Hermitage

A recent article in Discipleship Journal, titled “Drawn to the Desert,” caught my attention. Given the desert/wilderness theme that has been running through my head lately, the first line of this article had me hooked:

In my experience, when most Christians hear the words wilderness or desert in relation to their lives with God, thoughts of trials and testing come to mind.

What’s the purpose of desert/wilderness wandering? For Abraham it was the difficult path to discover his calling, for the Israelites it came as a consequence of their lack of faith, and for Jesus it allowed a time of testing. But for the Desert Fathers and Mothers; for the Monastics, going to the desert meant something different entirely.

In her article, Christy Tennant describes a time of spiritual desert in her life. “I felt empty, guilty, and hopeless in my attempts to be a living sacrifice…” In an attempt to reconnect with God and perhaps identify the source of her dry season, she set aside a morning to for solitude and prayer.

Tennant says that as she began reading she felt compelled to spend time in Song of Songs and to her surprise began to suspect that the purpose and cause of this season of desert was not the result of sin, or a period of trail to lead to greater growth and maturity – the Lord had called her to the desert to be alone with her.

He led me into the wilderness to clarify who I am in His eyes. He drew me to the desert so He could tell me how he feels about me. And he did.

The desert mystics retreated to this solitary – apparently barren – landscape and found instead the beautiful sound of silence, the lack of distractions, a chance to be alone with God.

Perhaps when we find ourselves in a desert season we should take time to speak with the Lord – even if it seems strange and foreign at first. Listen for stillness. It may be that the Lord wants to remind us that we were fearfully and wonderfully made. Maybe we’ve bought into the lie that we are filthy worms long enough and God wants to remind us that we were created in His image, that he chose us and called us. It could be that we’ve forgotten that Jesus said, “I no longer call you servants…I have called you friends.”

Then again, it may be that once we’ve waited out the wind, the earthquake and the fire the Lord will ask us, “What are you doing here?” And we’ll find ourselves being sent back to civilization, finally aware that we wandered out into the wilderness without being invited! But, hey…at least at that point you’ve been reassured of your mission.

Maybe we are called to the desert to learn how to pray in the first place. I don’t exactly come from a faith tradition that values hermits and monks living alone or in small cloisters in the desert. In fact more often than not monasteries are disdained as the ultimate symbol of selfishness and laziness. Over the past few years, I’ve come to a different understanding.

Many monasteries are open as a refuge to weary travelers. Many serve the poor. All are places of prayer. You see, here in America and in my faith tradition we apparently have a very limited view of what it means to serve and minister to others. We talk a lot about prayer and how powerful it is, how important and effective it is, how necessary a ministry…but someone dedicates their life to prayer and we call them selfish and uncommitted! So, do we think prayer is ministry or not?

Perhaps we are called to the desert to learn to do more than just talk to or at God, but rather to cultivate a listening heart that actually waits for a response. How often do we sit down to pray, through up a string of unending questions and requests and then when we finally have to stop talking long enough to take a breath, we look around and…Amen, peace I’m out.

We don’t have to be in solitude to pray, we don’t have to be in the desert to listen, but perhaps that’s a good place to learn. You don’t learn how to drive by getting into a car and immediately merging into rush hour traffic – but once you learn how to drive, you realize rush hour is just a really long parking lot, no big deal.

Maybe I’ve had way too small a view of the desert.

...Into the Wilderness

Remember the Normandy scene from Saving Private Ryan when the gates on the US transport ships were lowered and chaos erupted in an instant? Sometimes reality comes crashing in and people find themselves in the midst of an incredible trial with no warning or preparation.

Rookies in the NFL often talk about how much faster the game is compared to college. For those who make it and become a star, there is this magical moment – if you are an avid fan you can almost tell when it happens – when the game suddenly slows down. An event which yesterday, or even five minutes ago, was a blur of insanity and pain suddenly falls out of warp speed and operates in normal time or perhaps even slow motion. With the exception of freshman phenoms like LT or Adrian Peterson, everyone experiences this acclimation process – some go through it quickly and with ease while for others the transition is painstakingly slow, or never completes at all.

When I was in 6^th grade my math class was held in the room where 8^th grade Algebra met during the previous hour. I remember one day toward the end of the year I walked in and the Algebra teacher’s class notes were still up on the chalk board…yes we had chalk boards, with real chalk.

I looked at those unholy scribbles (letters or numbers people, choose one!) and knew that I would never comprehend that subject. There was no way that those ridiculous equations actually meant anything intelligible.

The next year I took pre-Algebra and the following year there I was…and it was easy! By easy, I of course mean that I hated it and never really got most of it, but I was able to pass my tests and move on. Yet looking ahead at the material, prior to being prepared it had seemed impossible.

Sometimes it is precisely the lack of preparation that makes a feat accomplishable. There have been times when I was hunting or camping that I came upon a difficult terrain at night. Not having a clue at all what I was trying to get over, across or through, I just trudged ahead and made it. When I returned in the light of day I could plainly see that there was no possible way to get through…I certainly wasn’t going to try to return the way I came, how could I? Yet the night before, not realizing it was impossible, I’d managed to cross with only minor difficulties (which suggests that perhaps we’re capable of much more than we realize).

