Lent: in the desert with Jesus
“At once the Spirit sent him out into the wilderness, and he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and angels attended him.”
Mark 1:12-13
For centuries followers of Jesus around the world have observed the season of Lent, the forty days from Ash Wednesday to Easter. It is linked to the time when Jesus spent forty days in the desert without any food in preparation for His ministry that was about to begin.
Lent has traditionally become a time for followers of Jesus to give up certain things (such as foods) with the purpose of focusing more on God. For the duration of Lent we will be posting a Bible passage and a short reflection based on the theme of being in the desert with Jesus.
“At once the Spirit sent him out into the wilderness, and he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan. He was with the wild animals, and angels attended him.”
Mark 1:12-13
For centuries followers of Jesus around the world have observed the season of Lent, the forty days from Ash Wednesday to Easter. It is linked to the time when Jesus spent forty days in the desert without any food in preparation for His ministry that was about to begin.
Lent has traditionally become a time for followers of Jesus to give up certain things (such as foods) with the purpose of focusing more on God. For the duration of Lent we will be posting a Bible passage and a short reflection based on the theme of being in the desert with Jesus.
Good Friday: Death. Today is Good Friday, the day we remember the cross and the sacrifice Jesus made.
“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
John 12:24
No matter how many times Good Friday comes around, it strikes like a knife from the shadows. Unexpected. Wrong.
The disciples' hopes and dreams, steadily building throughout the story and rising to a crescendo, are at once torn to pieces. The unthinkable unfolds before them.The Healer is broken. The Author of life is killed.
Nothing makes sense today. Jesus said they had nothing to fear. He said He wouldn't leave them. He was supposed to lead them to glorious victory. He was meant to put everything right and fix the broken system, not be crushed by it.
And yet...
This is how it has to be.
This is how God will establish His kingdom. Not with pomp and ceremony, but in betrayal and abandonment, in false accusation, in blows and lashes.
In a crown of thorns and six inch nails.
This is where it's all been headed, where Jesus set His sights from day one. This is where the real battle is done, where the real enemy is faced. All the evil, fear, corruption, shame, violence and greed of the ages come rushing together in a great tidal wave headed for Jesus, the only One with the power to stop it.
But no calming of the storm today.
Instead the Son of God will stand in its path and take the weight of its fury onto Himself.
Nailed to the cross, stripped bare for all the world to see, Jesus pours out His life in the greatest act of self sacrificing love the world has ever known. Until the words His followers never thought they would hear usher forth from parched lips: "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit".
Death.
The world pauses. Creation holds its breath. So unexpected, so wrong. Good Friday surely is the darkest of chapters.
But God's love is relentless, His promises unfailing, this is His story and it isn't over yet. He will finish His work.
On the third day.
“Very truly I tell you, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.”
John 12:24
No matter how many times Good Friday comes around, it strikes like a knife from the shadows. Unexpected. Wrong.
The disciples' hopes and dreams, steadily building throughout the story and rising to a crescendo, are at once torn to pieces. The unthinkable unfolds before them.The Healer is broken. The Author of life is killed.
Nothing makes sense today. Jesus said they had nothing to fear. He said He wouldn't leave them. He was supposed to lead them to glorious victory. He was meant to put everything right and fix the broken system, not be crushed by it.
And yet...
This is how it has to be.
This is how God will establish His kingdom. Not with pomp and ceremony, but in betrayal and abandonment, in false accusation, in blows and lashes.
In a crown of thorns and six inch nails.
This is where it's all been headed, where Jesus set His sights from day one. This is where the real battle is done, where the real enemy is faced. All the evil, fear, corruption, shame, violence and greed of the ages come rushing together in a great tidal wave headed for Jesus, the only One with the power to stop it.
But no calming of the storm today.
Instead the Son of God will stand in its path and take the weight of its fury onto Himself.
Nailed to the cross, stripped bare for all the world to see, Jesus pours out His life in the greatest act of self sacrificing love the world has ever known. Until the words His followers never thought they would hear usher forth from parched lips: "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit".
Death.
The world pauses. Creation holds its breath. So unexpected, so wrong. Good Friday surely is the darkest of chapters.
But God's love is relentless, His promises unfailing, this is His story and it isn't over yet. He will finish His work.
On the third day.
The early 20th century writer G.K. Chesterton made the observation that there was something not quite right with the world. He was struck by the fact there seemed to be so much that was wrong (wars, disease, suffering)....and yet that the earth was also scattered with examples of exquisite beauty and wonder.
