Into the Wilderness
40 Days of
Lenten Meditations
We have made it to the blessed week of the passion. I have always been sobered by this week as I try to imagine what it was like for Jesus to head imminently toward the cross. Of course, he actually had been heading toward the cross since birth. But now that the time had come, he seemed to anticipate the suffering of the cross more acutely, especially as we see Him in the garden of Gethsemane. Throughout the whole week before his death, the Jewish festival of Passover, commemorating the Exodus out of Egypt, was an appropriate backdrop as our innocent Passover lamb, Jesus, was about to be sacrificed for the sins of many.
This year, in an occasional colliding of calendars, Passover actually corresponds with the week of passion prior to Easter. In fact, Passover begins tonight at sundown.
I have been thinking more about Passover this year because I began baking my own bread just near the beginning of Lent. How do these things connect? The yeast. You may recall an earlier post I wrote about a terrible experience I had baking bread. I figured out that my problem was most likely the yeast. So I threw out the whole batch of yeast I had, and bought all new. Now, I am once again making bread like a champ.
The Bible has several allusions to yeast. Jesus compares the kingdom of God to yeast; the Apostle Paul says sin is like yeast. In both cases, a little leavens the whole batch. Just before Passover, all yeast is removed from the house for the duration of the holiday, and only unleavened bread is served to remember that the Israelites fled quickly from Egypt when the Lord saved them from Pharaoh.
As we end this season of Lent, I've been reflecting on how the Lord has used all three of the pictures of yeast to help me see how he is working in my life. For one, he is showing me that even the smallest sin that I tolerate in my life will corrupt my soul. I need to throw out the whole batch. Likewise, He is reminding me that even my smallest acts of service in his name bring kingdom life to those around me. Kneading in the good yeast takes effort, however. And finally, he is teaching me that he can deliver me from the darkest valleys and the most difficult situations, and I need to trust when his timing and his goodness in doing so. Even if that means leaving behind the yeast that hasn't risen.
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As a way to set apart this special week, I am going to provide a link to scripture and a prayer for each day of the week in this one section. Please stop back by here each day this week as you reflect on our Lord's passion.
Have a blessed week, and a glorious Easter.
Mark 11:12-25
Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Mark 11:27-33
O God, by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Mark 12:1-11
Lord God, whose blessed Son our Savior gave his body to be whipped and his face to be spit upon: Give us grace to accept joyfully the sufferings of the present time, confident of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Mark 14:12-25
Almighty Father, whose dear Son, on the night before he suffered, instituted the Sacrament of his Body and Blood: Mercifully grant that we may receive it thankfully in remembrance of Jesus Christ our Lord, who in these holy mysteries gives us a pledge of eternal life; and who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Mark 15:33-40
Almighty God, we pray you graciously to behold this your family, for whom our Lord Jesus Christ was willing to be betrayed, and given into the hands of sinners, and to suffer death upon the cross; who now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Friday, March 30, and Saturday, March 31
Sorry, friends, to have not posted for a couple of days. It was another one of those weeks. I did want to make sure and include the prayer from The Book of Common Prayer for Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday. I hope you all were blessed to meditate on the Lord's entry into Jerusalem on Sunday. (By the way, I will be posting Monday's meditation on Monday evening.)
Almighty and everliving God, in your tender love for the human race you sent your Son our Savior Jesus Christ to take upon him our nature, and to suffer death upon the cross, giving us the example of his great humility: Mercifully grant that we may walk in the way of his suffering, and also share in his resurrection; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
I have really loved reading the Psalms from the daily Bible readings over the past several days. Most of them have been from the section of the Psalter known as the Psalms of Ascent. This section of the Hebrew song book was used as a form of worship on the way to Jerusalem for the festival and holy days. At least three times each year, the Jews would make this trek to Jerusalem: the Feast of Pentecost, the Feast of Tabernacles, and the Feast of Passover.
They were called the Songs of Ascent because all roads to Jerusalem were up-hill, with Jerusalem having the highest elevation of all cities in Palestine. But according to Eugene Peterson, in A Long Obedience in the Same Direction, the ascent also was metaphorical. "The trip to Jerusalem acted out a life lived upward toward God, an existence that advanced from one level to another in developing maturity," Peterson writes.
As I've been reading these Psalms, I have begun to feel my Lenten experiences transform from the metaphor of the wilderness, where I have been wandering, towards the picture of a pilgrimage, heading to Jerusalem for the week of the Lord's Passion.
Perhaps the disciples sang some of these Psalms as they began to make their way up to Jerusalem in those days before Palm Sunday. These songs may have made the journey more familiar, more like every year, in the face of Jesus' unusual comments about death and resurrection. Passover was coming; they went to Jerusalem every year. Why was he talking like this now? (Mark 10:32-33)
"The Lord swore an oath to David,
a sure oath that he will not revoke;
'One of your own descendants
I will place on your throne.'"
Psalm 132:11
The others may have been singing the Psalms of Ascent as James and John broke away to ask Jesus if they could have the places of honor in heaven. The songs must have come to a sudden halt as the others realized what was going on. They were going to Jerusalem for Passover. Why this discussion now? (Mark 10:35-45)
"My heart is not proud, O Lord
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me."
Psalm 131:1
The journey was long, and they may have been only humming by the time they arrived in Jericho. The crowd was large and loud, and a blind man began to shout. They couldn't even keep the tune in their heads with all the commotion. The disciples rebuked Bartimaeus, the blind man, but Jesus stopped and called for him. "What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked the man. "I want to see," the blind man responded. "Go," said Jesus. "Your faith has healed you." Bartimaeus received his sight and joined in with the singing on the way to Jerusalem. (Mark 10:46-52)
"I lift up my eyes to you,
to you whose throne is in heaven.
As the eyes of slaves look
to the hand of their master,
as the eyes of a maid look
to the hand of her mistress,
so our eyes look to the Lord our God,
till he shows us his mercy."
Psalm 123:1-2
Yesterday, I wrote about waiting and God's blessings.
This morning, I read Psalm 130 and am marveling again at His goodness.
Psalm 130
A Pilgrim Song
Help, God—the bottom has fallen out of my life!
Master, hear my cry for help!
Listen hard! Open your ears!
Listen to my cries for mercy.
If you, God, kept records on wrongdoings,
who would stand a chance?
As it turns out, forgiveness is your habit,
and that's why you're worshiped.
I pray to God — my life a prayer —
and wait for what he'll say and do.
My life's on the line before God, my Lord,
waiting and watching till morning,
waiting and watching till morning.
O Israel, wait and watch for God—
with God's arrival comes love,
with God's arrival comes generous redemption.
No doubt about it—he'll redeem Israel,
buy back Israel from captivity to sin.
--from The Message
Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002
by Eugene H. Peterson
Today, I went to have my oil changed after work. I was a little overdue for the service, and I had a coupon for $10 off. Today seemed like the day to do it.
