Into the Desert

It is strange for Christians to retreat into the desert every year during Lent. We are broken, tired, and wounded. Work’s demands have worn us thin. Family life’s constant rubbing of personalities has chafed us raw. Spiritual commitments drain us—we either feel guilty about not fulfilling them, or despise them as another chore to cram into a busy and hectic day.

So why the desert? Last I checked, the desert is a harsh environment. Wouldn’t it be better for a world-worn soul to treat itself to something nice? I don’t need prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. What I need is to wrap up in a blanket, kick my feet up, eat some ice cream and watch my favorite show. Then I’ll feel better. Then my wounds won’t hurt as much.

Although relaxation may sound like the cure, Lent tells us otherwise. God wants us to enjoy the promised land of milk, honey, and ice cream. It’s not as if our soul does not need these and other spiritual consolations, but their enjoyment will enrich our soul in proportion to the ease with which they direct us to God, their source. The desert strips away all luxuries— spiritually beneficial as these might be—to remind us that God is always there, even when consolation is not.

In the desert, our brokenness looms before us. There is no escape; it must be confronted, it must be made whole. The stakes are life and death. The Israelites, bitten by poisonous snakes, had to look at the serpent on the pole in order to be healed. Christians, doomed to death by sin, can only be saved by looking upon the one who has borne every sin. Christ was lifted up on the cross, the very incarnation of woundedness, rejection, fear, dread, betrayal, and loneliness. In the desert of Lent, he heals.