The night sky. The smell of a cool summer evening. Friendship. Laughter. Love.
He concluded that, rather than a world with no meaning, it was as if the world was good but had somehow lost its way. It wasn't in the condition it was made for.
It was good, but broken.
Years later when he encountered Jesus, he discovered that his observation was correct.
God made the world good.....but we broke it.
Thankfully, God decides to fix it....
The night before Jesus was to go to the cross, He sat down with his disciples one last time. It's interesting that He could've explained to them the significance of what He was about to do. He could've given them an in depth Bible study so that they understood His death would not be the end of the story....but would be the way in which God was going to heal this hurting world and reconcile all things to Himself.
But He didn't.
Instead, He took some bread and broke it. "This is my body".
Then some wine. "This is my blood, poured out for many".
As is so often the case with Jesus, He does not do what we expect. When His followers were expecting a warrior king, they got a carpenter's son from Nazareth. When they wanted Him to keep His distance from outsiders, He embraced them with open arms.
And now to heal the world of its brokenness, rather than resort to the use of force or power, God will enter into the brokenness Himself in the person of Jesus. He will do combat with the powers of evil and death, not with violence, but with self sacrificial love.
He won't take up the sword, but instead shoulder a large beam of wood.
"The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit" writes the psalmist (psalm 34:18). As we approach Holy Week, may we encounter afresh the God who knows our own brokenness.
Because He Himself was broken.
The night sky. The smell of a cool summer evening. Friendship. Laughter. Love.
He concluded that, rather than a world with no meaning, it was as if the world was good but had somehow lost its way. It wasn't in the condition it was made for.
It was good, but broken.
Years later when he encountered Jesus, he discovered that his observation was correct.
God made the world good.....but we broke it.
Thankfully, God decides to fix it....
The night before Jesus was to go to the cross, He sat down with his disciples one last time. It's interesting that He could've explained to them the significance of what He was about to do. He could've given them an in depth Bible study so that they understood His death would not be the end of the story....but would be the way in which God was going to heal this hurting world and reconcile all things to Himself.
But He didn't.
Instead, He took some bread and broke it. "This is my body".
Then some wine. "This is my blood, poured out for many".
As is so often the case with Jesus, He does not do what we expect. When His followers were expecting a warrior king, they got a carpenter's son from Nazareth. When they wanted Him to keep His distance from outsiders, He embraced them with open arms.
And now to heal the world of its brokenness, rather than resort to the use of force or power, God will enter into the brokenness Himself in the person of Jesus. He will do combat with the powers of evil and death, not with violence, but with self sacrificial love.
He won't take up the sword, but instead shoulder a large beam of wood.
"The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit" writes the psalmist (psalm 34:18). As we approach Holy Week, may we encounter afresh the God who knows our own brokenness.
Because He Himself was broken.
“He made darkness his covering, his canopy around him— the dark rain clouds of the sky.”
Psalm 18:11 NIV
Psalm 18:11 NIV
When we think of darkness we usually think of something bad. Or scary.
We say things like "the world can be a dark place". Or "I wouldn't go down that dark alley if I were you".
When Jesus hung to the cross, the Gospel writers tell us that darkness covered the land for about three hours. I've often heard it explained that as Jesus took the sins of the world onto Himself, He was separated from His Heavenly Father, and experienced a physical and spiritual darkness the likes of which we couldn't imagine. Darkness, then, is what separation from God looks like.
Many are familiar with the phrase "dark night of the soul". It's often used to describe times of extreme anguish, depression or hardship.
It actually comes from a poem written in the 1500s by a Spanish follower of Jesus who became known as John of the Cross. The poem (originally called simply "the dark night") describes the inward journey of the heart into a maturing relationship with God. The journey takes place during the night, representing the challenges faced when going deeper with God, cutting against the grain of the world and its values.
So there is darkness...but stepping out into the darkness can be stepping into deeper intimacy with God.
“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” Desmond Tutu
In times of darkness, be it physical, mental or spiritual. Times when we cannot see what is going on. When we cannot see the way ahead may we learn to trust in His love and faithfulness. May we continue to take steps towards Him, however faltering.
And may we know with the psalmist that no matter how much the darkness clouds our perception of God, it can never cloud His love for us: “even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You.”
(Psalm 139:12).
