Embracing the Wilderness
February 10, 2008
Aldred Neufeldt
Text:
Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7
Psalm 32
Romans 5:12-19
Matthew 4:1-11
Introduction
Through much of my life I have had some discomfort with Lent. In this, I’ve discovered, I’m not alone. It seems this phenomenon is not peculiarly Mennonite, nor recent. It probably dates back to post-reformation times when newly emerging churches were anxious to get away from ‘high church’ liturgical worship. More recently, such antipathy no doubt has been reinforced by the association of Lent with Mardi Gras and Carnival.
That said, in recent years there has been an upswing of interest in Lent as a season of preparation – as is reflected in the series of Sunday services we are about to embark on. In this, we’re part of a larger movement seeking to recover some aspects of Christian tradition to refocus on spirituality in a culture that is increasingly secular.
In this message I want to concentrate on the wilderness experience as it relates to the Lenten season. But before that, let’s think a little more about the nature and sources of our – or, at least ‘my’ – discomfort with Lent.
Discomfort with Lent
The truth of the matter is I didn’t pay much attention to the Lenten season until some time in the past 15 years or so. In fact, for many years I didn’t know the answer to such a simple question as: if Lent begins on Ash Wednesday and ends on the Thursday before Good Friday (Maundy Thursday), and there are 6 Sundays in Lent, how come we talk about Lent as being 40 days? Had someone asked me, I probably could have figured it out, but the answer wasn’t on the tip of my tongue. In other words, Lent didn’t mean much to me.
This absence of meaning has its roots in my childhood. Our tiny country church at Horse Lake where we first lived didn’t make much of Lent. Nor did our church in Rosthern, where we moved when I was in Grade 6. Compared to Horse Lake, Rosthern was a big town. Even so, most everyone kind of knew what everyone else did, or at least had an opinion about it. And, I heard it said that Lent was something the Catholics did – maybe Anglicans – and, while I don’t recall it ever being said, my sense was that it wasn’t something we did as Mennonites.
To back up a bit, Rosthern had a population of about 1000, and 10 or 11 churches. About 300 or 400 attended our Mennonite Church. The others either didn’t go to church or belonged to one of the other 10 or so. Two (2) were Catholic. And, we knew that those two Catholic churches didn’t like each other very much – the Roman and the Orthodox, as we called them. But, when it came to Lent, our understanding was that they both did it – what ever it was.
I had the vague sense that we Mennonites didn’t do that sort of thing because Lent came out of the same tradition as the indulgences. If one were to believe what some people said, the whole idea of Lent was an excuse for a good party before Lent began – a party that might last several days. There was no television, and people didn’t travel all that much, so we didn’t know about Mardi Gras in New Orleans, or Carnival in Rio. But, some of us heard tell of folk in Rosthern who ate and drank to excess just before Lent, and then went to confession, and fasted during Lent. A few of the older kids I knew were secretly envious of the idea of having a 3-day party; but, the idea that one should then go to confession and fast, well that was a bit too much.
Of course, what I discovered some years later was a very different picture – that most practicing Catholics didn’t party excessively in the days leading up to Lent, and they took the fasting and prayer as a welcome spiritual discipline.
Ash Wednesday – now, that was different. We would be reminded in church that Ash Wednesday marked when Jesus went out into the wilderness, just like it says in Matt. 4:1 – “Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness…” And everyone my age knew that going out to the wilderness meant some wild and desolate place – a place where one could die of thirst or starvation. Stories of the children of Israel wandering in the wilderness for 40 years came to mind – and of Moses striking a rock so they wouldn’t die of thirst, or of the manna from heaven so people wouldn’t starve. Much of that had been desert, hadn’t it? – Or, maybe it was rocky wasteland – whatever.
Yes, the wilderness was not a place where anyone would choose to go – at least that was my impression. But, if the Spirit says ‘go’, well then, I guessed, you just had to go – just like Moses or John the Baptist – you’d go there to fast, probably because there was no other option, and you’d wait for a revelation from God leading to a deeper truth. At age 10 or 11, that seemed to me something akin to what my father told me about the life of our Aboriginal neighbors – how boys when they were adolescents would fast until they had a vision, and see some animal or bird come to them with a message, and that would be their guide. My father wasn’t too sure whether that was a good thing or not, but I was impressed.
