Wilderness gets a bad reputation in much of literature. Think of Hawthorne's "Young Goodman Brown" and Dante waking in the middle of a dark wilderness. Before I lose readers in my literary allusions, I'll cut this reminiscence short with the comment: the wilderness is only scary if one is lost or the woods are on fire (Bambi).
Mary and Joseph are not lost; they're simply on their journey to Bethlehem at my house and encountered a bit of "wilderness." The wilderness can be a time of paying attention, of being reverent. Barbara Brown Taylor writes in An Altar in the World: "We pay attention to the speedometer, the wristwatch, the cell phone, the list of things to do, all of which feed our illusion that life is manageable. Meanwhile, none of them meets the first criteria for reverence, which is to remind us that we are not gods" (24). The wilderness, much as Advent calls us to do, beckons us to slow down and take in the beauty.
I would say the Creator of the wilderness blessed it with an atmosphere of refreshment and wonder. For the most part, the wilderness remains so. One still has to pay attention; it is, after all, a wild place, a place we can not tame. There are natural cycles of drought and rain, cycles of fire and growth, but there are also surges of unnatural dryness created by cement jungles and unnatural fires born out of greed -- perhaps these are our vain attempts to be in control.
However, as I wait during Advent for the celebration to come, I will wait for the days when "the beasts of the field will not be afraid, the pastures of the wilderness will spring forth, the trees will bear fruit.." (Joel 2:22).
I will practice knowing that God is present in the wilderness. I will practice slowing down and paying attention. I will practice reverence.
Mary and Joseph are not lost; they're simply on their journey to Bethlehem at my house and encountered a bit of "wilderness." The wilderness can be a time of paying attention, of being reverent. Barbara Brown Taylor writes in An Altar in the World: "We pay attention to the speedometer, the wristwatch, the cell phone, the list of things to do, all of which feed our illusion that life is manageable. Meanwhile, none of them meets the first criteria for reverence, which is to remind us that we are not gods" (24). The wilderness, much as Advent calls us to do, beckons us to slow down and take in the beauty.
I would say the Creator of the wilderness blessed it with an atmosphere of refreshment and wonder. For the most part, the wilderness remains so. One still has to pay attention; it is, after all, a wild place, a place we can not tame. There are natural cycles of drought and rain, cycles of fire and growth, but there are also surges of unnatural dryness created by cement jungles and unnatural fires born out of greed -- perhaps these are our vain attempts to be in control.
However, as I wait during Advent for the celebration to come, I will wait for the days when "the beasts of the field will not be afraid, the pastures of the wilderness will spring forth, the trees will bear fruit.." (Joel 2:22).
I will practice knowing that God is present in the wilderness. I will practice slowing down and paying attention. I will practice reverence.
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