We say things like "the world can be a dark place". Or "I wouldn't go down that dark alley if I were you".
When Jesus hung to the cross, the Gospel writers tell us that darkness covered the land for about three hours. I've often heard it explained that as Jesus took the sins of the world onto Himself, He was separated from His Heavenly Father, and experienced a physical and spiritual darkness the likes of which we couldn't imagine. Darkness, then, is what separation from God looks like.
Many are familiar with the phrase "dark night of the soul". It's often used to describe times of extreme anguish, depression or hardship.
It actually comes from a poem written in the 1500s by a Spanish follower of Jesus who became known as John of the Cross. The poem (originally called simply "the dark night") describes the inward journey of the heart into a maturing relationship with God. The journey takes place during the night, representing the challenges faced when going deeper with God, cutting against the grain of the world and its values.
So there is darkness...but stepping out into the darkness can be stepping into deeper intimacy with God.
“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” Desmond Tutu
In times of darkness, be it physical, mental or spiritual. Times when we cannot see what is going on. When we cannot see the way ahead may we learn to trust in His love and faithfulness. May we continue to take steps towards Him, however faltering.
And may we know with the psalmist that no matter how much the darkness clouds our perception of God, it can never cloud His love for us: “even the darkness will not be dark to You; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You.”
(Psalm 139:12).
“But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.”
Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:22-24 NIV
“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for one who believes.”
Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:22-24 NIV
A few years after I began to follow Jesus, something entirely unwanted and (at the time) unpleasant happened to me. I began to have doubts about my faith.
Suddenly, the very things I was so certain of just a few months ago were shaken. Did God really love me? Could I really trust Him? Was He even there?
What was worse, I felt I couldn't talk to anyone about it because everyone around me (it seemed) was sorted and full of faith. And because Jesus and the New Testament writers kept going on about the importance of having faith in God, I felt as if I couldn't come to God until I stopped doubting. Surely God wouldn't listen to me if I doubted His very existence.
I've since learned that this isn't true.
I had a light bulb moment when I realised: Doubt is not the enemy of faith.
Faith and doubt go hand in hand. In fact faith can only be faith if there is room for doubt. One of the problems is the way in which we understand what it means to have "faith in Jesus". We tend to think it means the degree to which we believe things about Jesus.
But faith in the Bible is better understood as faithfulness with our lives, rather than just belief with our heads. Trust. Sticking with it. Persevering.
Which means I can have faith in Jesus even when (especially when) I don't have all the answers. I can pray "God, I don't understand this situation. I can't see what You're up to. And the way I'm feeling right now, I'm not even sure if You're there. But I'm going to choose to trust You in this."
I love the words of the man to Jesus: "I believe...help my unbelief!" That's faith and doubt going hand in hand. That's a prayer God always hears.
In the desert place when we confront doubt, we can do one of two things. We can deny it, ignore it, suppress it, and hope it will go away.
Or we can embrace it, be real about it, take it to God. Then we learn that doubt is not an enemy, but fertile ground for God to grow a deeper, richer, stronger faith in Himself.
May we learn to pray the beautiful, simple prayer "I believe...help my unbelief!"
Suddenly, the very things I was so certain of just a few months ago were shaken. Did God really love me? Could I really trust Him? Was He even there?
What was worse, I felt I couldn't talk to anyone about it because everyone around me (it seemed) was sorted and full of faith. And because Jesus and the New Testament writers kept going on about the importance of having faith in God, I felt as if I couldn't come to God until I stopped doubting. Surely God wouldn't listen to me if I doubted His very existence.
I've since learned that this isn't true.
I had a light bulb moment when I realised: Doubt is not the enemy of faith.
Faith and doubt go hand in hand. In fact faith can only be faith if there is room for doubt. One of the problems is the way in which we understand what it means to have "faith in Jesus". We tend to think it means the degree to which we believe things about Jesus.
But faith in the Bible is better understood as faithfulness with our lives, rather than just belief with our heads. Trust. Sticking with it. Persevering.
Which means I can have faith in Jesus even when (especially when) I don't have all the answers. I can pray "God, I don't understand this situation. I can't see what You're up to. And the way I'm feeling right now, I'm not even sure if You're there. But I'm going to choose to trust You in this."
I love the words of the man to Jesus: "I believe...help my unbelief!" That's faith and doubt going hand in hand. That's a prayer God always hears.