When I got to the service station, there was just one person in front of me. Since I was meeting a friend in a little more than an hour, I was thrilled with my luck. I would be in and out in a jiffy. And while I was there, I inquired about getting my air conditioning serviced. After a few minutes on the computer, the manager said he could do it, but it would be about an hour. I looked at my watch, and realized that it would make the evening tight. But I had a book, and there was a Starbucks next door. Sure, why not.
Throughout this entire exchange, there was another lady there also getting her oil changed and air conditioning serviced. We chatted briefly, and then each went our ways. When I got to Starbucks, she was there. So again, chit chat and goodbye.
When I finally got back to the service station, after waiting an hour, I realized the lady I had spoken to was still there. And her car was in front of mine. There would definitely be more waiting.
While we waited, I realized that I was going to miss meeting my friend, and since I had left my cell phone at home, I wouldn't even be able to call there. Then there was the issue of everything I needed to get done tonight. But the peace the Lord led me to yesterday continued in my heart, and I waited.
Finally, after the two episodes of pleasantries, I finally sat down with the other woman who was waiting. I found out it was her birthday, and she was a single mother. She talked with me about her divorce 15 years earlier, and her career as a court reporter. When we began talking about her children, the issue of spirituality and faith came up. "We've never really been spiritual people," she said. "Well, spiritual, maybe, but not religious." I asked her how she defined spiritual, she hesitated a moment, not wanting to offend me, then began talking about her Catholic school experiences, and her struggles with the things she was taught as a child.
A couple of minutes later, the manager came over to us both. The other lady's car would take another 30 minutes. He asked me if I could come back Thursday, at which time he would give me 20 percent off and free Freon if I needed it. When I found myself wishing the waiting didn't have to end, I realized how directly it was connected to the blessings of the conversation. Waiting, no matter how uncomfortable, always has a purpose.
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I'm having a hard time staying in the wilderness the past few days. When it was cold outside, and everything was brown and dreary, the wilderness experiences of self reflection and abstention seemed to fit. But now that Spring has come, with all her warmth and beauty, I am totally distracted. All I can think about now is how many days until Easter, when Lent will finally be over.
Being impatient in the wilderness isn't a new experience for me. I've always had a hard time bearing up under difficulty and waiting for God's timing in the resolution. Even now, I am in the middle of a very daunting legal issue with my new house that has been going on for months. Some days, I nearly explode with anxiety over having to wait for a resolution. The circumstances are awkward, the outcome is uncertain, and I feel totally out of control. There's a system in place to resolve the matter, however, and to try to speed it up or bypass the system will only produce negative results. The Lord is asking me to wait.
I know the same thing is at work here in the wilderness. There are blessings, like my conversation at the service station, that will only come if I stay put. And oh, after five weeks in the wilderness, I do want the blessings that only come from waiting.
Yesterday was one of the first truly amazing Spring days of the year here in Indianapolis. The sun was shining, the temperature rose to 80 degrees, and a nice breeze kept the air fresh. I went for two walks yesterday, and ended up putting about 4 hours worth of wear on my brand new walking shoes.
Most of the my time spent walking was on a shady path, so I didn't wear sunscreen. But not surprisingly, the sun rays were able to find my winter white skin even through the branches, especially since the leaves have not yet sprouted beyond buds. This morning, just four days into Spring, I had a bit of a sunburn on my face and arms.
The light of the sun really is amazing, especially when it can penetrate the full foliage of the trees in summer, or even a thickly clouded day. Even in the middle of July, I've gotten a sunburn sitting in the shade.
The strength of the sun can be an enemy to the Middle Eastern wildernesses, which are really more like deserts. Here in the Midwest, though, having the sun reach down into the forest means morels and wild flowers will pop up in early April, the forest floor will grow warm enough for the decaying processes to form new dirt out of the fallen leaves, and wilderness wanderers will be able find their way home.
Today, God sent the light of his Spirit into the wilderness of this weary traveler. The past few weeks have felt busier than usual, and a burden has been leaning heavily on my soul. Today, especially, I had to rush around after work and traffic was busier than usual, and there were phone calls to make and friends coming for dinner. I stopped at two stores and a gas station on the way home, and just a mile from my house I remembered a couple of things I forgot to purchase, and list of things that needed to be done tonight, but would have to be pushed back a day. I felt anxiety welling up in my heart, and I began to think what a lousy follower of Jesus I am if I can't hold it together in the little things of life.
Then I thought again about being a follower of Jesus. If I am a follower, then where am I being led? A verse from my Galatians Bible study popped into my head, "If we are led by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit" (Gal. 5:25). And so I prayed, "Lord, where are you leading me?" I began to long for peace in my heart and life, so I prayed again. "Father, the Spirit is leading me toward peace in this moment, help me to walk in peace."
In that moment, the light of God's Spirit fell through the trees and showed me the way home. My day didn't change; even now I am writing late, and after this I will just go to bed rather than paying the bills or finishing the dishes. But the peace of God will lull me to sleep knowing tomorrow is another day on the journey.
Here's the Prayer for the Fifth Sunday in Lent from The Book of Common Prayer:
Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
Yesterday evening, as I was hauling the garbage out to the street for today's pickup, I was feeling very thankful for the wheels on my trash can because it was heavier than usual. Part of the reason is that I had put a lot of the stuff from my yard in there, all the treasures, like pieces of brick, old jars, and the kitchen knife I found today, that the soil is rejecting. The other reason is that it had been about four weeks since I last set the garbage out.
Since I started recycling, I barely have a small garbage bag full of trash each week. And in the next few weeks, I am going to take my interest in recycling a step further and start composting. Once I start putting all the coffee grounds and potato peelings in the compost pile, I'll only have to set the garbage out on the street every two months. The waste management company will think I've moved!
Getting rid of my own waste -- whether it goes in the garbage, in the recycling box, or on the compost pile -- is a rather humbling chore. The scraps and leftovers of my life probably reveal a lot about my mismanaged time, my poor priorities, and the excesses and habits that too often control me. But what I do with my waste, especially when I try to deal with it responsibility and sensibly, may offer some redemption for the mistakes I otherwise make.
Composting, especially, is a beautiful picture of how waste and excess can be redeemed. All of the scraps and clippings of things that used to be alive just become smelly and gross if they are kept separate from each other, and mixed in with synthetics and oils. But if in their death they are combined and mixed together, they produce heat and process themselves into soil, where life can grow again.
I see the Lord at work on his own compost pile in my heart. He is redeeming all of the scraps and clippings of my sin--struggling relationships, habits I am overcoming, and hurt feelings--by letting them die, mixing them together, and seeing what life may eventually grow there.