When I think about the trials we face, these metaphors are somewhat helpful. In my previous post I talked about the difficulty of leaving the comfort of home for the wilderness only to turn around and find yourself leaving the comfort of the wilderness for the desert…so what’s next?

Sometimes we are blessed to go through the wilderness before the desert because we have an opportunity to begin getting acclimated or prepared rather than being thrown straight into chaos. The misery of Texas football two-a-days was somewhat less horrible for me and some others in our small town because we spent our summers in the hayfield instead of the air-conditioning. Those who went straight from (as our coaches would say) cartoons and Kool-Aid to 100 degrees and nearly 100% humidity had it pretty rough for the first couple weeks.

So I bless God for our time in the wilderness – it prepared us for the desert.

I mentioned before that when you enter the desert you have two basic choices for survival. The first is to find an oasis, which represents a place of rest and refreshment in the midst of the barren terrain. A blog shared with friends; a coffee shop where the barista knows your drink order; a new friend who enjoys hot wings and will allow discussion of the Dallas Cowboys in the midst of Black and Gold country…any of these can be an oasis.

Secondly, if there is no oasis, or if you just don’t know where to look, or even if you have managed to find one, you may need to discover or be discovered by Bedouins. Bedouins are native to the desert, they’ve learned to make their home in an environment that seems uninhabitable to outsiders…and if they don’t kill you, they can mean salvation! Your desert may come from moving into a new geographical location or it can be a purely spiritual desert, right at home. Either way, you will be blessed if you find people who understand this foreign terrain.

Locals who know the great places to eat, the great places to fish and the great places to launch your kayak that is currently sitting unused in the garage; people who can point out the things they love about their home turf can help you cultivate an appreciation for the landscape.

If your desert is spiritual it may be just as difficult to find your Bedouins. Even though you may be surrounded by people you’ve known for years, you may have no idea who’s been in the spiritual desert where you find yourself pitching your tent. But, trust me, they’re there. You just have to stay alert.

But there is another option besides dying in the desert that I wasn’t even thinking about until I read an article in Discipleship Journal – finding a hermitage or monastery. I’ll say more about that, and elaborate on another possible reason for desert/wilderness experiences in my next post.

Out of the Wilderness

There are few things in our lives that are more terrifying than “wandering in the wilderness.” The feeling of being lost…out of control…unsure of absolutely everything…

This wandering is often referred to wistfully by those who’ve never personally experienced it. Those who’ve been home safe for many years may still shudder - or they may have rewritten the experience into a tale somewhat akin to Swiss Family Robinson...or Lost if they aren't a million years old. (Do you remember reading the book, Hatchet ? I loved that book).

But those who are presently wandering...

Have you ever been actually lost in the wilderness - for real, not metaphorically? I have. At first you’re calm enough, “surely if I just keep going this way I’ll get out of here.” Then you start wondering if you’ve seen that tree before. Soon the panic is clawing at you and you’re struggling to keep your breathing even – especially if there is someone “not lost” with you. Every imaginable worst case scenario is now running through your head and hope is beginning to seem like a quaint relic of another time and place.

I began working on this post in January of 2007. For over a year it sat as a draft waiting for the day that I felt able to come back to it. As I prepare to hit publish, I feel like it could sit and cure for another year. It still doesn’t quite say what I want…But I think that posting these thoughts will enable me to take one more step toward grasping their significance.

When we moved to the New Orleans area in April after “the storm” many people here looked at us like the hired guns; reinforcements if you will. We were supposed to be full of energy, excitement and optimism. In truth, by this point were already well into the most difficult season in either of our lives. We had spent 9 months wandering in the wilderness waiting for God’s calling. During this time I strung together 9 different jobs in an attempt to stay in North Texas. When the call finally came it was undeniable. And it was not at all what we were expecting…

During our first year in Mandeville, Rachel was repeatedly drawn to the story of Abraham. We often talk about Abraham’s calling…a call to GO which as Rachel began to discover, was the beginning of his difficulty rather than the result of and blessed release from struggles.

What is wilderness wandering like? Fear, insecurity, rummaging and foraging for food; trying to appreciate the potential benefits and dangers of this alien flora and fauna; learning to find shelter in new ways.

There are indeed few things more terrifying and difficult than wandering in the wilderness…except for wandering in the desert. When you find yourself in a barren and desolate wasteland you begin to think longingly of the underbrush, poison ivy, torrential rains and mosquitoes…well, maybe not mosquitoes.



You think about the lush and wonderful environment that allowed for foraging, shelter, and of course water. The desert makes the wilderness seem like civilization. I haven't done a thorough study, but from what I can tell Scripture seems to use wilderness and desert interchangeably to refer to a place of trial and testing. So I'm not offering this metaphor as a commentary on Scripture so much as noticing how the metaphors of Scripture provide the foundation for commentary on my life.