I wasn’t totally sure why Jesus went into the wilderness. It didn’t make much sense to me that he went to have a vision about a deeper truth. He already had that, I thought. What I did know is that the Spirit led him there to be tested by the devil – tested not with awful experiences, but with good stuff – like the power to turn stones into bread, or the possibility of having lots of earthly power, or to avoid losing his life – and He turned that down – He resisted temptation to have the good life, something I thought few mortal men would be able to do. Instead, he came out of the wilderness, knowing he was going to be crucified.
Now, that WAS impressive. So, Ash Wednesday was a fitting day to remember this super human willingness to be tested, and to be prepared to die a horrible death for us – and to rise again on Easter.
Preparation begins in the Wilderness.
So, in remembrance of this, Lent is a time of preparation. And, it begins in the wilderness: “Jesus w
as led by the Spirit into the wilderness…”
The notion of wilderness is a powerful one. It is dominant theme throughout the Old Testament, beginning with the Garden of Eden, and continues in the Gospel accounts of the lives of John the Baptist and Jesus. It continues to have a powerful influence on human beings in many parts of the world.
My childhood notion of the wilderness as a place of danger is, I suspect, relatively common. The image of wilderness as a place of danger fits with the words etymology – derived from the notion of wildness or that which is not controllable by humans, and before that from an Old English word (wildeornes) meaning ‘wild beast’.
Yet, that is by no means the only image one might have. In fact, had I thought about it as a youth, my conclusion about the wilderness Jesus entered didn’t square very well with my own experience. During the earliest years we lived right beside a large forest reserve – one that my town and city cousins found quite intimidating. To them, this was a vast wilderness. But, for me it was a place of adventure – a place to look for wild berries, or go in search of wild deer. Yes, there were coyotes and wolves out there, and one wouldn’t want to go very far into the forest without some preparation – especially in winter – but, it wasn’t a scary place. It was a place of beauty, where one could be alone with nature.
This fits the dictionary definition of wilderness as “a wild and uninhabited area’. That is, it is uninhabited by human beings. It could be a forest or a wide barren plain, a desert or a mountain range. And, it fits with a second image of the wilderness – as an aspect of God’s creation, to be treated with awe and respect. How else to describe our fondness for excursions to Algonquin park, or the lake country, or the Bruce trail. Indeed, wilderness is something with which Canada is richly blessed – something one gets reminded of by visitors from densely populated countries in Europe or Asia.
But, as any number of writers have observed, this definition of “wilderness” would not exist if it were not for human beings. The wilderness concept only exists in the minds of humans. As such, it is a human construction – something that we give meaning to.
Think of how you respond when you are out alone in what we think of as a wilderness, perhaps with a few family or friend, and then you encounter unanticipated others. As I have observed others in this situation, some seem to be overjoyed, talking excitedly, making plans to meet again. My impression is that such folk really are strangers to the wilderness, much more comfortable in towns or cities. While I’m much too civil to say it, my inside response tends to be, ‘what are you doing here’? ‘I’d like to enjoy this unique space only with those I choose to be with’.
One of my passions in Calgary has been to hike in the mountains. A few years ago a friend and I scrambled to the top of a mountain near Canmore. We wheezed up a steep, backcountry trail that gradually left the forest and then over a windswept barren of shale to the top we looked over a cliff’s edge towards the Bow River valley. There is nothing quite like getting to the top of a mountain. The sense of accomplishment is the smallest part. Much more importantly, one is struck by the awesomeness of God’s creation, and how small one is in contrast. Not infrequently, one starts to reflect on the meaning of life.
So, my friend and I sat there, eating our lunch, lost in thought, and enjoying the scenery. Some minutes later we thought we heard some voices. Looking back at the barren slope we had traversed, there was no one to be seen. Perhaps, we thought, it had been the wind. All of a sudden, up popped a head, peeking over the cliff’s edge just in front of us; and, after a few moments, one, two, three people clambered over. They had climbed the 1000 foot cliff face. What a surprise – but, it also was an intrusion into the reverie we had been experiencing – a disappointment of the first order.
This sense of ‘intrusion into our space’ suggests a third image of wilderness – wilderness as a place of encounter – a place where we encounter our inner self. The wilderness, in this sense, is defined by our experience as human beings.
In its original sense, wilderness was a physical place where humans were at the mercy of wild beasts, or the elements. Today, that notion has been turned on its head – just watch tourists scrambling out of their cars at the side of roads to take pictures of or feed wild bears – with little respect for the animals, and no thought there might be danger. Or the millions of people who travel into wilderness areas with little more than the clothes on their back, assuming they will be safe from the elements. In short, the natural wilderness no longer is a place where humans feel at the mercy of beasts or the elements. Indeed, a vast portion of humankind has become quite arrogant about its relationship to the natural wilderness.
