Often likened to a wilderness, Lent, as the forty days of spiritual reflection, repentance, and revisitation of Christ’s crucifixion, invites us into the wisdom of the wilderness. While some of us go with willing hearts, others refuse, or slog in with reluctance. Yet this interval of time between the celebration of Christ’s birth, and His death and resurrection require something of us. The substance of which may look different for each of us, but at its core resides vulnerability and risk.
All wilderness journeys challenge our faith through a forced departure from all that was once familiar and comfortable, even as we venture into the uncertainty of a necessary path.
My current wilderness season coincides with Lent, though it began last year. Much like God’s call to Abraham in Genesis 12:1-4, God called me to go from my current “way of life” to another. While my call involves no change of physical location, its implications have been no less drastic.
Entering Lent intensified the stripping away of lesser loves, furthering a deeper understanding of God’s love possible only in wilderness solitude. The wisdom of the wilderness silences the distractions, demands and voices preventing me from hearing the only voice able to nourish my soul.
Like many of our wilderness journeys, mine began without warning. Though Abraham received a call from God into the wilderness, more often, we are driven there. Yet Lent provides us with an invitation, an option where we choose to enter a self-imposed wilderness. Regardless of the impetus, once there, we find assurance of God’s good purpose for the wilderness season.
“Therefore, I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her.”
Yet even with assurance, we often fear wilderness seasons. The uncertainty, and the sheer barrenness challenges our faith and endurance.
This year, comfort came from an unusual place. My friend, Stephanie Spencer, an enneagram coach, shared an intriguing thought with me. She commented on the snowdrops blooming in her garden, saying, “snowdrops bloom in the tension between winter and spring.”
Reflecting on her comment, I realized how much wisdom creation shares with us. I took it a step further, noticing the same about the crocuses in my yard too. Both bloom when the ground is still cold, often amid lingering snow. They seem unconcerned about whether another freeze will come or if spring will indeed bring the warmth we desire.
With no risk calculation, nor waiting for perfect conditions, they move ahead with the turn of the season.
This spoke to my own tendency to self-protect when sensing difficulty or challenges on the horizon. Thinking back over the past year, I saw many instances where I chose self-protection in my wilderness journey rather than moving ahead in faith.
Perhaps you notice the same tendency in your own wilderness seasons. While we all may not choose the self-imposed wilderness journey of introspection for Lent, we all face wilderness seasons in our spiritual walks.
What would it look like to respond to our wilderness in the same way as the snowdrops and crocuses?
Capturing the photos for this post of the snowdrops and crocuses in my yard revealed another unique quality of these flowers. In the shadows they remain closed, semi-protective, but in the sunlight, they open wide to receive the sun’s warmth.
Perhaps the wisdom of the wilderness is inviting you into a place of risk and vulnerability so that you might open up to receive more of God’s love.
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