wilderness

Our ministerium in Connellsville hosts lunch and a speaker each Tuesday in Lent. Here's what I shared at today's lunch.

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If your congregation follows the Revised Common Lectionary, you would have heard the story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness on the first Sunday in Lent, this year from Mark’s Gospel. This story has many connections to the themes and emphases of the season of Lent, but today I’d like to spend our time looking more deeply at the theme of wilderness.

The wilderness of the George Washington National Forest in Virginia.

I wonder what image comes to mind when you hear the word “wilderness”? Perhaps the wilderness you picture is a desert scene - dry, barren sand with the occasional bare tree. Or maybe the wilderness is a dense forest - trees on top of trees and rocks and a river with raging, foamy rapids Or perhaps the wilderness that comes to mind is a snowy mountain range, with nothing visible but clouds and sky and snow, as far as the eye can see.

Whichever scene you picture, there are some common traits of wilderness. At least for me, there is a connotation of danger. We even hear it in the name! Wild-erness. Wilderness is untamed, undomesticated, unpredictable. In the wilderness there are predators and prey; there is little protection from the elements; there is no simple solution to hunger, pain, discomfort, or fear.

The barrenness of the landscape also brings to mind a barrenness of human connection. Stillness, quiet, isolation, solitude. When I think of movies or books set in the wilderness, it’s often just one person, or maybe a pair, who must brave the wilderness. Sometimes they enter the wilderness willingly, but most of the time they’re thrust into it rather suddenly when the plane crashes or the car breaks down. There they are, the only person for miles and miles, swallowed by the utter vastness of the wilderness, unaware and unprepared.

The theme and setting of wilderness is a common one in Scripture. Perhaps most notable is the Exodus narrative, when, having been liberated from slavery in Egypt, God’s people Israel wander in the wilderness for forty years. Looking at the big picture, it seems like a pretty good place to be - no more oppression! No more forced labor! Only, all the Israelites can seem to focus on is what they’ve left behind. “If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we used to eat in Egypt for nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic; but now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.”

And yet, in the midst of their complaining, despite their short-sightedness, God is there. God is present in the wilderness. God’s people have not been abandoned. God accompanies the people in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. God provides manna from heaven and water from a rock.

In the wilderness, God teaches the Israelites what it means to be God’s people. The Israelites learn how to trust God’s promises, care for one another, and be who God created them to be.

In many ways, the exile was another wilderness experience for God’s people Israel. The leaders of God’s people turned away from God, ignored God’s prophets, and desired to live as the other nations lived. The people thought their religious rituals would save them, all the while ignoring God’s call to care for the vulnerable and seek justice. This way of life was not sustainable, and soon conquering armies invaded Israel and Judah. The Temple was destroyed and the people were exiled to Babylon.

In the wilderness of the exile, God’s people Israel wept. They had been torn from everything familiar - homes, livelihoods, family, neighbors, the Temple. How could they worship God when the central place they knew God to be had been destroyed? But even in the midst of the wilderness of exile, God’s people were not alone. God called prophets to speak words of comfort, compassion, and forgiveness. God’s promises remained.

In the New Testament, we hear of John the Baptist in the wilderness. Clothed in camel's hair, eating locusts and wild honey, John preaches and calls for repentance and baptizes. In the wilderness, he prepares the way for Jesus, prepares the way for the Kingdom of God.

Another familiar wilderness scene is Jesus’ time in the desert referenced previously. Immediately following his baptism, the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness, and for forty days he prayed, fasted, and experienced the devil’s temptations. Rather than seek after worldly power and prestige, Jesus held fast to the promise of God’s kingdom and the steadfastness of God’s word.

Sometimes, the wilderness is a welcome space in the midst of the chaos and busy-ness of life. How many times in the Gospels do we read that Jesus goes away by himself to a deserted place; to rest, to pray, to have a break from the pressing crowds and the eager disciples.

In this way, the season of Lent is like a wilderness. During these forty days we are invited to pause, to step away for a time from some of the things that distract us and draw us away from God’s embrace. Sometimes this process is painful, as our self-righteousness, greed, and feeble attempts to save ourselves are stripped away and we are forced to come face to face with our mortality and our sin. We are broken, and sinful. We have turned from God, and have depended on our own cunning, and goodness, and ability to get what we want. And in doing so, time and again we have failed. But our failure is not the end of the story, and wilderness isn’t forever.

As we engage in practices of prayer, service, study, and fasting during the season of Lent, our attention is turned again to the depth of God’s forgiveness and mercy, and the abundance of God’s rich and abiding love for us.