I remember when I was a college student, I spent one summer working in southern Maine in the resort town of Ogunquit. I was there as part of a small ministry team reaching out to tourists and and other college students working in the area for the summer. It was a dream come true, being there in that beautiful town on the ocean, but it also was one of my early wilderness experiences as a believer.
It was the summer after my sophomore year, and though I had been in college for two years, I hadn't really been away from home like this. Taylor University, where I was an undergraduate, was only two hours from my parents, and between their visits to see me and my trips home on the weekends, I probably hadn't been "on my own" for more than a couple of weeks at a time. So beings hundreds of miles away in Maine for 12 weeks was big.
Inflated expectations of this summer experience also set me up for great disappointments. What was supposed to have been a team experience ended up being three very different people stuck together for a few months. The only other woman on the team ended up leaving early because of some personality conflicts with the ministry leaders, and her leaving actually was a relief to me too. I welcomed being alone more than the constant conflict.
Things were hard financially, too. Not only did we each have to pay to go on the trip, we also had to get day jobs to provide for our needs throughout the summer. Some days, having two nickels to rub together was about the best I could do.
Surprisingly, I have only fond sentiments about the experience. I was young and adapted pretty well to conflict and poverty. (I was a college student, after all). And though the experience was difficult, it actually was a fairly safe environment for me to struggle in. My parents would have sent money had I needed them to, and I could have gone home at any time. In sticking it out, though, and struggling through what was given to me, this trip has become an important memorial of God's faithfulness and provision to me.
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Memorials are important to the Lord. Throughout Scripture, he instructs his people to do things as a way to remember their relationship with Him. Things like tassels on the corners of garments were given to the Israelites to remember the commands of the law. Unleavened bread became part of the Passover celebration to help God's people remember how they left Egypt in haste. Even the sacrament of communion was given by Jesus so we would remember His sacrifice.
The Lord gave a special memorial to Israel as they were leaving the wilderness and preparing to enter the promised land. They had been wondering for 40 years. In a grand gesture, the Lord parted the Jordan River as the threshold into their new home. But while the water was walled up on each side, the Lord told each tribe of Israel to send someone into the river bed to gather a stone, and when they had returned camp, they built a memorial. Their wilderness experience had begun and ended with God's miraculous provision of parted water, and He wanted them to remember His faithfulness forever.
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That's what my summer in Maine has been for me: a remembrance of God's faithfulness in the wildernesses of life. An oil painting of the Maine coast hangs in my living room. It's a decent piece of artwork, as far as artwork goes. But its significance is far greater than composition and texture.
When I look at the painting, I remember the days when I went to work at the beach snack shop with no money for lunch, and someone would unexpectedly leave me a $5 tip. It wasn't even a job where I was supposed to get tips. I also remember the path along the ocean, and the big rock tucked around the corner. It had an indentation the exact size for me to sit in, as if God himself were holding me and keeping me safe. I went there to forget my loneliness. The picture also reminds me of God's faithfulness in bringing people into my life that summer. They were a rag tag little group comprising the wayward middle-aged man I met on the beach, the retired woman I lived with, a houseful of college students who invited me to parties and movies, and a 20-year-old recovering alcoholic who wore black lipstick and worked in a shop I liked.
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As we are heading into the last days of our Lenten wilderness, it will be easy to forget God's faithfulness to meet with us and help us grow unless we establish a memorial. Pick just one thing -- maybe a card you received from a friend, a rock you found in the back yard, or napkin from the coffee shop where you go to read -- and set it aside to help you remember. Remember that God is faithful, even in the wilderness.
Gratitude, and her companion Contentment, can go two ways in the wilderness.
On the one path, difficulties and sacrifice become so much a part of life that any small and simple gift merits a bouquet of thanks yous. The Israelites felt this way when they first escaped the slavery of Pharoah. They were thankful for the provisions they had brought, thankful for the Lord's leading, thankful to be leaving Egypt. I've felt this same simple gratitude during wildernesses of my own. After being in the hospital and off work for days, I was so happy just to sit down at my desk and feel productive. When money is tight, being treated to a meal out at a restaurant feels like a celebration.
This path of gratitude that sees blessing in every provision is the most direct route through the wilderness. It makes the journey seem shorter, and the burdens not so heavy. But it is a narrow path, often obscured by the broader path that weaves in and out of it.
Walking on this other path leaves us feeling expectant and familiar with the simple gifts. And after each gesture of blessing asks, instead of thank yous, we ask "what else?". The Israelites spent most of their time on this path in the wilderness. When they were running low on their own provisions, they asked, "What else can we eat, Lord?" Then, after eating manna for many meals in a row, they asked, "What else? Isn't there some meat?" And after each miraculous deliverance from the Lord, they would complain again. "What else are you going to do to get us out of here?"
I've traveled this same path through many of my own wildernesses. After a few days of being so thankful to work at all, I have found myself wondering what else the Lord has for me in my career? A meal out -- is that all? Why can't I eat out more often. I ask "what else?" about all kinds of areas in my life -- relationships, appearance, writing, even my time with the Lord. "All of this is great, Lord, but what else are you going to give me?"
As I work hard to travel through the wilderness on the narrow path with Gratitude and Contentment, I realize that both of these paths extend beyond the wilderness. Each day there's an opportunity to say "thank you" or to ask "what else?"
What path are you and I walking on today?
Monday and Tuesday, March 19-20
Sometimes, the commitments we make turn out to be a little bigger than we imagined when we made them. My commitment to write meditations for each day of Lent, for instance, has been much harder than I thought. And some days, like yesterday when I came home from work feeling ill and spent most of the evening on the couch, I just can't do it. Even as I was laying there covered up in my blanket, I knew you all would understand, but I still felt bad. I also started wondering about the other commitments I've made that I haven't been able to live up to.
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In college, I coined the term "big talker" for the people I knew who always promised things I knew they wouldn't be able to follow through on. The interaction would start out very innocently. I might mention how much I've always wanted to go to New York City, let's say. Then, one of these big talkers would say something like, "Let's plan a road trip." Before the night was over, we'd have plans to go to the Met, to eat New York style cheesecake, and to go to the top of the Empire State Building. I was always excited about these plans at first. Then I remembered that the person I was making plans with was just a big talker. There was no way this was really going to happen.
The big talkers in my life didn't always fizzle out on big plans. Sometimes they fizzled out on little plans, too. "Let's meet for coffee; I'll call you," they'd say. But they'd never call. "I'll help organize that event; just tell me when the meeting is." But even after I'd leave a message with the meeting time, they never came. After a while, when someone continually doesn't live up to their end of the bargain, you realize it actually wasn't a bargain after all.
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My inability to write on this website last night is not the only reason I've been thinking about keeping commitments over the past couple of days, I've also been wondering about the commitments many of us have made to fast throughout Lent. We're a little more than halfway through, and though my fast has remained in tact so far, I have struggled. I'm guessing the next couple of weeks will be even more difficult. How about you? How is your fast going? And what does the Lord think about our commitments? Or when we fail to live up to them?
