The Wilderness Is Calling: Solitude, Lent, and the Spiritual Practice of Being Still

This month has been quiet. Maybe not externally, for is it possible to have a “quiet” month in my house? It’s been quiet in stillness (again, not literal stillness because ya girl been running after these chilren, but a spiritual stillness). At the beginning of the year when I asked God what my word for the year was, I heard “be still and know…” I knew stillness, silence, and solitude were my portion—the wilderness. Which you think would come with a giant exhale—a praise. But instead came with a bit of panic. These are all the things I am…not gifted in, or best at. Give me action, big steps of faith, dramatic transition, a to-do list, and goals…I’m your girl. Give me the chance to face the compulsions of my humanity and sit in the reality of my heart…noooo thanks.

I’ve been digging into prayer through a 40-day prayer challenge (has since been extended to 54 days). And as we work our way into the season of lent, the wilderness is ever on my mind. The place where Jesus was faced with the temptations to be powerful, significant, and relevant. And I can’t help but to recognize that the compulsions of my life can very often fit into the pursuit of one of those three temptations. Who would I be if I didn’t have a job that made me feel significant and powerful? What would make me feel worthy if others didn’t see me as relevant? What if I get off social media and I’m no longer relevant or significant? What if my life starts to look less powerful, significant, and relevant than ever before? What would validate my choices?

I found myself drawn to the desert mothers and fathers. The men and women who followed Jesus, centuries later, into their own wilderness. They sat, confronted by the desperation of their souls with nothing culture or society has to offer that so easily distracts us and convinces us that if we just perform a little more, achieve more accolades or praise, or get to a certain place in our relationships, we’ll be more worthy. No, they stripped themselves of the illusion that they were anything other than desperate and dying. And they wrestled. When they emerged, it is said that these fathers and mothers emerged with a literal glow of God all over them. It is said that people would travel all over just to seek them, their wisdom, but ultimately their compassion. Simply watching these people live after—in some cases decades—in a literal and spiritual desert, brought healing. Their whole beings were a ministry to others.

I think it’s necessary for the sake of the heart of God to note that the purpose of our recognition of our desperation and decay is not to live as worms—quite the opposite. It is to fully recognize the enormous gap between us and Heaven that Jesus closed. It’s to understand and live fully in the victory, as children of God—seated in Heavenly places at the table of the King. This recognition takes us off the throne and puts Jesus on it. And yes, I think it takes the wilderness to do this. The pursuit of holiness requires a clarity of just exactly who we are without a perfect God.

This is the aim of my life—holiness. Not because holiness is something to be achieved and praised, but because holiness levels us and gives all the glowing bits and pieces away. This isn’t about working harder or doing more to earn anything. I have nothing to earn in the kingdom of God. This isn’t about salvation or getting into heaven, I’m not concerned with either of these things…this is about a life laid down. A dead man put into the grave, and a live man taking his place. And now, moreso than ever, I don’t believe this can be achieved without the wilderness. It wasn’t for Jesus, and it can’t be for us. I continue to hear “do not be fooled into thinking busy-ness with a “ministry” or “work of God” stamped on top of it is anything more than the cultural rat race.” A rat race I know far more about than the wilderness at this point…and that’s the problem.

I see myself on the way to the desert wilderness, not quite there—on the adventure home. Because when the truth of my humanity settles in, I still have Veronica Mars to distract me just the right amount, and I often still opt for it. I still have motherhood to throw myself into. If I just work hard enough to be THIS kind of mother…THEN, I’ll have made it. I still have my marriage to make me feel like wow, someone loves me, I am chosen, as if I wasn’t already. I still have my art, when not fully consecrated to Jesus, is just another thing to be used to appease the temptation for relevance, significance and power. We know it’s a lie. But these compulsions of our flesh keep us busy.

So, this month has been quiet and I have no closing thought to bring you any comfort that the wilderness isn’t calling for you too. I have no conclusion to appease the discomfort, or any quip that gives just enough revelation to make you feel like you’re off the hook or have figured out just enough to move on from it. All I have is an invitation. I’m headed out to the wilderness, want to come? Don’t talk to me though, we’re being silent ;)

Two books I’ve read this month that are along these lines—holding your hand in truth and stillness:

This one is for the creative (in mind, hands, or spirit)  — “Art Is: A Journey into the Light” By Makoto Fujimura

This one is for anyone — “The Way of the Heart: A Study of Contemplative Prayer and Inner Devotion” By Henri Nouwen

Both are short reads, ya know, because I’m sure you’re very busy (we’re keeping it funny, k?)

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