I wonder what the landscape of your wilderness is like. Is it a much-needed time of rest and renewal? Or do you feel thrust into a time of barrenness, uncertainty, or danger?

At different times throughout our lives, our wilderness times might look like depression, fear, anxiety, or health problems. The wilderness in which we find ourselves might look like the time of picking up the pieces that comes after losing a house or a job, after a divorce or breakup, or upon the death of a family member, or close friend, or beloved pet. Wilderness times may come when we are waiting, uncertain of what comes next. Yes, the wilderness is a difficult place to be.

Perhaps you are in a wilderness time of grief. Maybe you are grieving the loss of someone you dearly loved - a family member, or friend, or pet. Maybe you are grieving the loss of a relationship, or the loss of your health and strength and ability.

These losses can be particularly difficult when they leave us unsure of our identity. Who am I when I am no longer a spouse, or a parent, or an employee, or a caregiver? What do I do with the time that had been so wrapped up in that role? What about my dreams, and plans, and expectations? How do I move forward when it feels like there is a hole in my life?

Or perhaps you are in a wilderness time of transition and change. Maybe you find yourself waiting for the next thing - What is it? When will it get here? How will I know? Or maybe you see that the “next thing” is here, but you’re afraid to choose it because it’s scary, and different, and expects a lot from you. Maybe you don’t think you’re capable, or qualified, or enough.

Maybe it feels like the very world is shifting and changing under your feet. Things are moving so quickly that you feel left behind, and out of touch, and unappreciated. What do we hold on to in the midst of change? How do we move forward when everything ahead of us is foreign and unfamiliar?

The wilderness is a difficult place to be. In the midst of unknowns, feeling adrift, it is easy to lose hope, to feel abandoned and forgotten, to lose sight of who and whose we are. In the midst of the wilderness, though, we are reminded that we are not alone.

We worship a God whose power is made perfect in weakness. We worship a God who promises never to leave us or forsake us. We worship a God who knows our suffering and pain, who felt it in his own body on the cross. We worship a God who knows us completely and loves us anyway. We worship a God who has called us beloved, and from whom we cannot be separated. This God, who led the Israelites from bondage to freedom, also leads us. In the midst of the wilderness we are never alone.

Hear these words from Isaiah 43: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

Our experience of the wilderness often gives us opportunities for learning, preparation, and growth. Through the wilderness, God will make a way for us. When we are feeling weak and parched, God will make rivers in the desert, to strengthen and nourish us with the water of life.

In thinking about wilderness, I am reminded of stories of hikers who embark on a long journey. As they start out, their pack seems too heavy, the path too rocky, their bodies too tired. But as they continue through the wilderness, ever-so-slowly their pack gets lighter and lighter - not because anything’s been emptied from it, but because they’ve gotten stronger.

Ever-so-slowly, their footing is more sure, and they’re able to walk at a faster pace - not because there are fewer roots and rocks and branches, but because they’ve grown in confidence and ability from having walked this path for so long. Ever-so-slowly their stamina increases and their muscles become hardened and sculpted, simply because they’ve continued to hike.

I think our wilderness times can be like this, too. Simply the act of moving through the wilderness strengthens and equips us. The weight of grief doesn’t go away, but we grow stronger and better at carrying it. The disruption of transition and change continue, but we allow ourselves to be open, trusting that the God who has called us will continue to strengthen and empower us. In experiencing God’s provision and care, we learn that God will continue to sustain us and provide for us. In practicing trust, we are equipped to trust in God in the future, as well. When we are pushed to the limits of our abilities, we learn to rely on God, for we cannot save ourselves.

Though the wilderness often feels barren and solitary, we are never alone. God is with us, and so are the people of God, the Body of Christ. We have been called and equipped and strengthened to care for one another. We slow our pace to walk beside those who are falling behind. We shout encouragement to those whose energy is flagging. We redistribute the weight of burdens, tend to one another’s bruises and pain and brokenness. We point to sources of nourishment - cool, refreshing water to quench our thirst and food to give us energy. Together we look for the blazes that mark the trail, following one another in the way God is leading us.

The wilderness can be scary, lonely, and uncertain, but it is a journey we do not make alone. This season of Lent we take notice of the wilderness that surrounds us, and look to the one who promises to make a way through it.

Let us pray. O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through joys and perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.*

*This prayer, slightly adapted, is taken from the worship materials found in the Lutheran Book of Worship and Evangelical Lutheran Worship.