Both Matthew and James caution us about giving more weight to special oaths we make than to the promises or commitments we make everyday. Both in the Sermon on the Mount and in James' letter, we are told to be people of our word -- that every "yes" and every "no" are commitments we need to live up to. And in Psalm 50, the Lord says he would rather we fulfill the vows we make to him than bring burnt offerings or sacrifices. During this season of testing in the wilderness, God has been reminding me that He takes our commitments seriously, even if we don't.
Yet, God knows us, he remembers that we are dust, and He is slow to anger, abounding in compassion. Even if we fail to live up to our commitments, he will never fail to live up to his. As Paul writes in 2 Timothy 2:11-13,
If we died with him,
we will also live with him;
if we endure,
we will also reign with him.
If we disown him,
he will also disown us;
if we are faithless,
he will remain faithful,
for he cannot disown himself.
Friday and Saturday, March 16-17
As I was writing about Elijah's wilderness experience yesterday, I thought of a gift I could give you for a couple of days -- rest in the wilderness. Take some time today and tomorrow, go hide under a juniper tree, and let God send his angels to minister to you. Monday, the Lord may well send us back to the wilderness. But this weekend, let's listen for the quiet voice in the wind.
Here's the Prayer for the Fourth Sunday in Lent from The Book of Common Prayer:
Gracious Father, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ came down from heaven to be the true bread which gives life to the world: Evermore give us this bread, that he may live in us, and we in him; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen
A couple of weeks ago, I was pontificating on the wilderness experience, and said that there are two ways we get to the wilderness. Either God forces us, or we go willingly. And in the past week, I've been thinking about leaving the wilderness, how we either wish we could leave now, or given the chance to trust God and go, we foolishly decided to stay.
I still believe these things are all true about wilderness experiences, but they don't give a complete picture of our comings and goings in the wilderness. Yesterday I remembered another guy in the Bible whose wilderness experience doesn't quite fit into the pictures I've been painting. That guy is the prophet Elijah.
When Elijah headed for the wilderness in 1 Kings 19, he had no sense of God's direction or coercion. He was trying to escape from the dangerous Queen Jezebel who was after his head. And though he didn't want to die at the hand of an evil queen, he did want to die. So when he got to the wilderness, he sat down under a juniper tree and made his death wish. "It is enough; now, O Lord, take my life, for I am not better than my fathers."
Even when we head for the wilderness to escape life, God has a good plan for us. While Elijah drifted to sleep hoping he would never wake up, God sent an angel with food and water to restore his strength. Then God took over the wilderness experience, leading Elijah to Mount Horeb for exactly what he needed. A glimpse of God.
Then he was told, "Go, stand on the mountain at attention before God. God will pass by."
A hurricane wind ripped through the mountains
and shattered the rocks before God,
but God wasn't to be found in the wind;
after the wind an earthquake,
but God wasn't in the earthquake;
and after the earthquake fire,
but God wasn't in the fire;
and after the fire a gentle and quiet whisper.
When Elijah heard the quiet voice, he muffled his face with his great cloak, went to the mouth of the cave, and stood there. A quiet voice asked, "So Elijah, now tell me, what are you doing here?" Elijah said it again, "I've been working my heart out for God, the God-of-the-Angel-Armies, because the people of Israel have abandoned your covenant, destroyed your places of worship, and murdered your prophets. I'm the only one left, and now they're trying to kill me."
1 Kings 19:11-14 from The Message
This wilderness experience makes more sense to me today than some of the other wilderness journeys we've talked about in the past couple of weeks. Right now, I don't feel rebellious, like the Israelites, but I also don't feel reflective and able to stand up to temptation like Jesus. Right now, I feel tired and overextended. And though I don't have a death wish, it would feel really good to have the gentle wind of God's breath blow over me.
I did some touch up painting in my kitchen and laundry room last night that was long overdue. After all, the first coat of paint went up almost six months ago. But to my credit, waiting a long time to finish paid off; in the meantime, a few scrapes and nicks had emerged that also required a brush full of paint.
Interestingly enough, the added touches of paint actually made a big difference. Both rooms took on a new freshness and cleanness that I was really hoping for. After all, who wants to cook or do laundry in filth.
But a coat of paint doesn't actually mean the kitchen is fresh and clean. In fact, the kitchen is one of the few rooms in my fixer-up house that needs a total overhaul. The cabinets are old and warped. And though paint makes them look better, the doors still don't close right and the shelves are sticky from years of use. And a little paint in the laundry room did nothing to fix the outdated plumbing and the old well system that still occupies the back corner. That's going to be a big project my dad and I will tackle in a couple of months.
For a hundred reasons like time, money, and know-how, I can't always take care of the problems in my house as soon as I notice them. Sometimes I just have to slap a coat of paint on them and hope I have the resources to deal with them later.
This system works ok for my house. It doesn't work so well for my soul.
Unfortunately, I often try to take care of sin problems in my life the same way I dealt with my kitchen and laundry room. A little extra Bible reading, attending a prayer meeting, volunteering to make a meal for a sick friend, and I've temporarily masked over the idolatry, fear, or lust in my heart. To look at me, you'd never know that I need a total renovation on the inside.
The pharisees were pros at this kind of living. Jesus called them "white-washed tombs." He said they looked good on the outside, but inside they were full of dead men's bones.
This season of Lenten reflection may reveal sin in many areas of our lives. It may seem impossible to deal with them all right now. But unlike my touch-up job in the kitchen that hadn't gotten too much worse for the waiting, sin covered over in my heart will multiply and infect others around me.
To fix my kitchen in a lasting way, I need to remove all the old cabinets, appliances, and flooring, and start over. Some things in my kitchen could be salvaged--the sink, the refrigerator, the stove--but even those need to be rearranged. Mostly, I need new tile on the floors and new cabinetry. This would truly make the kitchen a fresher, cleaner place.
This is the real work we need for our souls as well. First, confession and repentance for all that has to go. Second, guidance and wisdom from the Spirit on what can stay and what needs to be added.
"Since, then, we do not have the excuse of ignorance, everything—and I do mean everything—connected with that old way of life has to go. It's rotten through and through. Get rid of it! And then take on an entirely new way of life—a God-fashioned life, a life renewed from the inside and working itself into your conduct as God accurately reproduces his character in you."
Ephesians 4:22-24 from The Message
Two years, two months and 20 days into their wilderness adventure, the people of Israel packed up their tents and possessions to continue their journey to the promised land. The cloud was on the move once again.
The Lord had accomplished a lot for His people during their two year wilderness stay. He had provided for their physical needs with manna, water, and clothes that wouldn't wear out. He had established a system of leadership and order within each of the tribes. And he had given them his law and tabernacle to keep them serving him. Surely the Promised Land was near.
