When Life Is a Wilderness

It can be brutal, yet it's where good news begins.

I thought that during Advent, I might reflect on the Scripture readings associated with the season (the usual culture links at the end). This week’s Gospel reading (for those traditions that follow the lectionary) starts like this: 

The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah the Son of God, as it is written in Isaiah the prophet:

“I will send my messenger ahead of you,  who will prepare your way”— “a voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.’” 

I find it revealing that Mark notes that the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ begins in the wilderness.  

The biblical wilderness is a desert. It is dry, dusty, hot, and forlorn, empty of the lushness of forest and fields and the fellowship of towns and cities. It is a place of testing, of perseverance, of loneliness, of doubt—so much doubt that you wonder whether you are going to make it through.  

Yet, it is the environs Israel had to pass through to get to the land flowing with milk and honey.

It is the wasteland Jesus had to sojourn before he could begin his ministry of preaching the good news.

It is the place where each of us  is driven by the Spirit from time to time.  Yes, driven, as was Jesus.  Some biblical versions say that Jesus was merely “sent” into the desert.  But the sense of the Greek verb is best captured by the Revised Standard Version: ^“The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.” Because God insists we become like Jesus, he will also drive us into the wilderness from time to time.

He does this not because he is angry and wants to punish us—any more than he was angry with his Son. No, he drives us into the wilderness precisely because he loves us and wants the best for us.  He wants us to grow into “the full stature of Christ” (Eph. 4:13).  We can’t do that without going into the wilderness. 

The temptations there can become grotesque.  St. Antony sojourned in the desert, and his biographer Athanasius noted one horrible experience.  It’s hard to figure out what was really going on outside of and inside of Antony, but it is clear that it was a horrific experience:

The demons made ​​such a racket that the whole place was shaken, knocking over the four walls of the tomb; they came in droves, taking the form of all kinds of monstrous beasts and hideous reptiles. And the whole place was filled with lions, bears, leopards, bulls, wolves, asps, scorpions. The lions roared, ready to attack; bulls seemed to threaten him with their horns; snakes advanced, crawling on the ground, seeking a place of attack, and wolves prowled around him. They all were making a terrible noise. 

Seems like the hallucination of a mad third-century monk. Then again, in the worst of times, doesn’t it sometimes feel this ugly and frightening? 

Some saints rise up and fight at such moments.  That was Antony’s response: 

Groaning in pain, St. Antony faced the demons, laughing: ‘If you had any power, only one of you would be enough to kill me; but the Lord has taken away your strength, so you want to frighten me by your number. The proof of your powerlessness is that you are reduced to taking the form of senseless animals. If you have any power against me, come on, attack me! But if you cannot do anything, why torment yourselves unnecessarily? My faith in God is my defense against you.

Others raise an angry fist or lonely plea to God, questioning his goodness:

I say to God, my rock,  “Why have you forgotten me?Why must I walk about mournfully  because the enemy oppresses me?” As with a deadly wound in my body, my adversaries taunt me,while they say to me continually, “Where is your God?” (Psalm 42:9-10)

Our Lord took another tack: “Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.”

I don’t know that there is a right way to respond, other than ultimately to trust in the middle of the desert: 

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me?Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God. (Psalm 42:5) 

We can trust because we know that despite our experience God is good.  And this is the precise journey to the fullness of Christ. We often say we want to be like Jesus, but rarely do we imagine that being like Jesus means enduring the wilderness. 

Yet, this is how the good news begins anew in us at every important juncture in our lives. It requires repentance, as it did for the followers of John. It announces forgiveness, as did John. And it all begins in the desert.

Culture Watch

Two links about a phenomenon that has implications for how we live and think and read:

Thesis: In 2024, the Tension Between Macroculture and Microculture Will Turn into War: And I can tell you who will win, by Ted Gioia, (The Honest Broker).

Commentary on the above piece: The Future of Media: Macroculture and microculture go to war, by Aaron Renn (Aaron Renn newsletter).

Grace and peace, 

Mark

Photo credit: JoRaphael

As always, a reminder that this is the only way to grow this newsletter, as I don’t use social media. I appreciate all who subscribe and support my writing and thinking.