But, as external threats have dissipated in our minds, we have become more aware of the elemental forces of our own inner selves. In other words, the wilderness can be found in our own inner being. We recognize it in phrases such as emotional or psychological wilderness, or someone is in a political wilderness, a spiritual wilderness and so on. These kinds of thoughts come to mind at times of personal crisis – a job loss, a failed relationship, facing death in oneself or a loved one. I am having something of a wilderness experience at present as I contemplate retirement. A congregation in crisis can have a wilderness experience.
This kind of wilderness is one where all the familiar markers associated with being in control are gone. It’s a time when we discover our nakedness – a nakedness that is not so dissimilar from that recognized by Adam and Eve when they ate the forbidden fruit.
The account of Jesus’ experience in the wilderness in many ways is a metaphor for this third image. The wilderness was not only the physical place he went, although it was that. It also was where he faced the temptations to take control of his personal destiny. This is a temptation all of us can identify with. A common fear is that ‘I won’t be able to be in control’ – to make my own decisions, to be in control of my career, my life, my whatever. Yet, as Jesus knew, control is an illusion – a lesson most everyone is confronted with out at one time or another in their lives.
Embracing the Wilderness
This brings me to a final point about Lent. Lent is a time when we not only follow Jesus into the wilderness, but a time when we seek to embrace what the wilderness ha
s to teach us so that, if we are patient, we can experience God’s grace – and when that happens, we have had a deep spiritual experience.
Forty days is a long time to be alone in the wilderness. One has the sense that Jesus was in some anguish as he wrestled with the temptations placed before him. Finally, he came to a point where he resolutely rejected the tempter, rejected the torment of the possibility of doing this or doing that, and embraced the insight that he (as all of us) was called to “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him” (Matt. 4:10). It was then that he experienced God’s grace, and was ministered to by the angels, giving him strength for the trials he was about to face.
One of the most difficult things to come to terms with when we have a wilderness experience is that it takes time to see our way through it. Forty days is not so long. Yet, most of us are impatient. We are so used to being on a schedule, to plan for this or that – to be in control of our lives. This is the social expectation.
But, significant life experiences can’t be scheduled. Our spiritual awakenings don’t occur on schedule. And so, when a wilderness experience engulfs us, it is important to embrace the wilderness and give it time – one has to wait.
Henri Nouwen observes that waiting is essential to the spiritual life. “But,” he continues, “waiting as a disciple of Christ is not an empty waiting. It is a waiting with a promise in our hearts that makes already present what we are waiting for.” [1] Lent is about awaiting the death and resurrection of Christ, and of his ascension. And, after the Ascension, we wait for his coming again. Nouwen observes that without waiting for the second coming, our spiritual lives will stagnate. That is at one level.
At a more immediate level, we wait for God to, in his grace, help us embrace the wilderness issues in our lives. Again, Nouwen asks: “How do we wait for God? We wait with patience. But, patience does not mean passivity. Waiting patiently is not like waiting for the bus to come, the rain to stop, or the sun to rise. It is an active waiting in which we live the present moment to the full in order to find there the signs of the One we are waiting for.”
And, one more thought from Nouwen – about the role of prayer in our lives. Prayer requires that we stand in God’s presence with open hands, naked and vulnerable, proclaiming to ourselves and others that without God we can do nothing. This is difficult in a climate where the predominant counsel is: “Do your best, and God will do the rest.” When life is divided into “our best” and “God’s rest”, we have turned prayer into a last resort to be used only when all our own resources are depleted. Then even the Lord has become the victim of our impatience. Discipleship does not mean to use God when we can no longer function ourselves. On the contrary, it means to recognize that we can do nothing at all, but that God can do everything through us. As disciples, we find not only some but all of our strength, hope, courage and confidence in God.
Lent, in this sense, is a time for us to rediscover that we are God’s beloved, “Though the mountains leave their place and the hills be shaken, my love shall never leave you nor my covenant of peace be shaken, sys the Lord” (Isaiah 54:10). It’s a time to renew our spiritual energies, and be reminded that we are intimately loved long before family, or friends or work colleagues or schoolmates wounded us. Its also a time to remind ourselves that life is a God-given opportunity to affirm our own spiritual nature, and to say ‘yes’ to the One who calls us the Beloved.