Before too much more time had passed, the Lord did show them the land he had promised. Twelve spies were sent from the home base in the wilderness of Paran up to the land of Canaan on a reconnaissance mission. The Lord wanted them to see the land and the people living there before he gave it over to them.
When the spies returned to the people in the wilderness, they reported a land as lush and ripe as the Lord had promised. "It certainly does flow with milk and honey," the spies told the people. "We should by all means go up and take possession of it." But only two of the spies gave this favorable report. The other ten could focus only on the lush, ripe people who were large and healthy and able to defeat the Israelite men. These ten said, "The land through which we have gone, in spying it out, is a land that devours its inhabitants."
As these two messages spread among the people, rather than believing the exciting message of what the Lord had promised, the people shrunk back in fear. They blamed Aaron and Moses for leading them on this wild goose chase, and they blamed the Lord for getting their hopes up. "Wouldn't it be better for us to return to Egypt?"
Their lack of faith in the Lord, especially after all the ways he had delivered them so far on their journey, angered the Lord. He swore that none of the men among them ages 20 and over would ever see the promised land. He also told them that instead of a 2-year journey from Egypt to Canaan, their journey would now take 40 years. They had been so close to leaving the wilderness once and for all, but the way out seemed harder than the wilderness itself.
We're about half-way through our own wilderness journey -- at least as far as the Lenten calendar goes. But only the Lord knows when and how he will deliver us from all the other wilderness experiences we will have in life. Sometimes, we get used to the wilderness, and even though it's a hard life, it seems easier than stepping out in faith as the Lord asks. But unless we trush the Lord as much to lead us out of the wilderness as when he led us in, we will be left to wander much longer than necessary.
Something I am learning about the church calendar, which many of the older Christian denominations observe each year (beginning with Advent, then Christmas, then Epiphany, Lent, Holy Week, Easter, Pentecost), is that it is an annual remembrance and reliving of the life of Jesus. Thus, Lent is 40 days long because it mirrors Jesus' 40 days in the wilderness.
What is odd to me, however, is that Lent doesn't begin 40 days before
Easter. To calculate the beginning of Lent, or Ash Wednesday, we start with
the Spring Equinox, determine the first full moon after that date, then find
the first Sunday after that. This is Easter day. Then, calculate 40 days
back excluding Sundays, and you will always land on a Wednesday. Ash
Wednesday, to be exact. This is the beginning of Lent: 40 days before
Easter, NOT INCLUDING Sundays. Why not Sundays?
"Never on Sundays" is actually a somewhat iconic phrase in our culture. Movies, television shows, dances, popular songs, and magazine articles all take the phrase "Never on Sunday" as their own. In 2006, when New Year's Day fell on a Sunday, the organizers of the Rose Bowl and the Tournament of Roses moved the big game and all the festivities to January 2, rather than the traditional New Years' Day, in honor of a century-old policy known as "Never on Sunday."
According to the Tournament of Roses website, "In 1893, officials decided to move the parade to Monday, January 2 to avoid frightening horses tethered outside local churches and thus interfering with worship services. As a result of this reverent gesture, speculation abounds as to the rare instances of rainfall on New Year’s Day (only ten times in Rose Parade history), prompting some to ask the Tournament about its special pact with a 'friend upstairs.' Also as a result of this tradition, other collegiate bowl organizations have instituted similar procedures."
When it comes to the fasting and reflection of Lent, the no-Sundays tradition similarly revolves around the Lord's Day, particularly resurrection. Since Christ rose from the dead, Sundays have become a day of celebration and rejoicing. Even during the rigorous discipline of Lent, many early believers thought it was important to interrupt the season of solemnity and self-restraint for a weekly gathering of joy.
Not all churches or believers who observe Lent agree with this position of breaking the fast on Sundays. In fact, some churches arrive at the 40 days by beginning with the first Sunday after Ash Wednesday and continuing only through Maundy Thursday of Holy Week. (I'm beginning to understand why we have so many denominations if we can't even agree on the days of the church calendar!) Living differently on Sundays, even during Lent, resonates with my heart, though.
Knowing that Sunday is different not only because it is a day of rest but also because it is a day of celebration adds a new dimension to my Sabbath observance, especially in these days leading up to Easter. Even as we are preparing ourselves to celebrate the resurrection in a few weeks, I pray for myself and for us all that every Sunday will be resurrection Sunday in our hearts. And may the joy of the Lord be our strength.
--
By the way, just so you don't think you're crazy, I didn't put Saturday's post on the website until Monday. It was a busy weekend!
For today, a prayer for the Third Sunday in Lent from The Book of Common Prayer:
"Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all the evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Yesterday, I was out in the backyard with my dog when I noticed something sticking out of the ground. It looked a little bit like part of a broom handle, but the dirt around the end of it was still frozen enough that I couldn't dislodge it. Since I've lived here only five months, and I've never had a broom with a red handle, I began to wonder where it came from.
Other things have come out of the ground in recent days. Two days ago, I found a bottle cap covered in dirt, and a little blue plastic piece of something showed up a couple of weeks ago. With the alternate snow, ice, thaw, and freeze, it would come and go on my radar. Yesterday I finally decided to pick it up and throw it in the garbage.
I've been noticing the ground more lately since the title and deed to this little plot claim I'm the one responsible for it. For instance, last fall, I pulled up bags full of some kind of viney ground cover that was choking out the grass around my big tree in the back yard. The vegetation had even made its way further into the lawn where the previous tenants had constructed a fire pit. It was full of old bricks and charred pieces of wood along with all kinds of garbage. While I was raking and cleaning up the yard last October, I decided to haul away all of these things too.
In the past few months, though, with a warmer than usual winter, and a lot of rain rather than snow, I've discovered that the sump pump from my crawl space empties right into the very area that I cleared of all vegetation. I had sewn some grass seed over the area last fall, but since it hadn't had a chance to grow, the bare area took on more water from the sump pump than it would have naturally. Now, instead of infectious ground cover, I have gullies and troughs, sure signs of ground erosion.
As spring slowly emerges and the snow and ice finally melt, the thawing earth begins to reveal anew the misdeeds of previous seasons. Things left carelessly around, like broom handles and bottle caps, will surface again and become hazards to trip over if I don't remove them. Damage from things removed without wisdom and knowledge of the ground itself, like viney ground cover, needs to be replaced by sowing seeds of good vegetation. And this work begins slowly as the temperatures warm and the days grow longer.
Today, I worked out in the yard about 30 minutes, picking up sticks and removing the various found objects that the earth has rejected. In just that short amount of time, my lower back started to ache a little from all the bending and stretching, and I got a little winded from walking back and forth to the stick pile. Later, when I was talking to my mom on the phone, we both agreed that it was good that Spring came slowly at first so that we can get in shape for the work warm weather calls for.
