Wilderness

The online dictionary at answers.com defines "wilderness" as "an unsettled, uncultivated region left in its natural condition," especially when barren or empty or covered with dense vegetation; or as "something characterized by bewildering vastness, perilousness, or unchecked profusion." Although the word is not without positive connotations in our ecosystem-conscious era--North America even maintains official "wilderness areas" where no development or motorized vehicles are permitted--many people still equate physical emptiness with bewilderment, peril, and other unpleasant I-am-not-in-control-here feelings.

Small wonder that before quick contact with and transportation back to "civilization" was an option, the majority of humanity regarded "wilderness" as an enemy to be either avoided completely or "tamed" out of existence. Answers.com notes that the word itself was probably derived from the Old English for "wild beast"--it's not hard to conclude that our ancestors considered the wilderness unfit for any other sort of inhabitant. Even today, few people would seriously consider living in any "wilderness" long-term.

Among the exceptions were many Biblical characters. Some were "exiled" to the desert under God's discipline; the Israelites of Moses's time are the classic example. In Numbers 14, having just completed their first long walk through the wilderness and on the verge of receiving the best God had promised them, they balked because it looked too hard to lay hold of. Worse, they effectively called God a liar by implying He had no intention of delivering on His promises. As punishment, God sentenced them to spend the rest of their lives in the wilderness they were afraid to step out of.

The majority of Biblical wilderness experiences, though, had more positive outcomes. Moses and David both grew more attuned to God's voice through years of shepherding in the wilds. Elijah received a fresh dose of encouragement and a new vision of God after a forty-day walk through the desert (1 Kings 19). And who can forget the forty days, commemorated in the Christian practice of Lent, that Jesus spent in the wilderness preparing spiritually for His ministry?

Probably few believers today are called to spend six weeks or more in open country with absolutely no human contact. (Probably even among Biblical believers, relatively few were actually called to such sojourns--there are no records of long solitary "wilderness experiences" in the lives of Abraham, Samuel, Jeremiah, or Peter, to name just a few Scriptural "greats.") But the real lesson is that the solitude humans often dread--isolation not only from other people, but from everyday conveniences and distractions--can be one of God's best tools in our spiritual growth. Anyone serious about spiritual disciplines knows the necessity of occasionally, albeit temporarily, giving up something we normally take for granted--from a day's worth of meals to an hour of television to some of our church activities--so we can give God our undivided attention and come to further understand that He is sufficient for all our true needs. In this sense, even a single afternoon of fasting and prayer is a "wilderness" of sorts.

As Michael Card's song "In the Wilderness" puts it, God's all-sufficient grace is the "painful purpose"--and "painful promise"--"of the wilderness."

Out from the city bustle, busy and rushed all day--
Out from the workday's hustle, and out from the world of play--
Out from life's ease and comfort--out from the world of wealth--
God calls His children to step out and nourish their spiritual health.

Out to the desert places, where little lives or grows,
Free from most human faces, and where little water flows,
God calls His children to Him: "Come to the wilds and see
New things that I wish to show you; and find your refreshment in Me."

Free from the world's distractions, free from life's wealth and ease,
Free from all squabbling factions, we find in our God new peace.
Here, as we wait in patience, He fills the heart and soul,
Shows us His grace all-sufficient, and brings our minds under control.

Fear not to wait in hunger; He is our Living Bread.
Waste not a thought to wonder about the rough path you tread.
Look on your Master only; worship and wait in awe,
And He then will grant you the vision the saints of the wilderness saw!

Hunger of the Spirit

My pastor is preaching a Lent sermon series on spiritual disciplines. Last Sunday's, on fasting, challenged us to replace meal time with prayer time. I did--three days straight without lunch. Today, that was no punishment. I had a business breakfast that fed us so generously I can still feel it after 1 p.m.--eating lunch would have been more painful than doing without!

Fasting has been called the neglected discipline, in our well-fed society where more people worry about being obese than going hungry. Everywhere we go, we are confronted by restaurants, vending machines, and grocery stores. (Even my church's sermon on fasting was followed by a spaghetti dinner.) Many of us have come to think of constant nibbling as our due. If the refrigerator is nearly empty, our voices grumble louder than our stomachs. If a business meeting fails to provide refreshments, we wonder about the planners' competence. If we get caught on the road with inadequate provisions and no convenience stores in sight, we turn the trip into a gripe session. I personally did a lot of internal grousing on Monday, when my route over a dozen errands failed to pass anywhere offering free samples (which "don't count"). Tuesday was easier; I stayed home all day.

Small wonder that fasting and solitude tend to go together. Both involve escaping clamor--the clamor of the world in one case, the clamor of our own flesh in the other--so we can better hear the voice of a God Who is generally too polite to shout. The secret of successful fasting--as opposed to the counting-minutes-until-it's-over or the look-how-pious-I-am variety--is to redirect our hunger for material food into a hunger for the spiritual food that nourishes through joy in doing God's will. Then we can respond, when tempted to set aside heavenly concerns for earthly cravings, "Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God" (Mt. 4:4, NIV).

And our waistlines won't expand in the process.

The hunger of the flesh is great,
But hunger of the spirit greater;
The need for earthly bread grows faint
Beside the need for our Creator.

And yet, the cravings of the flesh
Speak louder than the Spirit's whispers:
God's voice is soft as airy mesh,
But mortal lust's a whip that blisters.

If you rely on human sight
And on your heart alone to guide you,
They soon will turn you from the right,
Away from God Who walks beside you.

If you would hear God's still, small voice,
If you would be His humble servant,
You must reject, by conscious choice,
Earth's joys and lures, however fervent,

And, oftentimes, reject the good
To find the best--to hear God speaking--
Postpone your work, postpone your food,
Set all aside a while, for seeking

God's voice alone--no earthly care
Allowed a chance for intervening--
And, extra time thus made for prayer,
To find the way God's will is leading.

The need for earthly food is great,
But need for heavenly food is greater:
So make some extra time to wait
And hear the words of your Creator!