In the desert place when we confront doubt, we can do one of two things. We can deny it, ignore it, suppress it, and hope it will go away.
Or we can embrace it, be real about it, take it to God. Then we learn that doubt is not an enemy, but fertile ground for God to grow a deeper, richer, stronger faith in Himself.
May we learn to pray the beautiful, simple prayer "I believe...help my unbelief!"
“Yet the news about him spread all the more, so that crowds of people came to hear him and to be healed of their sicknesses. But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
Luke 5:15-16 NIV
Luke 5:15-16 NIV
I listened to a podcast recently about the illegal use of torture during the interrogation of suspected terrorists. It wasn't exactly an uplifting talk, as you can imagine.
But one thing really stuck with me. The speaker described what he considered to be the worst thing a human being can go through: solitary confinement.
Forcing a human to go for prolonged periods of time without contact from others is apparently one of the most damaging things that can be done to us. It takes away something central to our humanity, the need to relate to other humans. "It is not good for man to be alone" (Gen 2:18).
On the other hand, we can develop an unhealthy obsession with the need to be constantly connected to others. This can border on addiction. Emails, Facebook, Twitter, 24/7 news feed....all great ways to keep in touch. But so easy to become something we can't bear to be without.
Case in point: can you remember the last time you lost your mobile phone? I lost mine for about an hour a few weeks ago, and I felt like I was having a panic attack. What if someone was trying to call me? Or text me? Or email me? I literally ran around the house searching for it and felt like I couldn't rest until I had it back.
It was a wake up call that I was hooked to my phone. Or rather, for the need to be connected to others.
Jesus spent forty days alone in the desert. No human contact for nearly six weeks.
What's more, have you noticed how he often throughout His ministry He would spend time alone in prayer? He spent the night by himself before choosing the twelve disciples (Luke 6:12); He "withdrew to a lonely place" upon hearing of the death of his cousin John (Matt 14:13) and would rise early in the morning, going to a "solitary place" to pray (Mk 1:35).
Yet Jesus was not a loner. He was the life and soul of the party, mixing with anyone and everyone he came across. So much so, he was called a "drunkard and glutton" (Matt 11:19). Hardly the label given to a hermit!
The truth is, Jesus was never actually alone. He was either spending time with people, or spending time with His Heavenly Father....which in turn energised Him to be with others. With love, compassion, forgiveness and grace.
Getting alone with God enables us to be fully present with people.
Many of us today could do with disconnecting from others for a time (including others on social media and emails!) in order to reconnect with God...in order to reconnect at a deeper level to those around us.
We don't have to find a desert to disconnect from others today. Maybe this week we could try going without social media? Or without checking emails? Or without our phones?
In doing so may we learn afresh what it is to be truly alone with God. And may that encounter transform us to be more truly present to others with the love of Jesus.
But one thing really stuck with me. The speaker described what he considered to be the worst thing a human being can go through: solitary confinement.
Forcing a human to go for prolonged periods of time without contact from others is apparently one of the most damaging things that can be done to us. It takes away something central to our humanity, the need to relate to other humans. "It is not good for man to be alone" (Gen 2:18).
On the other hand, we can develop an unhealthy obsession with the need to be constantly connected to others. This can border on addiction. Emails, Facebook, Twitter, 24/7 news feed....all great ways to keep in touch. But so easy to become something we can't bear to be without.
Case in point: can you remember the last time you lost your mobile phone? I lost mine for about an hour a few weeks ago, and I felt like I was having a panic attack. What if someone was trying to call me? Or text me? Or email me? I literally ran around the house searching for it and felt like I couldn't rest until I had it back.
It was a wake up call that I was hooked to my phone. Or rather, for the need to be connected to others.
Jesus spent forty days alone in the desert. No human contact for nearly six weeks.
What's more, have you noticed how he often throughout His ministry He would spend time alone in prayer? He spent the night by himself before choosing the twelve disciples (Luke 6:12); He "withdrew to a lonely place" upon hearing of the death of his cousin John (Matt 14:13) and would rise early in the morning, going to a "solitary place" to pray (Mk 1:35).
Yet Jesus was not a loner. He was the life and soul of the party, mixing with anyone and everyone he came across. So much so, he was called a "drunkard and glutton" (Matt 11:19). Hardly the label given to a hermit!
The truth is, Jesus was never actually alone. He was either spending time with people, or spending time with His Heavenly Father....which in turn energised Him to be with others. With love, compassion, forgiveness and grace.