We've been examining ourselves during this Lenten season for more than two weeks now. Misplaced objects from the past are shifting to the surface of our hearts, and areas of neglect or unwise decisions are becoming obvious. There is work to be done in making them right , but we have to approach these tasks slowly, gradually gaining the endurance for the greater spiritual work ahead.
Psalm 62
For the director of music. For Jeduthun. A psalm of David.
My soul finds rest in God alone;
my salvation comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.
How long will you assault a man?
Would all of you throw him down—
this leaning wall, this tottering fence?
They fully intend to topple him
from his lofty place;
they take delight in lies.
With their mouths they bless,
but in their hearts they curse.
Selah
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.
My salvation and my honor depend on
God;
he is my mighty rock, my refuge.
Trust in him at all times, O people;
pour out your hearts to him,
for God is our refuge.
Selah
Lowborn men are but a breath,
the highborn are but a lie;
if weighed on a balance, they are nothing;
together they are only a breath.
Do not trust in extortion
or take pride in stolen goods;
though your riches increase,
do not set your heart on them.
One thing God has spoken,
two things have I heard:
that you, O God, are strong,
and that you, O Lord, are loving.
Surely you will reward each person
according to what he has done.
A few months ago, I attended a wonderful dinner hosted by my church. The meal was catered, and we had filet mignon with roasted potatoes and green beans. The desserts were so fancy I don't even know their names, and the music and atmosphere was warm and intentional. Although I've attended a hundred similar church events in my day, this one was different. It wasn't an outreach event or a fundraiser. It was a memorial dinner, and each person in the room had lost a loved one within the past year.
I attended with one of my best friends whose husband died last June. A few others in the room also had lost spouses. Most were there to remember a parent. One or two had lost a child.
When my friend first invited me, I accepted as a way to support her through her grief. I also agreed to go as a way to continue in my own grief--her husband also had been a dear friend. What I found when I arrived, however, was a fellowship of grieving. Though the pain of our loss felt isolating and lonely, at times, it really helped to know there were others who were surviving through the same experience. This realization was even more poignant for my friend, whose entire life had changed first with the diagnosis of cancer, and then with death.
This experience of bringing my grief to the table with others reminds me a lot of the wilderness. There's something about the wilderness that we have to encounter alone, just as Jesus did. Though others may be there with us, the work of examining ourselves, which is the real work of the wilderness, has to be done internally. In the inner man.
The wilderness experience generally, however, is something we all share. At some point, willingly or not, we all end up in the wilderness. When we are there, knee deep in the mire of our circumstances and our sin, we can take courage in knowing others have been here before us. And some, even though we don't see them, are here now.
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort."
-- 2 Corinthians 1:3-7, NIV
When Jesus entered the wilderness after his baptism and before his public ministry began, he entered on his own. As far as we know, he didn't take in any provisions. And after 40 days, when he emerged, his body provided the proof of that. Both accounts of the experience in Matthew and Luke say that Jesus was hungry, and Matthew adds that angels came to attend to him.
How did Jesus withstand the wilderness for that long? How did the wilderness itself, and the hardships it threw at him, not become the center of his attention? For one, Jesus didn't enter the wilderness on a whim. He was led there by the Spirit. Secondly, Jesus had food we know nothing about. Jesus could keep his focus in the wilderness because he was feasting on God's word.
Is my wilderness experience following the same pattern as Jesus? Am I here by God's Spirit? And am I finding this same satisfaction and sustenance on God's word?
Reading God's word each day is one of the first disciplines I was instructed in as a new believer. I have all kinds of guide book and pamphlets. I've done one-year Bible reading plans, I've used daily devotional books, I've established my own schedule by doing a little New Testament and Old Testament reading each day. But is reading God's word the same as feasting on it?
One thing that has changed in my Bible reading over the past several years is that I don't read as much of God's word because I want to spend more time on each thing I read. When I take one passage or book, and park on it for a while, I find that it's themes begin to resonate with my soul, everything around me begins to confirm its truth, and indeed I am sustained.
During the past several days, the Psalms have provided this kind of feast for me. Over and over as I read these familiar Psalms, I am amazed at how directly they speak to my life and situation. I have been very worried about an important issue over which I have no control. As I was crying out to the Lord, he filled me up with Psalm 37:7: "Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes." When I was overwhelmed in church on Sunday over my sin and couldn't even sing the hymns because of tears, the Lord gave me this from Psalm 51:17: "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise."
And when I struggle to keep up with the ritual and dailyness of Lent, and spiritual disciplines in general, the Lord reminds me of this from Psalm 50:9-15: "I have no need of a bull from your stall or of goats from your pens, for every animal of the forest is mine, and the cattle on a thousand hills. I know every bird in the mountains, and the creatures of the field are mine. If I were hungry I would not tell you, for the world is mine, and all that is in it. Do I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats? Sacrifice thank offerings to God, fulfill your vows to the Most High, and call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you will honor me."
Today, in whatever wilderness you are in, may you too feast on God's word. And though you are hungry, may you be filled.
In the Christian circles in which I regularly find myself, the virtues of self-control and self-discipline are taught and referred to as though they truly were a matter for us to determine for ourselves. Especially during seasons like Lent, we get up an hour earlier than normal for prayer; we fast during our lunch time; we exercise for the spiritual benefit. We work hard to be more like Christ, to find a greater potential for grace. It’s as though we are saying to ourselves, “Because I want to be more spiritual, then I will control myself to achieve that goal."
So, day after day, I attempt to control myself, or actually, to control the self in me. My hidden "self." And some days, I do fine. Really, I should congratulate myself. And some days, it’s a struggle, and I lose.
Reminds me of a little first grade boy I met when I was filling in as a substitute teacher at a local elementary school. I’ll call him “Brad.” He was a charming little boy, really he was. You just had to put up with a lot of misbehaving to see it. He wasn’t a dumb or dull child – when he set his mind to it, he could actually complete his worksheets and do his math assignments with the best of them. And his creativity and ingenuity – who could match it? There was no other child in the class so adept at finding alternative activities to the ones the teacher had left for us.
I was warned about Brad before the teacher even left the building that day. He was particularly noted for being one of two boys who often fooled their substitute teachers into putting them on the wrong buses at the end of the school.
Brad had proven himself ornery from the minute I arrived. He was taking off his shoes, walking around the room, and looking at various items on the teacher’s table while I was introducing myself. He needed a bathroom break just minutes after he had already taken one, and to look at him, you’d think his chair was on fire. He couldn’t stay in his seat to save his life.
He got few of his assignments done that day, nearly caused a riot at his table when he continually corrected everything a classmate said, and almost missed the bus at the end of the day because he couldn’t fix the straps on his backpack. I ended up carrying the backpack all the way to bus 14 because it was hurting his hand. These incidents were all minor, however, compared to the situation with Brad that really caught my attention.
