Exploring New Dimensions of the Lenten Wilderness

The Season of Lent, traditionally a time of spiritual reflection and renewal, began early for me this year. Bob and I returned yesterday from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Neither of us traveled as leaders, but rather as part of a group of pilgrims from Memorial Drive UMC in Houston. We sought to be attentive to the surprises of God’s grace and the discoveries of our own hearts as we traveled the land that birthed Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Jesus. Bob and I are grateful to Dr. Chuck Simmons, Senior Pastor, Ms Beverly Robb of Omega Travel and the other clergy and laity for their invitation and hospitality to fellow travelers.

Experiencing the geographical and cultural context that shaped the witness of the Old Testament and New Testament opened new dimensions of appreciation for me. In particular, I enter this Lenten season with a more profound grasp of what it might have been like during the forty days that Jesus spent alone in the Judean wilderness. Unlike the lush forests, coastal prairies, and green hills of the Texas Annual Conference, the Judean desert is a forbidding and barren place.  Some areas reminded me of the rock escarpments of the Texas Hill country. However, with an average rainfall of about two inches per year, there is virtually no vegetation on these rocks—just more sand. In the summer, the daytime heat is scorching. At night, it is cold. There are few signs of life. Existence is reduced to its essentials—food, water, shelter—and the presence of God.

Seeking the simplicity, silence and solitude of the desert as a path to spiritual renewal was well-known to the writers of the Bible long before Jesus’ day. Moses sought out the isolation of the desert after he fled from Pharaoh’s court as a fugitive. He abandoned the opulence and distractions of the court to enter the emptiness of the desert. In time, he became attentive to the wonders of God. When he saw a bush burning without being consumed, he quickly stopped and took off his shoes.

After the Exodus, God led the Israelites into the desert for forty years. They slowly learned that getting out of Egypt was the easy part. Getting Egypt out of them took two generations of people wandering, learning, making mistakes, changing and learning anew. The Israelites who entered the Promised Land were a different people from those who entered the desert. They had come to rely on God as a source of strength.

Elijah too headed out to the desert after Jezebel declared him Public Enemy No. 1. He had displayed considerable prowess in speaking for God and overcoming the prophets of Baal. In the solitude of the desert, he learned new dimensions of trust in God. He heard God’s voice—not in the wind or the fire, but in the silence. He learned to depend upon God for his daily bread and water. He learned to “wait upon the Lord.”

John the Baptist spent most of his ministry in the wilderness. Jesus himself comments, “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who put on fine clothing and live in luxury are in royal palaces. What them did you see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.”  (Luke 7: 24-26)

Matthew, Mark and Luke all agree that the Spirit of God “drove” (Mark) or “led” (Matthew and Luke) Jesus into the wilderness shortly after his baptism. In the loneliness of the cold nights, the heat of the scorching sun, the barrenness of the rocks and caves, and the sound of the wind, Jesus faced the stark realities of human existence. 

He understood that all was not well with God’s world. He comprehended the exquisite fragility of life in both its beauty and tragedy. He could easily see the risks of engaging the world to become more like God. He struggled with the temptation to take shortcuts or to claim divine power for himself. In the end, Jesus opened himself to the wonder of God’s presence, trust in God’s grace, and a profound resolve to preach, teach and embody God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven—whatever the cost.

I pray that you and I can discover such grace in the wilderness places of our own lives this Lent.