Getting alone with God enables us to be fully present with people.
Many of us today could do with disconnecting from others for a time (including others on social media and emails!) in order to reconnect with God...in order to reconnect at a deeper level to those around us.
We don't have to find a desert to disconnect from others today. Maybe this week we could try going without social media? Or without checking emails? Or without our phones?
In doing so may we learn afresh what it is to be truly alone with God. And may that encounter transform us to be more truly present to others with the love of Jesus.
Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, left the Jordan and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing during those days, and at the end of them he was hungry. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, tell this stone to become bread.” Jesus answered, “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone.’ ”
Luke 4:1-4 NIV
Luke 4:1-4 NIV
Through the wonder of modern science we know an awful lot about what happens in our bodies if we go without food.
Our brains and muscles need fuel, and their preferred fuel type is sugar (glucose to be exact). Much of what we eat gets munched, digested and ultimately converted to glucose which is absorbed into our blood stream and delivered to our various cells to keep them happily ticking along.
If we go without food and so cut off the glucose supply, our bodies have a cunning back up plan.
Certain hormones are released which unleash glucose stores from our muscles and liver. We can also cleverly tap into our fat cells, and through some complicated manipulation of molecules convert the stored fat into glucose. The body can keep this up for quite a long time (like a few days).
If we go for even longer without eating, our bodies have another trick up their sleeves. We actually stop using glucose as a fuel and switch to using something called ketones (a bit like switching from an unleaded to diesel car). We get these ketones, again, from our fat stores. The body can keep going like this for much longer periods of time (like weeks).
But while all this clever science is going on, our brains are also receiving a message saying something along the lines of: get some food NOW! It's a powerful message, perfected by our bodies over millions of years to ensure we don't ignore it and we go and find something to eat.
It's called hunger. It's one of the most basic impulses we have as humans.
When Jesus was in the desert he ate nothing for forty days. And the Gospel writers tell us at the end of it he was hungry (they do have a knack for understating things sometimes).
And when the devil appeared to Him, the first temptation he threw at Jesus was aimed squarely at His physical hunger. "Are you really the Son of God? You must be starving out here! Why not make some lovely bread from these rocks? It would taste so good...."
Jesus' response is fascinating: We don't just need food to live. We need God's word to nourish us.
Jesus is saying we need to feed on God's word. To digest it, absorb it, get it into our bodies and hearts and minds.
It's common during Lent to abstain from certain foods, but how do we nourish ourselves with God's word? The simplest way is to develop a habit of reading the Bible, and Lent is a great season to do this. You could try reading a chapter or two from one of the Gospels in the New Testament each day.
More than developing a habit, how about we ask God this season to give us a fresh hunger for His word? That spending time feeding on the Scriptures would not be a duty but a delight?
Then may we join with the psalmist and declare "Taste and see that the Lord is good" (psalm 34:8).
Our brains and muscles need fuel, and their preferred fuel type is sugar (glucose to be exact). Much of what we eat gets munched, digested and ultimately converted to glucose which is absorbed into our blood stream and delivered to our various cells to keep them happily ticking along.
If we go without food and so cut off the glucose supply, our bodies have a cunning back up plan.
Certain hormones are released which unleash glucose stores from our muscles and liver. We can also cleverly tap into our fat cells, and through some complicated manipulation of molecules convert the stored fat into glucose. The body can keep this up for quite a long time (like a few days).
If we go for even longer without eating, our bodies have another trick up their sleeves. We actually stop using glucose as a fuel and switch to using something called ketones (a bit like switching from an unleaded to diesel car). We get these ketones, again, from our fat stores. The body can keep going like this for much longer periods of time (like weeks).
But while all this clever science is going on, our brains are also receiving a message saying something along the lines of: get some food NOW! It's a powerful message, perfected by our bodies over millions of years to ensure we don't ignore it and we go and find something to eat.
It's called hunger. It's one of the most basic impulses we have as humans.
When Jesus was in the desert he ate nothing for forty days. And the Gospel writers tell us at the end of it he was hungry (they do have a knack for understating things sometimes).
And when the devil appeared to Him, the first temptation he threw at Jesus was aimed squarely at His physical hunger. "Are you really the Son of God? You must be starving out here! Why not make some lovely bread from these rocks? It would taste so good...."
Jesus' response is fascinating: We don't just need food to live. We need God's word to nourish us.