We were working on math worksheets together in class – I would present the problem, give the children a couple of minutes to respond with the correct answer, and then we would all write the solution on our math worksheets. The back of the page would be sent home as homework.
Now, I’m not trained as a first grade teacher, and I have to admit that classroom management is not one of my strengths (as a matter of fact, I’m usually the one that gets the children all wound up and in trouble). But I at least command a fair amount of respect, and to my credit the children were generally well-behaved sitting there as little Euclids. And although my vision cannot take in an entire room at once, I usually am fairly aware of what is happening in the classroom.
And so with that in mind, it’s even more remarkable that one minute Brad is working on his math paper and the next time I turn to look at him, he’s blue. Now, I’m not speaking figuratively, like he’s feeling blue. And I’m not speaking hyperbolically, like he actually has on a blue shirt but I categorize his whole being as a color. No, I’m talking about good, old fashioned, every bit of skin you can see below his nose turning blue. His arms, hands, and the lower part of his face were covered in blue Crayola marker. And though I didn’t discover it until later, thankfully it was washable.
Somehow, in the seconds that I had my head turned toward the children on the other side of the room from Brad, he had taken a marker from his art supply box, and began marking himself up. On top of that, while the ink was still wet, he began rubbing it in and spreading it all around, so that in a very short amount of time, he had done a significant amount of damage.
Now, from my brief encounter with Brad, I realized that this sort of behavior was yet another ploy for getting out of his seat and actually out of the room, to be allowed to go to the restroom for a chance to wash the blue away. But I was a formidable opponent, and I decided before he even had the chance to ask that Brad was not going to be given permission to leave the room.
I also assumed that these types of antics were some 7-year-old attempt at getting attention. After all, there aren’t a lot of blue people walking around. But perhaps I was wrong on this count, for the more the children in the class stared, the more angry Brad became. In fact, it happened in waves. As each child would catch a glimpse at Brad, sitting there all blue, they would shout out in shock, “Miss Singleton, look. He turned blue.” To which Brad would reply, “She already knows,” taking away any sense of victory a tattler might have in being first to inform the teacher.
When the children were working on the rest of the math work individually, I decided to take the opportunity to talk with Brad about his behavior. We had already had similar conversations throughout the afternoon, and honestly, in retrospect, his answer for this misdeed was a good one. At the time, I refused to accept it.
“Brad, why did you color on yourself?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, didn’t you realize you were doing it?”
“Yes. I know you said I need to control myself, but I can’t.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re trying. You need to try harder to control yourself.”
“OK, I’ll try.”
And so, after an hour in class and a 20 minute recess, Brad was given permission to go to the washroom, and to my relief, the blue was soon a memory. Who’s to say what his parents would have thought about his brief encounter with Smurfism?
Originally, I catalogued in my mind the details of Brad’s blue experience because I knew it would make a great story to tell. You know, my first day of substitute teaching and a child paints himself blue. And it has brought a good many laughs along the way. But as I told the story over and over, I realized that Brad, without realizing, spoke great spiritual truth that day.
And actually, what’s to keep me from coloring myself blue some day?
"It happens so regularly that it's predictable. The moment I decide to do good, sin is there to trip me up. I truly delight in God's commands, but it's pretty obvious that not all of me joins in that delight. Parts of me covertly rebel, and just when I least expect it, they take charge.
"I've tried everything and nothing helps. I'm at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn't that the real question?
"The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different."
--Romans 7:21-25 from The Message
For today, the Lenten Prayer for the Second Sunday of Lent from The Book of Common Prayer.
O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy: Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways, and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ your Son; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
May this be our prayer from the wilderness today.
On Sunday, one of the pastors at my church began his sermon by saying if we were ever to go on a tour of the jungle, we would want to ask three questions about our guide before we set out.
1.) Does he know the way?
2.) Can he deal with the dangers we face?
3.) Does he have my best interest in mind?
He began the sermon this way because he wanted us to realize that when life is a jungle, we can ask the same questions of our Guide, Jesus. And for every question, Jesus earns a resounding "yes." He does know the way, he can deal with the dangers we face, and he does have my best interest in mind.
As Jesus leads us through the wilderness, however, the questions change. Assuming that Jesus is the perfect guide, how am I doing as his follower?
1.) Am I accepting the path which Jesus has chosen for me?
2.) Do I trust Jesus to protect me from the dangers I am facing today?
3.) Do I believe that these troubles and trials I am up against today are really Jesus' best for me?
The past few days I have been feeling pretty crummy. I've been achy, weak, headachy, and sleeping more than awake. I may have a touch of the flu, or some other hearty virus that has sunk its teeth into me and decided to stay. But at some point yesterday, during my second day off work, I started wondering it the symptoms were a sign of something bigger.
I suffer from a chronic condition which doctors have labeled lupus, though it doesn't present itself very classically. The same symptoms that are usually just the flu have four times in the past left me in the hospital, paralyzed. I have recovered each time, back to amazing health, but the time from hospital to normalcy is always difficult. It takes months to regain strength, and years to regain the energy for normal life. Also, dealing with chronic pain and limited activity, coupled with the handfuls of medication I take during those times, fosters emotional wrestling and spiritual questioning. More than any other time in my life, these periods of illness and recovery have felt like the wilderness to me.
I think that's how I always have viewed the metaphor of the wilderness: a lonely, difficult place where God leads us when we're struggling. Sometimes, the wilderness has even seemed like punishment or a really painful lesson in following the Lord even when we don't want to. When I've thought of the Israelites in the wilderness, it seems like a choice they made to take the long way, when God was offering a much quicker path to the promised land. I never realized that God took them to the wilderness to protect them.
In Exodus 13, the Lord has just demonstrated his power to Pharoah for the tenth time by striking down the firstborn sons of all the Egyptian people and cattle, and Pharoah has ordered the Israelites to leave. The Lord himself is directing the path of his people through the pillar of fire and smoke, and as he is leading them out of Egypt, he has two choices. Take them through the land of the Philistines, where they will no doubt encounter war, or take them through the wilderness, where ultimately they would encounter themselves.
God chose the wilderness, and in Exodus 13:17-18, Moses tells us why. "It so happened that after Pharaoh released the people, God didn't lead them by the road through the land of the Philistines, which was the shortest route, for God thought, 'If the people encounter war, they'll change their minds and go back to Egypt.' So God led the people on the wilderness road, looping around to the Red Sea. The Israelites left Egypt in military formation" (from The Message).
Had God asked the Israelites their opinion on which route they should take, I'm sure they would have chosen the shortest route. Even if it meant war. Having just seen the miracle of God's deliverance, and with the magnificent parting of the Red Sea ahead of them, they would have been confident in the face of battle. But the Lord knew they weren't ready for the battles until they had been through the wilderness.