There is a scene from the movie Lucky Number Slevin that I think is wonderful. Slevin is “visiting” the Rabbi (why is he called "The Rabbi” you ask? …Because he’s a Rabbi - stay with me here) and mentions his bad luck. The Rabbi wisely points out that luck is a matter of perspective. Yesterday Slevin did not owe someone a large sum of money, yesterday his life wasn’t in danger. But did Slevin appreciate his good fortune? Nope. Not until his fortune took a turn for the worse. “People always want what they had” the Rabbi points out.

What do we do when we've come out of the wilderness and into the desert? When the wilderness suddenly looks good? What do we do when the desert sun is blinding us?

I’m not sure.

I do know that while being lost in the wilderness may have seemed bleak, the desert quickly teaches us to appreciate it…which begs the question, what will we find ourselves learning to appreciate tomorrow?

After wandering out of the wilderness and into the desert it doesn’t do much good to think about bounty of the forest nor the barren nature of the present locale. It doesn’t do much good to long for the security of slavery in Egypt, to long for Ur, or to remember the Alamo. All that matters is finding shelter; your choices in the desert don‘t go much beyond finding an oasis, get yourself discovered by some Bedouins or die. Philosophy and reminiscing are best suited for Trinity Hall over a pint of Murphy’s Red…

But look at what life has come from the desert – prophets and patriarchs learned to depend on God; often this deadly and harsh landscape was refuge and sanctuary for faithful people whose lives were in danger.

Life coming from the desert seems paradoxical at best. But it fits. There is only one who has the power to bring about life from death, bounty from barrenness, blessing from curse. One does not emerge from the desert unchanged. The fire-tested life is a full life, it just doesn’t feel very full until AFTER the period of testing.

The initial exposure reveals a harsh, barren desolation. But over time one realizes there is a tenderness beneath that harsh exterior and what was first seen as barren and desolate is eventually cherished as beautiful. It is beautiful because of what it reveals. It is valuable because of what it forges. The bitter shrubs of the desert become sweet and fragrant flowers. But not quickly, not for a while.



Perhaps there is room for hope in the desert. Maybe there’s reason for rejoicing when the wilderness looks good…

to be continued

When the Wilderness Looks Good

There are few things in our lives that are more terrifying the “wandering in the wilderness.” The feeling of being lost…out of control…unsure of absolutely everything…

This wandering is often referred to wistfully by those who’ve never truly experienced it and those who’ve been home safe for many years. Have you ever been truly lost? I have. At first you’re calm enough, “surely if I just keep going this way I’ll get out of here.” Then you start wondering if you’ve seen that tree before. Soon the panic is clawing at you and you’re struggling to keep your breathing even – especially if there is someone “not lost” with you. Every imaginable worst case scenario is now running through your head and hope is beginning to seem like a quaint relic of another time and place.

Rachel has been drawn to the story of Abraham over and over recently. We often talk about Abraham’s calling…which was a call to go and was the beginning of his difficulty rather than the result of and blessed release from struggles.

What is wilderness wandering like? Fear, insecurity, rummaging and foraging for food; trying to appreciate the potentials benefits and dangers of this alien flora and fauna; learning to find shelter in new ways.

There are indeed few things more terrifying and difficult than wandering in the wilderness…except for wandering in the desert. When you find yourself in a barren and desolate wasteland you begin to think longingly of the underbrush, poison ivy, torrential rains and mosquitoes…well, maybe not mosquitoes. You think about the lush and wonderful environment that allowed for foraging, shelter, and of course water. The desert makes the wilderness seem like civilization.

I watched Lucky Number Slevin recently and really loved one scene in particular. Slevin is “visiting” the Rabbi (why is he called the “Rabbi”? …Because he’s a Rabbi.) and mentions his bad luck. The Rabbi wisely points out that luck is a matter of perspective. Yesterday Slevin did not owe someone a large sum of money, yesterday his life wasn’t in danger. But did Slevin appreciate his good fortune? Nope. Well, not until his fortune took a turn for the worse. “People always want what they had” the Rabbi points out.

What do we do when the wilderness looks good? What do we do when the desert sun is blinding us? I’m not sure. I do know that while being lost in the wilderness may have seemed bleak, the desert quickly teaches us to appreciate it…which begs the question, what will we find ourselves learning to appreciate tomorrow?

After wandering out of the wilderness and into the desert it doesn’t do much good to think about bounty of the forest nor the barren nature of the present locale. It doesn’t do much good to long for the security of slavery in Egypt, to long for Ur, or to remember the Alamo. All that matters is finding shelter; what’s important is finding an oasis where you can get nourishment. Philosophy and reminiscing are best suited for Trinity Hall over a pint of Murphy’s Red…

But look at what life has come from the desert – prophets and patriarchs learned to depend on God; often this deadly and harsh landscape was refuge and sanctuary for faithful people whose lives were in danger. Life coming from the desert seems paradoxical at best. But it fits. There is only one who has the power to bring about life from death, bounty from barrenness, blessing from curse.

Perhaps there is room for hope in the desert. Maybe there’s reason for rejoicing when the wilderness looks good…