Jesus is saying we need to feed on God's word. To digest it, absorb it, get it into our bodies and hearts and minds.
It's common during Lent to abstain from certain foods, but how do we nourish ourselves with God's word? The simplest way is to develop a habit of reading the Bible, and Lent is a great season to do this. You could try reading a chapter or two from one of the Gospels in the New Testament each day.
More than developing a habit, how about we ask God this season to give us a fresh hunger for His word? That spending time feeding on the Scriptures would not be a duty but a delight?
Then may we join with the psalmist and declare "Taste and see that the Lord is good" (psalm 34:8).
“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.”
Psalm 139:7-12
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you.”
Psalm 139:7-12
Some years ago I went on an organised tour with my housemate around parts of Egypt. We did the usual touristy things, like seeing the pyramids, getting our photographs taken next to camels and taking a boat ride up the Nile.
But the highlight for me was a three day trek through the Sinai desert.
We must have only gone about three miles into the wilderness, but it might as well have been a thousand. There was literally nothing to see, just an endless expanse of sandy dunes and the occasional rocky mound. We slept on the ground huddled together in our sleeping bags under the stars, and without the light pollution we're so accustomed to the night sky ignited with a billion burning jewels, so clear it looked like you could reach out and scoop them into your hand.
And I remember suddenly having an overwhelming feeling along the lines of: there really is nowhere to hide out here. It was a strange sensation, feeling vulnerable and completely exposed to the elements. But it wasn't scary, because the view was so beautiful. It was like the distractions and securities of everyday life had been stripped away and brought me face to face with something wild, beautiful and good.
Hundreds of years before Jesus was born, his ancestor King David penned the words at the top of this page. It's part of a longer prayer (psalm 139), and describes how nothing is hidden from God.
He knows us inside and out. No matter what we're doing during the day, He's right there. Whatever we're thinking, He knows it (even before we've finished thinking it). When our cells were dividing and clumping together in utero, we were already on full display to Him.
There's nowhere to hide. And King David knew this was a really good thing.
He knew that no matter what he did in life, wherever he went, whatever he thought, and however much he mucked things up (and he really did muck things up) nothing could keep God's love away.
As we begin this season of Lent it's so easy to jump straight to the list of things we intend to give up for a few weeks. And yes, making a deliberate choice to abstain from certain foods or habits to be more attentive to what God is doing is a great idea.
But how about we simply begin with some time and space to come before God just as we are? Vulnerable. In full view. Exposed.
And in that place where there is no hiding, can we learn to hear again the voice of the One that drove Jesus into the desert: "You are my beloved. With you I am well pleased".
But the highlight for me was a three day trek through the Sinai desert.
We must have only gone about three miles into the wilderness, but it might as well have been a thousand. There was literally nothing to see, just an endless expanse of sandy dunes and the occasional rocky mound. We slept on the ground huddled together in our sleeping bags under the stars, and without the light pollution we're so accustomed to the night sky ignited with a billion burning jewels, so clear it looked like you could reach out and scoop them into your hand.
And I remember suddenly having an overwhelming feeling along the lines of: there really is nowhere to hide out here. It was a strange sensation, feeling vulnerable and completely exposed to the elements. But it wasn't scary, because the view was so beautiful. It was like the distractions and securities of everyday life had been stripped away and brought me face to face with something wild, beautiful and good.
Hundreds of years before Jesus was born, his ancestor King David penned the words at the top of this page. It's part of a longer prayer (psalm 139), and describes how nothing is hidden from God.
He knows us inside and out. No matter what we're doing during the day, He's right there. Whatever we're thinking, He knows it (even before we've finished thinking it). When our cells were dividing and clumping together in utero, we were already on full display to Him.
There's nowhere to hide. And King David knew this was a really good thing.
He knew that no matter what he did in life, wherever he went, whatever he thought, and however much he mucked things up (and he really did muck things up) nothing could keep God's love away.
As we begin this season of Lent it's so easy to jump straight to the list of things we intend to give up for a few weeks. And yes, making a deliberate choice to abstain from certain foods or habits to be more attentive to what God is doing is a great idea.
But how about we simply begin with some time and space to come before God just as we are? Vulnerable. In full view. Exposed.
And in that place where there is no hiding, can we learn to hear again the voice of the One that drove Jesus into the desert: "You are my beloved. With you I am well pleased".