Sometimes we choose to enter the wilderness God leads us to, like Jesus after his Baptism. Sometimes, God gives us no other choice, like the Israelites in the passage above. Or like me, laying in a hospital bed unable to move. However we get there, when we enter the wilderness, it's for our good, both protection from our current enemies and preparation to face our future enemies.
And most importantly, when we enter the wilderness, we can be confident we are never alone.
"He found him out in the wilderness,
in an empty, windswept wasteland.
He threw his arms around him, lavished attention on him,
guarding him as the apple of his eye.
He was like an eagle hovering over its nest,
overshadowing its young,
Then spreading its wings, lifting them into the air,
teaching them to fly.
God alone led him;
there was not a foreign god in sight.
God lifted him onto the
hilltops,
so he could feast on the crops in the fields.
He fed him honey from the rock,
oil from granite crags,
Curds of cattle and the milk of sheep,
the choice cuts of lambs and goats,
Fine Bashan rams, high-quality wheat,
and the blood of grapes: you drank good wine!"
-- Deuteronomy 32:1-14 from The Message
P.S. I thought I should mention I'm feeling a lot better this evening.
It's still early in the Lenten season, and this journey of examining my heart and faith has many more miles to cover before Good Friday and Best Sunday. And of course, Lent is not the only time I should examine my heart. Over the span of my life I will be confronted again and again by the darkness of evil that still lurks in my inner self.
The noticing and confronting and repenting of sin themselves can become forms of temptation if I am not careful. For all its desolation, the wilderness is easy: choosing the wide path, following the flesh. Finding a way out of the wilderness through obedience, the narrow way, this is difficult.
Each day, I will have the choice: stay in the wilderness or seek after a way home. I don't know about tomorrow, how I will choose. But for today, I pray the Lord will help me choose the way out. To follow him in obedience. And for today, I pray the same for you.
"So watch your step, friends. Make sure there's no evil unbelief lying around that will trip you up and throw you off course, diverting you from the living God. For as long as it's still God's Today, keep each other on your toes so sin doesn't slow down your reflexes. If we can only keep our grip on the sure thing we started out with, we're in this with Christ for the long haul.
"These words keep ringing in our ears:
Today, please listen;
don't turn a deaf ear as in the bitter uprising.
"For who were the people who turned a deaf ear? Weren't they the very ones
Moses led out of Egypt? And who was God provoked with for forty years?
Wasn't it those who turned a deaf ear and ended up corpses in the
wilderness? And when he swore that they'd never get where they were going,
wasn't he talking to the ones who turned a deaf ear? They never got there
because they never listened, never believed."
--Hebrews 3:12-19 from The Message
A few years ago, when I was living in Chicago, three new friends came home with me to my family's rural Indiana farm to spend Easter weekend. I had brought many friends down to the farm over the years. And though most of them did not grow up in the country themselves, they were familiar with the basics: barns, cows, tractors. The three who were visiting on this occasion didn't have much experience with farming, however. At least not American farming. These three were from China.
Xiu, Lina, and Yi had been in the United States for several months, but most of their experiences had been urban not rural. They were gleeful over the baby calves running up and down the barn lot, and they marveled over the size of the combine and hay baler. The fried potatoes, baked ham and apple pie were all delicacies. And then there was the forest.
Just past the barns and across the field is a sizable plot of wooded land which they called a forest. We generally just call it "the woods." I'm not sure of the exact acreage -- maybe 10 of the total 80 acres that comprise the farm. The woods are surrounded by fields, and are probably no more than a mile thick in any direction. It would be hard to get lost in the woods, if a person knew even that much about them. And if he walked in a straight line, and knew what field he was in when he came out on the other side.
Poor Yi didn't know any of these things when we all set out for the woods on that Holy Saturday to hunt for morels. It was my step-dad's idea, though he presented it subtly.
"I'm going to the woods to hunt mushrooms," he announced as we were finishing our tour of the farming implements.
"Oh," I said. "Do you think we could come with you?"
Shrugging, he said, "I don't care." Which seemed to mean he definitely wanted us to go along.
I climbed into the bed of old Blue, DeWayne's aging Chevrolet pick-up, with my three Chinese friends, and we headed for the woods. We were carrying plastic Wal-Mart sacks waiting to be filled with the edible mushrooms that grow wild in our part of the country. Xiu and Lina brought their cameras. Yi was collecting images in his memory.
We armed the novice mushroom hunters with the basic information they needed for the task. The morels grow best in slightly damp areas, with lots of leaves and underbrush to protect them. Where there's one mushroom, there's most likely many, all growing together. They can vary in color from oatmeal to brown gravy, but only the ones with the pointed, spongy heads are edible. The flat, smooth-headed ones are poisonous.
We didn't talk much about the woods themselves, full of hills and hollars, the winding crick swollen from the Spring rain, or the dense trees. We planned to stick together, and the sun was still high. But after about thirty minutes of heads-down searching, we started to scatter a little bit. It's hard to stay in a group climbing the hills and dodging the fallen trees.
Another hour later, with our bags bulging and legs aching, we decided to start heading back to the house for supper. We called out to one another, gathering slowly into a group again. We were comparing our biggest mushrooms and counting to see who had the most. We shared stories about finding patches of 20 mushrooms all together. And we began wondering what my mom was cooking back of the house. Then one of us said, "Where's Yi?"
We spread out again to search for him, shouting his name and making as much noise as we could so he could hear us. We retraced our steps and tried to think like he would. We climbed to the top of the hills and shouted, and then climbed back into the hollars to do the same, and still, no Yi.
Eventually, we headed back to the pick up truck and DeWayne began honking the horn. When there was still no sign of Yi, we drove to the south edge of the woods and did the same. Still, no Yi.
The sun had settled lower in the sky, and with the thick growth, the woods were getting dark. The temperature also was dropping, and we knew we needed to find him soon. As panicked as we were becoming, we knew Yi would feel even more desperate in the woods alone. He thought of them as a forest, a wilderness, not knowing they were only a mile thick. And he was probably walking in circles.
Finally, we drove all the way around to the West side, honking and yelling. And eventually we heard a distant cry. DeWayne took off into the woods, alternately shouting and listening until he found Yi. They came out of the woods together, a few minutes later.
Yi obviously was shaken up by his experience in the woods, but once he was out and safe, he wore it like a badge, talking about nothing else for the rest of the weekend. How he went into the wilderness to find mushrooms, and nearly lost himself.
I used to think of this story as an Easter story. Being rescued out of a wilderness seems a lot like resurrection. But today, head-down and searching for something in a wilderness all my own, I've been remembering this story a little differently. Today, Yi's story reminds me more of Lent.
It rained a little bit over the weekend. The precipitation, combined with warmer temperatures over the past few days, has revealed patches of grass we haven't seen since early February when the snow started falling. The grass isn't really green. It's more like