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| Christ in the Wilderness, Moretto de Brescia, Italy, ca 1515 |
eaves in the middle of the night. I"m not a fan of wind. I've seen trees uproot or snap; I've been blown off-course on open water. The wind reminds me of storms and wild seas and of how small and often helpless we feel in the challenges that confront us.
Yesterday was the first day of spring. The wind stopped, the weather warmed, and the birds in my yard spent the day calling back and forth about bird houses and tree cavities, planning their homes for the next few months.
A sermon early in Lent set me thinking about this brief passage in Mark 1:12-14:
Immediately the Spirit drove him into the desert. He was there for forty days, tempted by Satan, among the wild animals, and the angels attended him.That word, Spirit, in the Greek is pneuma: wind. And that word drove can also be translated impelled, compelled, ejected, expelled, thrust, plucked.
So the wind this March has reminded me of the ways the Holy Spirit compels us, the ways the Spirit has compelled me. Sometimes gently, sometimes forcefully, often into places of challenge, adventure, unexpected growth. Looking back I can see the wind of the Spirit moving in my life. At the time, it often felt scary. From the other side, I'm thankful to have been compelled beyond my own small, safe assumptions.
But yesterday, soaking in the bright, strong sunshine, it occurred to me I've been viewing Lent, and Christ's time in the wilderness, from exactly the wrong angle.
And maybe those wild beasts Mark mentions weren't threatening or scary, to Jesus, but companionable. I often find rest and grace spending time alone with backyard chipmunks and squirrels and robins and bluebirds. It's not hard to imagine Jesus even more at home with leopards and caracals and the red-necked ostrich that once freely roamed the Negev.
Maybe the forty days weren't all deprivation and testing, but instead, primarily, a season of soaking in stillness and sunshine, enjoying the company of creatures and angels, an experience known to hermits and mystics willing to spend time alone in silence.
I've thought sometimes in this past year of the inner hermit in some of us. I spent much of my life as a serious introvert: reluctant to speak, happier alone or with one or two than with groups. That inner hermit has surfaced strongly during the past year of enforced solitude. I've wrestled with that, wondered over that. I'm aware that everything upended a year ago will soon be upended again, as we're pulled back into social contact, back into face-to-face encounters.
My husband Whitney and I have been waiting for Covid-19 vaccination appointments as our county officials wrestle with the reality that our region of PA is far behind in receiving vaccine. But yesterday a friend shared a link to a mass vaccination site a few counties over, and Whitney and I now have appointments for April 1, Maundy Thursday, the day before Good Friday. We're celebrating. Waiting.
There is so very much we don't know about what comes next. My redistricting reform fight will be resolved in one way or another within the year or so. Whitney's job is changing and may change more in the months ahead. We're balanced on the edge of return to normal, on the edge of retirement, waiting to be compelled by the Spirit toward the next big adventure, or the next big storm.
A few weeks ago I mentioned a Josh Garrells CD that became the sound track of my past few years. Farther Along was the first song that drew me in. Another, Beyond the Blue, speaks of wind, of letting go, of learning to see and hear beyond what's visible:
Wisdom will honor everyone who will learn
To listen, to love, and to pray and discern
And to do the right thing even when it burns
And to live in the light through treacherous turns
A man is weak, but the spirit yearns
To keep on course from the bow to the stern
And to throw overboard every selfish concern
That tries to work for what can't be earned.
Sometimes the only way to return
Is to go where the winds will take you
And let go of all you cannot hold onto
For the hope beyond the blue.
For now, maybe the call is to wait in stillness and sunshine. To soak up these next few weeks of spring. To let go of what we can't hold onto. To live in the light, knowing there are treacherous turns ahead.
So lift your voice just one more time
If there’s any hope may it be a sign
That everything was made to shine
Despite what you can see
So take this bread and drink this wine
And hide your spirit within the vine
Where all things will work by good design
For those who will believe.
