”
Quoting Deuteronomy 6:13, Jesus affirms absolute allegiance to God alone. Israel had failed in this allegiance, most notably in the worship of the Golden Calf.
Then the devil left him and, behold, angels came and ministered to him.
Jesus has passed the test. He has refused to use divine power for self-interest, spectacle, or domination. In doing so, he reverses the failures of Adam and Eve and of Israel in the wilderness.
By allowing himself to be tempted, Jesus teaches us how temptation is overcome: through trust in God, obedience to his word, and prayer. His victory in the desert marks a decisive moment in salvation history. Where others fell, the Son remains faithful — and in that fidelity, humanity finds hope.
Connections and Themes
The origin of sin. Our first reading reveals the origin of sin: humanity’s mistrust of God and grasping for autonomy. Adam and Eve succumb to temptation by believing that life, wisdom, and freedom can be secured apart from obedience. Death enters not simply as punishment, but as the natural consequence of broken communion with God.
Here, at the beginning of Lent, we are invited to acknowledge honestly and realistically our fundamental human weakness. We are guilty of sin, and consequently, we are in need of God’s mercy.
The scope of salvation. The Church doesn’t remind us of our frailty and sinfulness so that we may linger over them, but so that we may more fully contemplate the mercy of God. In our second reading, Saint Paul interprets the Genesis account at a cosmic level: what appeared to be an isolated act in the garden is revealed as a decisive rupture affecting all humanity. At the same time, Paul reframes history around Christ: Adam’s sin is no longer the final word. Human history is now read through the obedience of Christ, whose saving act has consequences just as universal as Adam’s fall. In this light, the Gospel is revealed as God’s merciful response to a broken world — not a condemnation, but a restoration. We are not left captive to sin or defined by our guilt; grace now abounds through Jesus Christ.
The obedient Son. Our gospel reading presents Jesus reenacting Adam’s trial and Israel’s wilderness testing, but with a radically different outcome. Where Adam mistrusted God in a garden of abundance, Jesus trusts the Father in a desert of deprivation. Where Israel failed to live by God’s word, Jesus answers every temptation with it. The Gospel dramatizes what Paul proclaims: obedience is not merely instructive; it is redemptive.
The shape of Lent. Together, these readings interpret Lent itself: Genesis shows why repentance is necessary; Romans reveals why hope is possible; the Gospel shows how victory over sin is achieved — not by power, spectacle, or self-assertion, but by trusting obedience to God.
Read together, the three texts teach that Lent is not about self-improvement, but about entering into Christ’s faithful response to temptation, through whom grace now exceeds sin.
Sunday Readings 